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[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
|
“Yep, you better get up!” A woman clothed in white dress said with indifference.
“T-This is nonsense!” A youth gazed at the woman with shock as he muttered. “I am not even a woman!”
“You can be a warlock, no?” Another woman who seemed to be younger replied with a mischievous smile.
“Either way, it is not up for us to decide.” The third woman gazed at the small creature that was purring on the young man’s lap.
As if noticing their gazes, the small cat opened his large eyes and meowed twice.
“Yep, it is clear enough.” The woman in white said as she continued. “Hurry up and help him fetch his stuff up.”
“You are one of us now! Let's have a feast tonight!” The younger woman said energetically as she joined his sisters and packed everything she saw.
“This-” The young man opened his mouth with a dumbfounded expression only to close it once again. In the end, he didn’t know what he was going to say.
His gaze finally landed on the small kitten at his lap. She was looking right at him with sparkling eyes.
He would think all of this was a bad joke if the girls didn’t rush into his house from the sky. Even now, the younger one seemed to hover in the air as she leaped from one object to another.
Just when his eyes landed on her, he noticed the object she was holding.
His expression turned gloomy as he asked. “Hey, can you give that to me.”
“Ohh! What is this?” She waved the old book with yellow pages with wonder.
“Some kind of antique but it is important to me.”
Just as she was examining the book, a cold voice rang out.
“Meowww!!”
Upon hearing this, three women froze stiff as they gazed at the small kitten with fear.
The youngest woman hovered towards the boy with sadness and lowered her head. “I was only curious…”
“Meow…”
She beamed sweetly as she said. “I won’t!”
Throwing another glance towards the boy, she muttered. “The book is out of bounds for me… but that will be it.” After giving out a smirk, she returned to her job.
Feeling slightly confused, the young man gazed at the small kitten. He smiled softly as he said “Thanks..” Funny enough, he found himself accepting his new position as he didn’t oppose them. His life was boring enough and he was truly happy with his new friend.
Petting the small cat, he began to ponder on many things and finally made up his mind. He was going to enjoy this new journey! Not that, he had a choice...
Purring with bliss, the cat closed her eyes and began to sleep. Watching his new friend, a smile appeared on his face.
After the work was done, they departed towards their home.
|
I screeched. Loudly. The witches began screaming as well, clearly disgruntled by my choice of verbal communication until one witch had the genius idea to pimp slap me, effectively shutting me up.
When I came to, the sun was high in the sky, sitting nicely behind a large, white cloud. Leaves entered my view, proliferating it with shades of green that battled with the otherwise clear blue of the sky. I was moving.
*we* were moving.
Groggy, I tried my hand in sitting.
“Well, hello there, sleepy beauty.” One of the witches snickered, flicking my right ear.
The witch allowed me to sit, in fact she helped me upright, nodding her head in understanding when I gasped.
Before me, an alignment of small abodes of smooth sandstone stood beside each other, divided by yellow picket fences. On the lawns of each home sat one person~not witch, *person*~their eyes trained on the arterial road that fed through the street.
“Welcome home, Hardy.”
|
|
[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
|
There were four of them and they matched the modern movie stereotypes so closely it hurt. One Jamaican/Caribbean islands looking lady, one mousy little white girl holding our new cat, one modern gypsy looking gal and a tall business lady in a suit holding some kind of "grimoire".
"Can you say that again?"
"Al-Luna said it plainly enough. Her cat wants to adopt you." Replied miss suit. "Now, we need to make this quick so, get up and lets get going."
It had been a long night shift and I only had a couple hours sleep. I could tell that from the light coming in the window. I was in no mood for this kind of joke from my wife's friends. "Babe! I'M NOT UP FOR THIS KIND OF JOKE TODAY. COULD YOU PLEASE COME GET YOUR FRIENDS?" My wife had always joked about being a "kitchen witch" and had some weird friends but it was just a joke. I would know. I may have spent a career in the military but my family were a bunch of freaking weirdos who thought themselves some kind of hunters of monsters, Nazi and supernatural BS. My wife had never shown any of the signs I grew up being taught to look for. That was, never showed any of the signs before.
My normally mousy wife spoke up from behind them all of a sudden. "Ladies you are trespassing and we do not appreciate it." As they turned to look at my wife it was not the view I expected either. Meat cleaver in hand she had her kitchen apron on, filleting knife affixed to the front at the ready and spices, all her herbs and spices uncapped and in the pouches and holders of her favorite apron. Weirder yet, our 12 yr old was standing next to her with that silly little "wand" she had made from large thorned blackberry vines..except that it had new green growth sprouting from it.
Turning to look at them the Caribbean gal grinned and muttered "Now look what wez got here. Little rough sister breeding her own coven. Is cute." As the four of them started spreading out of the bedroom and across the living room.
Miss suit gave a smile to my wife. "Four on one dear even with a husband and newtish daughter apprentice isn't really fair now is it dear. be good and I'm sure we can work out your inclusion."
My wife smiled and simply said "count again".
My wife then suddenly muttered "Corporis restituere renovatis" and "canis explicandi". Pain was a matter of everyday life for me, I had a lot of injuries from my time in the military but I occasionally also had really good days. Suddenly, I felt 20 with not a soreness to my body and the world before me.
I rolled/flipped out of the bed and onto the floor with a nimbleness not enjoyed since I was a youth in my prime. As I did so I grabbed the tomahawk my great grandfather had made for me and the colt .45 my grandfather had left me in his will. My faithful and usually goofy rottweiler lunged to my side but suddenly bulkier, fierce and drooling with some kind of malice.
Miss Gypsy and the mousy girl seemed the most disturbed by this as everyone kinda froze in place and Miss gypsy spoke. "Okay sister. Maybe a witch, her daughter apprentice, a hellhound and an energized and empowered hunter in their own lair are more of a fair fight for four sister witches than you thought? Maybe?"
My dear, sweet little wife just smiled and replied "You think?"
"Well" restarted miss suit "Maybe we should talk." As she forced a more relaxed posture. "Could I bother you for a spot of tea."
My wife smiled back "Absolutely. Earl grey, English breakfast, black tea, green tea, chai? What would you care for?"
"Oh whatever is easiest."
"Okay, I've already got a pot of Earl Grey on. Dear?"
"Yes love?"
"Do get changed. You're in your PJs."
"Yes dear. Ladies, please have a seat and behave."
That was 6 months ago and life has changed. We bought a big house when I got out of the military. Nice 1.5 acres of land, my wife planted all sorts of herb gardens. Now the whole thing is tended by our new "family" and the house is never really quiet. Aside from the four ladies a couple of my wife's "weird friends" are now a part of everything too and it sucks commonly being the only guy surrounded by 7 women, 8 if including our daughter. Witches or not. Most of the time I feel outvoted before I even think to give input on anything. I feel great though. Now that I know, there is no excuse for me not to have a charm or spell bag that relieves my pains and give me back my health and vigor as if I was in the prime of my 20s again. My family thinks I am either disgusting or the biggest man whore. Let them. It's just my wife and I in those regards but them them think what they want. It's the easiest way of keeping the hunters of my family and their friends away as well as from guessing the truth.
Life, is definitely new and interesting. Damn cat.
|
I screeched. Loudly. The witches began screaming as well, clearly disgruntled by my choice of verbal communication until one witch had the genius idea to pimp slap me, effectively shutting me up.
When I came to, the sun was high in the sky, sitting nicely behind a large, white cloud. Leaves entered my view, proliferating it with shades of green that battled with the otherwise clear blue of the sky. I was moving.
*we* were moving.
Groggy, I tried my hand in sitting.
“Well, hello there, sleepy beauty.” One of the witches snickered, flicking my right ear.
The witch allowed me to sit, in fact she helped me upright, nodding her head in understanding when I gasped.
Before me, an alignment of small abodes of smooth sandstone stood beside each other, divided by yellow picket fences. On the lawns of each home sat one person~not witch, *person*~their eyes trained on the arterial road that fed through the street.
“Welcome home, Hardy.”
|
|
[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
|
**First time doing a prompt, hopefully you enjoy it!**
I set the little black cat down on the floor of my room she looked around curiously for side-to-side as if to inspect her current surroundings. I chuckled quietly at her slight bewilderment.
“A lot better than that storm drain, ain’t it?” I asked. She looked back at me and let out a soft meow.
I smiled to myself. My parents didn’t take kindly to pets (they didn’t take kindly to much anymore), but when I saw this little furball caught in the storm drain near the playground, I just couldn’t leave her there. No matter what my folks said. It wasn’t easy, especially since I was seven at the time, But with dripping water and much determination, I was able to get her out.
I was interrupted by these thoughts as I felt the little cat rub her head against me with affection. I kneeled down and caressed her fur gently.
“Don’t worry,” I said, “I’ll take care of you, you’ll be safe with me.”
“CLARA! Why is the floor soaking wet?! Get out here, NOW!!!”
I jumped up in fear at the sound of my mother’s voice. I had meant to wipe up the spill that I had made on the floor but must’ve forgotten it on the way inside. My parents were always on edge over this stuff, but imagine if they saw I had brought the cat in.
The cat looked up to me, with wide, almost worried eyes. She could tell that the shouting did not bode well for me. I looked back down to her, trying to muster a reassuring look, not just for her, but for me.
“S-Stay here,” I whispered out nervously. “ Don’t make a sound. It’ll be quick, I hope.”
And with one final pet of her fur, I left the cat alone and went to face my parents, and the consequences for my actions…
**…**
I quietly walked back into the room, with my pajamas on from the laundry, and a rather big bruise on my cheek. The cat looked up from the bed, as her eyes seemed to widen in shock at the sight of me. I ignored her and nonchalantly climbed into bed and sighed.
A tear fell from my eye. It seemed like nothing I ever did was good enough for my parents. Whenever I did something good, they took little or no notice; but when I did something wrong, they were on me like a hawk. Why? Why didn’t they love me? Why was I even born if I was unwanted?
Suddenly I felt the cat nuzzle up to me as if she was trying to comfort me. Not knowing what else to do, I simply squeezed her in a hug, as I sobbed quietly. It was nice to have her. For the first time in a while, it was like someone actually cared, that I wasn’t just another face in the house, as if, they loved me.
Soon, I felt my eyelids begin to droop, and I pulled the cat closer and whispered goodnight. Before I fell completely asleep, I thought I could make out a voice, but I didn’t know whose. Only that they provided me with comfort.
“Don’t worry,” it said, “I’ll take care of you, you’ll be safe with me.”
|
I screeched. Loudly. The witches began screaming as well, clearly disgruntled by my choice of verbal communication until one witch had the genius idea to pimp slap me, effectively shutting me up.
When I came to, the sun was high in the sky, sitting nicely behind a large, white cloud. Leaves entered my view, proliferating it with shades of green that battled with the otherwise clear blue of the sky. I was moving.
*we* were moving.
Groggy, I tried my hand in sitting.
“Well, hello there, sleepy beauty.” One of the witches snickered, flicking my right ear.
The witch allowed me to sit, in fact she helped me upright, nodding her head in understanding when I gasped.
Before me, an alignment of small abodes of smooth sandstone stood beside each other, divided by yellow picket fences. On the lawns of each home sat one person~not witch, *person*~their eyes trained on the arterial road that fed through the street.
“Welcome home, Hardy.”
|
|
[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
|
I woke to see a child in rags, holding my little cat.
I say *my* cat, but really it's only been a week. She turned up in the storm and waltzed right in, hissed down my Pussum, and made for her foodbowl. Pussum allowed this.
"Bodi says you didn't steal her?" said the child. The kitten wiggled towards me and I sent her an eye-hug. The child's eyes narrowed. The shadows behind them coalesced into dark figures.
"She came to me in the storm," said I.
The child frowned.
"She said you fed her."
"I did that,"
The shadows leaned forward. They were smaller now.
"And you tended her poorly leg, and sang to her?"
"Aye"
"So, can you help us?"
The little one stepped into the light of my fire, and I saw how thin they were. I stirred my cauldron and hummed an old lullaby.
The shadows drew forward. The kitten broke free and ran to me.
I pulled up the ladle and took a bowl from my caravan shelf.
"How many are you?"
The shadows sat around the fire and shared my soup.
They're my children now, all five of them.
And the cat.
|
I screeched. Loudly. The witches began screaming as well, clearly disgruntled by my choice of verbal communication until one witch had the genius idea to pimp slap me, effectively shutting me up.
When I came to, the sun was high in the sky, sitting nicely behind a large, white cloud. Leaves entered my view, proliferating it with shades of green that battled with the otherwise clear blue of the sky. I was moving.
*we* were moving.
Groggy, I tried my hand in sitting.
“Well, hello there, sleepy beauty.” One of the witches snickered, flicking my right ear.
The witch allowed me to sit, in fact she helped me upright, nodding her head in understanding when I gasped.
Before me, an alignment of small abodes of smooth sandstone stood beside each other, divided by yellow picket fences. On the lawns of each home sat one person~not witch, *person*~their eyes trained on the arterial road that fed through the street.
“Welcome home, Hardy.”
|
|
[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
|
There were four of them and they matched the modern movie stereotypes so closely it hurt. One Jamaican/Caribbean islands looking lady, one mousy little white girl holding our new cat, one modern gypsy looking gal and a tall business lady in a suit holding some kind of "grimoire".
"Can you say that again?"
"Al-Luna said it plainly enough. Her cat wants to adopt you." Replied miss suit. "Now, we need to make this quick so, get up and lets get going."
It had been a long night shift and I only had a couple hours sleep. I could tell that from the light coming in the window. I was in no mood for this kind of joke from my wife's friends. "Babe! I'M NOT UP FOR THIS KIND OF JOKE TODAY. COULD YOU PLEASE COME GET YOUR FRIENDS?" My wife had always joked about being a "kitchen witch" and had some weird friends but it was just a joke. I would know. I may have spent a career in the military but my family were a bunch of freaking weirdos who thought themselves some kind of hunters of monsters, Nazi and supernatural BS. My wife had never shown any of the signs I grew up being taught to look for. That was, never showed any of the signs before.
My normally mousy wife spoke up from behind them all of a sudden. "Ladies you are trespassing and we do not appreciate it." As they turned to look at my wife it was not the view I expected either. Meat cleaver in hand she had her kitchen apron on, filleting knife affixed to the front at the ready and spices, all her herbs and spices uncapped and in the pouches and holders of her favorite apron. Weirder yet, our 12 yr old was standing next to her with that silly little "wand" she had made from large thorned blackberry vines..except that it had new green growth sprouting from it.
Turning to look at them the Caribbean gal grinned and muttered "Now look what wez got here. Little rough sister breeding her own coven. Is cute." As the four of them started spreading out of the bedroom and across the living room.
Miss suit gave a smile to my wife. "Four on one dear even with a husband and newtish daughter apprentice isn't really fair now is it dear. be good and I'm sure we can work out your inclusion."
My wife smiled and simply said "count again".
My wife then suddenly muttered "Corporis restituere renovatis" and "canis explicandi". Pain was a matter of everyday life for me, I had a lot of injuries from my time in the military but I occasionally also had really good days. Suddenly, I felt 20 with not a soreness to my body and the world before me.
I rolled/flipped out of the bed and onto the floor with a nimbleness not enjoyed since I was a youth in my prime. As I did so I grabbed the tomahawk my great grandfather had made for me and the colt .45 my grandfather had left me in his will. My faithful and usually goofy rottweiler lunged to my side but suddenly bulkier, fierce and drooling with some kind of malice.
Miss Gypsy and the mousy girl seemed the most disturbed by this as everyone kinda froze in place and Miss gypsy spoke. "Okay sister. Maybe a witch, her daughter apprentice, a hellhound and an energized and empowered hunter in their own lair are more of a fair fight for four sister witches than you thought? Maybe?"
My dear, sweet little wife just smiled and replied "You think?"
"Well" restarted miss suit "Maybe we should talk." As she forced a more relaxed posture. "Could I bother you for a spot of tea."
My wife smiled back "Absolutely. Earl grey, English breakfast, black tea, green tea, chai? What would you care for?"
"Oh whatever is easiest."
"Okay, I've already got a pot of Earl Grey on. Dear?"
"Yes love?"
"Do get changed. You're in your PJs."
"Yes dear. Ladies, please have a seat and behave."
That was 6 months ago and life has changed. We bought a big house when I got out of the military. Nice 1.5 acres of land, my wife planted all sorts of herb gardens. Now the whole thing is tended by our new "family" and the house is never really quiet. Aside from the four ladies a couple of my wife's "weird friends" are now a part of everything too and it sucks commonly being the only guy surrounded by 7 women, 8 if including our daughter. Witches or not. Most of the time I feel outvoted before I even think to give input on anything. I feel great though. Now that I know, there is no excuse for me not to have a charm or spell bag that relieves my pains and give me back my health and vigor as if I was in the prime of my 20s again. My family thinks I am either disgusting or the biggest man whore. Let them. It's just my wife and I in those regards but them them think what they want. It's the easiest way of keeping the hunters of my family and their friends away as well as from guessing the truth.
Life, is definitely new and interesting. Damn cat.
|
Its been raining and cold all week, freezing rain, and heavy frost each morning grace the barren landscape that is my failing farmland. As I step off the porch to head to the barn, I hear a pitiful weak mewling, just barely audible over the wind and rain. I looked around, worried about any animal trapped outside in this miserable weather. Again, I hear that same sad forlorn cry. This time I can tell a general location, and start walking that way.
Hidden away in the wheel well of my truck was a tiny wet and shivering kitten. A tortoise shell pattern adorned her long wet matted fur. I could see fresh blood trickling from an open wound on it's back, and darker congealed blood clung to the corners of it's mouth. Carefully I reach out, and gingerly pick up the injured critter, half expecting to be met with claws and teeth. Instead the poor thing again mewed, and began to purr.
I rushed back inside the warm house with the injured cat, and started drying her off, before inspecting her wounds. She was injured pretty badly, but growing up on the farm, I have managed to become a decent enough veterinary impersonator. I cleaned and bandaged the obvious claw and bite marks. After mending and drying, I found a can of tuna and retrieved some fresh cream to feed the poor thing. I watched as the ravenous cat devoured every morsel and drop of the small improvised meal, before she curled up and fell fast asleep.
Injured animal or not, I had to get to work. I didn't want to leave the cat alone, but had no choice. I made a trip to the restroom, and when I returned...she was gone. I searches my house but she had simply vanished. Like I said, I had to get to work. So I didn't think much of it.
That night when I came in, I again searched for the cat, and again came up empty. I figured she was better at hiding than I was at finding, so I set out some cat food that I bought for her, and a bowl of water, just in case she came out. Then went to bed, exhausted.
I dreamed that night, odd flashes of brutal animal attacks and suffering animals. Things I would never want to see, or describe. I tossed and turned, thrashed and kicked til I finally fell into a deep thoughtless sleep. I awoke with jolt, thinking I heard something move in what should be my empty house. I jerk myself upright, and look around my bedroom.
Four strange women stood at the foot if my bed, gazing at me with mixed levels of confusion, and what looked like possibly pity. I have come to recognize that look ever since my land stopped producing. The entire town looked at me like that. Before I could say anything at all, or even really register what was happening, one of them spoke, " Calm down child. We mean you no harm. In fact, its quite the opposite. Seems you have saved the life of one of our own. That means we owe you a debt, and someone wants to thank you in our custom."
With her words, the cat I bandaged up suddenly sprung onto my bed, and walked up on my legs. She sat down, purring and looked into my eyes. I watched as her bright green eyes turned blue, then white. A voice too large for any of the women present, seemed to come from the cat, " I was near death, and afraid. You came to my aide, and likely saved my life. For that I am eternally grateful. For us, eternity is existence. I sense you need help, perhaps as much as I did. I would like to adopt you. You will come and live with us, and I will teach you the ways of our kind. No more fruitless crops and poisoned land, and you even get to learn who caused your current predicament."
The women looked at each other, and then at me. The oldest one, stepped forward and spoke, " This is a choice for you alone. Courtney, who you see as a cat, will be understanding with any decision you make, however this is a once in a lifetime thing. Most mortal humans never get this opportunity. You will learn our ways, and with that knowledge comes the end of your frail mortality. Think about this. Think about the good you can do, when you aren't worried about making ends meet, and pouring all of your time into this poisoned farm. We will be back at high noon to learn of your decision."
The cat, Courtney, stood, stretched and looked at me one last time, before jumping into the arms of one of the women. The young woman smiled at me and turned away.
Then they were gone. They didn't walk out, there was no puff of smoke, no glittery fairy dust, just gone. That was at five this morning. Its 11:30am right now.....not sure what I'm going to do, but I am getting tired of this place, and I would like to know who poisoned the land....
|
|
[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
|
There were four of them and they matched the modern movie stereotypes so closely it hurt. One Jamaican/Caribbean islands looking lady, one mousy little white girl holding our new cat, one modern gypsy looking gal and a tall business lady in a suit holding some kind of "grimoire".
"Can you say that again?"
"Al-Luna said it plainly enough. Her cat wants to adopt you." Replied miss suit. "Now, we need to make this quick so, get up and lets get going."
It had been a long night shift and I only had a couple hours sleep. I could tell that from the light coming in the window. I was in no mood for this kind of joke from my wife's friends. "Babe! I'M NOT UP FOR THIS KIND OF JOKE TODAY. COULD YOU PLEASE COME GET YOUR FRIENDS?" My wife had always joked about being a "kitchen witch" and had some weird friends but it was just a joke. I would know. I may have spent a career in the military but my family were a bunch of freaking weirdos who thought themselves some kind of hunters of monsters, Nazi and supernatural BS. My wife had never shown any of the signs I grew up being taught to look for. That was, never showed any of the signs before.
My normally mousy wife spoke up from behind them all of a sudden. "Ladies you are trespassing and we do not appreciate it." As they turned to look at my wife it was not the view I expected either. Meat cleaver in hand she had her kitchen apron on, filleting knife affixed to the front at the ready and spices, all her herbs and spices uncapped and in the pouches and holders of her favorite apron. Weirder yet, our 12 yr old was standing next to her with that silly little "wand" she had made from large thorned blackberry vines..except that it had new green growth sprouting from it.
Turning to look at them the Caribbean gal grinned and muttered "Now look what wez got here. Little rough sister breeding her own coven. Is cute." As the four of them started spreading out of the bedroom and across the living room.
Miss suit gave a smile to my wife. "Four on one dear even with a husband and newtish daughter apprentice isn't really fair now is it dear. be good and I'm sure we can work out your inclusion."
My wife smiled and simply said "count again".
My wife then suddenly muttered "Corporis restituere renovatis" and "canis explicandi". Pain was a matter of everyday life for me, I had a lot of injuries from my time in the military but I occasionally also had really good days. Suddenly, I felt 20 with not a soreness to my body and the world before me.
I rolled/flipped out of the bed and onto the floor with a nimbleness not enjoyed since I was a youth in my prime. As I did so I grabbed the tomahawk my great grandfather had made for me and the colt .45 my grandfather had left me in his will. My faithful and usually goofy rottweiler lunged to my side but suddenly bulkier, fierce and drooling with some kind of malice.
Miss Gypsy and the mousy girl seemed the most disturbed by this as everyone kinda froze in place and Miss gypsy spoke. "Okay sister. Maybe a witch, her daughter apprentice, a hellhound and an energized and empowered hunter in their own lair are more of a fair fight for four sister witches than you thought? Maybe?"
My dear, sweet little wife just smiled and replied "You think?"
"Well" restarted miss suit "Maybe we should talk." As she forced a more relaxed posture. "Could I bother you for a spot of tea."
My wife smiled back "Absolutely. Earl grey, English breakfast, black tea, green tea, chai? What would you care for?"
"Oh whatever is easiest."
"Okay, I've already got a pot of Earl Grey on. Dear?"
"Yes love?"
"Do get changed. You're in your PJs."
"Yes dear. Ladies, please have a seat and behave."
That was 6 months ago and life has changed. We bought a big house when I got out of the military. Nice 1.5 acres of land, my wife planted all sorts of herb gardens. Now the whole thing is tended by our new "family" and the house is never really quiet. Aside from the four ladies a couple of my wife's "weird friends" are now a part of everything too and it sucks commonly being the only guy surrounded by 7 women, 8 if including our daughter. Witches or not. Most of the time I feel outvoted before I even think to give input on anything. I feel great though. Now that I know, there is no excuse for me not to have a charm or spell bag that relieves my pains and give me back my health and vigor as if I was in the prime of my 20s again. My family thinks I am either disgusting or the biggest man whore. Let them. It's just my wife and I in those regards but them them think what they want. It's the easiest way of keeping the hunters of my family and their friends away as well as from guessing the truth.
Life, is definitely new and interesting. Damn cat.
|
“Yep, you better get up!” A woman clothed in white dress said with indifference.
“T-This is nonsense!” A youth gazed at the woman with shock as he muttered. “I am not even a woman!”
“You can be a warlock, no?” Another woman who seemed to be younger replied with a mischievous smile.
“Either way, it is not up for us to decide.” The third woman gazed at the small creature that was purring on the young man’s lap.
As if noticing their gazes, the small cat opened his large eyes and meowed twice.
“Yep, it is clear enough.” The woman in white said as she continued. “Hurry up and help him fetch his stuff up.”
“You are one of us now! Let's have a feast tonight!” The younger woman said energetically as she joined his sisters and packed everything she saw.
“This-” The young man opened his mouth with a dumbfounded expression only to close it once again. In the end, he didn’t know what he was going to say.
His gaze finally landed on the small kitten at his lap. She was looking right at him with sparkling eyes.
He would think all of this was a bad joke if the girls didn’t rush into his house from the sky. Even now, the younger one seemed to hover in the air as she leaped from one object to another.
Just when his eyes landed on her, he noticed the object she was holding.
His expression turned gloomy as he asked. “Hey, can you give that to me.”
“Ohh! What is this?” She waved the old book with yellow pages with wonder.
“Some kind of antique but it is important to me.”
Just as she was examining the book, a cold voice rang out.
“Meowww!!”
Upon hearing this, three women froze stiff as they gazed at the small kitten with fear.
The youngest woman hovered towards the boy with sadness and lowered her head. “I was only curious…”
“Meow…”
She beamed sweetly as she said. “I won’t!”
Throwing another glance towards the boy, she muttered. “The book is out of bounds for me… but that will be it.” After giving out a smirk, she returned to her job.
Feeling slightly confused, the young man gazed at the small kitten. He smiled softly as he said “Thanks..” Funny enough, he found himself accepting his new position as he didn’t oppose them. His life was boring enough and he was truly happy with his new friend.
Petting the small cat, he began to ponder on many things and finally made up his mind. He was going to enjoy this new journey! Not that, he had a choice...
Purring with bliss, the cat closed her eyes and began to sleep. Watching his new friend, a smile appeared on his face.
After the work was done, they departed towards their home.
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[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
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**First time doing a prompt, hopefully you enjoy it!**
I set the little black cat down on the floor of my room she looked around curiously for side-to-side as if to inspect her current surroundings. I chuckled quietly at her slight bewilderment.
“A lot better than that storm drain, ain’t it?” I asked. She looked back at me and let out a soft meow.
I smiled to myself. My parents didn’t take kindly to pets (they didn’t take kindly to much anymore), but when I saw this little furball caught in the storm drain near the playground, I just couldn’t leave her there. No matter what my folks said. It wasn’t easy, especially since I was seven at the time, But with dripping water and much determination, I was able to get her out.
I was interrupted by these thoughts as I felt the little cat rub her head against me with affection. I kneeled down and caressed her fur gently.
“Don’t worry,” I said, “I’ll take care of you, you’ll be safe with me.”
“CLARA! Why is the floor soaking wet?! Get out here, NOW!!!”
I jumped up in fear at the sound of my mother’s voice. I had meant to wipe up the spill that I had made on the floor but must’ve forgotten it on the way inside. My parents were always on edge over this stuff, but imagine if they saw I had brought the cat in.
The cat looked up to me, with wide, almost worried eyes. She could tell that the shouting did not bode well for me. I looked back down to her, trying to muster a reassuring look, not just for her, but for me.
“S-Stay here,” I whispered out nervously. “ Don’t make a sound. It’ll be quick, I hope.”
And with one final pet of her fur, I left the cat alone and went to face my parents, and the consequences for my actions…
**…**
I quietly walked back into the room, with my pajamas on from the laundry, and a rather big bruise on my cheek. The cat looked up from the bed, as her eyes seemed to widen in shock at the sight of me. I ignored her and nonchalantly climbed into bed and sighed.
A tear fell from my eye. It seemed like nothing I ever did was good enough for my parents. Whenever I did something good, they took little or no notice; but when I did something wrong, they were on me like a hawk. Why? Why didn’t they love me? Why was I even born if I was unwanted?
Suddenly I felt the cat nuzzle up to me as if she was trying to comfort me. Not knowing what else to do, I simply squeezed her in a hug, as I sobbed quietly. It was nice to have her. For the first time in a while, it was like someone actually cared, that I wasn’t just another face in the house, as if, they loved me.
Soon, I felt my eyelids begin to droop, and I pulled the cat closer and whispered goodnight. Before I fell completely asleep, I thought I could make out a voice, but I didn’t know whose. Only that they provided me with comfort.
“Don’t worry,” it said, “I’ll take care of you, you’ll be safe with me.”
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“Yep, you better get up!” A woman clothed in white dress said with indifference.
“T-This is nonsense!” A youth gazed at the woman with shock as he muttered. “I am not even a woman!”
“You can be a warlock, no?” Another woman who seemed to be younger replied with a mischievous smile.
“Either way, it is not up for us to decide.” The third woman gazed at the small creature that was purring on the young man’s lap.
As if noticing their gazes, the small cat opened his large eyes and meowed twice.
“Yep, it is clear enough.” The woman in white said as she continued. “Hurry up and help him fetch his stuff up.”
“You are one of us now! Let's have a feast tonight!” The younger woman said energetically as she joined his sisters and packed everything she saw.
“This-” The young man opened his mouth with a dumbfounded expression only to close it once again. In the end, he didn’t know what he was going to say.
His gaze finally landed on the small kitten at his lap. She was looking right at him with sparkling eyes.
He would think all of this was a bad joke if the girls didn’t rush into his house from the sky. Even now, the younger one seemed to hover in the air as she leaped from one object to another.
Just when his eyes landed on her, he noticed the object she was holding.
His expression turned gloomy as he asked. “Hey, can you give that to me.”
“Ohh! What is this?” She waved the old book with yellow pages with wonder.
“Some kind of antique but it is important to me.”
Just as she was examining the book, a cold voice rang out.
“Meowww!!”
Upon hearing this, three women froze stiff as they gazed at the small kitten with fear.
The youngest woman hovered towards the boy with sadness and lowered her head. “I was only curious…”
“Meow…”
She beamed sweetly as she said. “I won’t!”
Throwing another glance towards the boy, she muttered. “The book is out of bounds for me… but that will be it.” After giving out a smirk, she returned to her job.
Feeling slightly confused, the young man gazed at the small kitten. He smiled softly as he said “Thanks..” Funny enough, he found himself accepting his new position as he didn’t oppose them. His life was boring enough and he was truly happy with his new friend.
Petting the small cat, he began to ponder on many things and finally made up his mind. He was going to enjoy this new journey! Not that, he had a choice...
Purring with bliss, the cat closed her eyes and began to sleep. Watching his new friend, a smile appeared on his face.
After the work was done, they departed towards their home.
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[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
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I woke to see a child in rags, holding my little cat.
I say *my* cat, but really it's only been a week. She turned up in the storm and waltzed right in, hissed down my Pussum, and made for her foodbowl. Pussum allowed this.
"Bodi says you didn't steal her?" said the child. The kitten wiggled towards me and I sent her an eye-hug. The child's eyes narrowed. The shadows behind them coalesced into dark figures.
"She came to me in the storm," said I.
The child frowned.
"She said you fed her."
"I did that,"
The shadows leaned forward. They were smaller now.
"And you tended her poorly leg, and sang to her?"
"Aye"
"So, can you help us?"
The little one stepped into the light of my fire, and I saw how thin they were. I stirred my cauldron and hummed an old lullaby.
The shadows drew forward. The kitten broke free and ran to me.
I pulled up the ladle and took a bowl from my caravan shelf.
"How many are you?"
The shadows sat around the fire and shared my soup.
They're my children now, all five of them.
And the cat.
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“Yep, you better get up!” A woman clothed in white dress said with indifference.
“T-This is nonsense!” A youth gazed at the woman with shock as he muttered. “I am not even a woman!”
“You can be a warlock, no?” Another woman who seemed to be younger replied with a mischievous smile.
“Either way, it is not up for us to decide.” The third woman gazed at the small creature that was purring on the young man’s lap.
As if noticing their gazes, the small cat opened his large eyes and meowed twice.
“Yep, it is clear enough.” The woman in white said as she continued. “Hurry up and help him fetch his stuff up.”
“You are one of us now! Let's have a feast tonight!” The younger woman said energetically as she joined his sisters and packed everything she saw.
“This-” The young man opened his mouth with a dumbfounded expression only to close it once again. In the end, he didn’t know what he was going to say.
His gaze finally landed on the small kitten at his lap. She was looking right at him with sparkling eyes.
He would think all of this was a bad joke if the girls didn’t rush into his house from the sky. Even now, the younger one seemed to hover in the air as she leaped from one object to another.
Just when his eyes landed on her, he noticed the object she was holding.
His expression turned gloomy as he asked. “Hey, can you give that to me.”
“Ohh! What is this?” She waved the old book with yellow pages with wonder.
“Some kind of antique but it is important to me.”
Just as she was examining the book, a cold voice rang out.
“Meowww!!”
Upon hearing this, three women froze stiff as they gazed at the small kitten with fear.
The youngest woman hovered towards the boy with sadness and lowered her head. “I was only curious…”
“Meow…”
She beamed sweetly as she said. “I won’t!”
Throwing another glance towards the boy, she muttered. “The book is out of bounds for me… but that will be it.” After giving out a smirk, she returned to her job.
Feeling slightly confused, the young man gazed at the small kitten. He smiled softly as he said “Thanks..” Funny enough, he found himself accepting his new position as he didn’t oppose them. His life was boring enough and he was truly happy with his new friend.
Petting the small cat, he began to ponder on many things and finally made up his mind. He was going to enjoy this new journey! Not that, he had a choice...
Purring with bliss, the cat closed her eyes and began to sleep. Watching his new friend, a smile appeared on his face.
After the work was done, they departed towards their home.
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[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
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I blinked a few times and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. They were still standing in front of me, three woman dressed in various forms of black dresses. Red hair flowing from underneath the brims of there black Sunhats.. Piercing green eyes peering through my soul. At this point I realize I must be dreaming, I turn over and try to drift to another realm of dreamstate.
All the sudden a something plops onto the bed. It crawls over my back and up to my face.. The cat paws my nose, a few times. I open my eyes and sleepily scratch the back of its ears. “Hi baby, I’ll get out of bed soon and get you some food, just give me a minute” I coo tiredly.
“Now is no time for games, we have a lot of important business to attend to” A sassy voice retorts back to me.
I open my eyes again, a tad bit astounded. Obviously I must be hearing things. The cat is looking me in the eyes head cocked to the side, almost as if expecting something from me more then food. I scratch the back of her ear again and give her a sideways smile.
Flicking me with her tail, she straightens her head and opens her mouth. “I said it is time to get up daylight is burning and there is a lot to be done”
I jump half way up the wall, flinging her to the end of the bed. I turn and see the three woman still staring at me.. Waiting for them to say something further.. Instead they hand me a knee length black dress, thigh high black stockings, black ankle boots, and a sunhat.
At this point I decide that questions are not going to get me anywhere. So I crawled out of bed, looking around my broke down studio apartment, anything can be better then this.
I slip into the dress and pull on the tights. Pinching my thigh to double check that I am not dreaming. Nope that hurt. Stepping into the boots, I scan the room and look for any reason to stay. Dishes spilling out the sink, the dilapidated pile of board and fabric I still somehow call a couch. The blinds hanging at an angle reminding me of the poster in the counselors office in middle school of the kitty saying just hang on, a pictorial representation of my life at this present moment. I tie up the boots and put the sunhat on my head.
With a sad sigh of almost relief, I release this place from my power and stride towards the door, As we walked towards the hall that leads to the elevator. I stop and turn to the youngest of the sisters she’s about 5’3 with jade eyes and a ruffled tutu like mini dress. “So when do I get my wand?”
They all laugh, and the one I asked giggles and says. “ Oh we’re not those kinds of witches sweetie, think of the witches of the forest. We come from ancient roots and time honored traditions passed down through the ages. There are no castles, and refilling goblets. We live off the land and keep the people among us safe and protected. This is not a world of fairytales child.”
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“Mom!” I yell as soon as I step through the front door of our old, Victorian style home. “I’m back from dropping the cat off in the park!”
“Oh, that’s good sweetie! Was the owner there like she said she would be?” She yells back from the living room. I yank off my combat boots, placing them on the shoe rack and hang my coat up on the hook in the front hall. My hands are still ice cold from the freezing temperatures outside, so I decide to keep my gloves on for another minute.
“Yeah, she was there. It was kind of weird actually...” I mutter, rounding the corner to the living room. “She thanked me and all for fixing up her injured cat, but...she looked really strange.” I sit down on the opposite end of the couch as mom and twirl a piece of my red hair around my finger. “She was wearing this long black velvet robe and she had this black hat on that hung really far down her back.”
“Well maybe it’s her job to dress up or something? Or maybe she just likes to wear strange clothing?” Mom sighs and pats my leg. “We have to try not to be judgmental Tess.”
I roll my eyes and stand up, “I’m going to bed.”
“Okay, darling.”
I rush up the stairs and throw my gloves on the dresser, my mind still stuck on that woman. I’d found her cat alone just last night in the park up the street, with a horrible gash in his leg. The poor thing was bleeding all over the place, so I brought him home, cleaned his wound and patched it up. There was a number for the owner on his collar so I made a plan to meet her at the park tonight with the cat.
But...there was just something off about her. Not just her abnormal clothes. It was the way she looked at me, like she was studying my face, all while running her long fingernails through the cats hair.
I shiver and crawl into bed, pulling the covers tight underneath my chin. Tomorrow is a new day and I’ll just go to school and never have to see that creepy woman again. I let my eyes fall closed and try to block out the interaction with thoughts about David, the cute guy I’ve got a massive crush on in class. My lips curl up remembering the way his arms flex when he throws his backpack over his shoulder as my mind drifts off into the clouds.
—
“Wakey, wakey...”
“Why does she look dead?”
“That’s just what teenagers look like when they sleep.”
I groan and move my head from side to side, irritated at the morning light streaming in through the window and trying to shake the fuzziness of the dream world out of my brain.
“See, she’s not dead.”
I stop moving. That wasn’t in my head. There’s definitely someone in my room. All of my limbs go completely still as I slowly peel my eyes open. There are two women standing beside my bed, dressed in black robes and black hats and one is holding the cat I fixed and it’s the creepy lady I met in the park and I’m about to lose it. I immediately jolt backwards and open my mouth to scream.
But creepy lady jumps towards me and presses her palm over my lips, silencing me. I start thrashing and grabbing at her hand to get her crusty fingers off me. Her friend grabs my arms and yanks them back down to the bed, pinning me in place.
Panic erupts in my blood as my heart hammers in my chest and tears threaten to escape from my eyes. *What are they going to do to me? What do they want?*
“Sorry love, I know we just met yesterday and all.” The creepy woman struggles to talk as she’s fighting to keep her hand pressed over my mouth. “But, my cat wants to adopt you. So you’re one of us now.”
All the fight leaves my body in an instant and I gape at her. *What? Her cat?* The black and white tuxedo cat now sitting at the end of my bed meows in response.
“Oh thank goodness, that was really a lot of work trying to keep you held down.” The other woman says, hanging her head back and sighing. “We really should be going, Lisa.”
“Right! Let’s get a move on then.”
“What!” I scream but it’s muffled almost entirely by the woman’s hand.
They both ignore me as they grab each other’s hands, along with mine and the cat steps up and places his small white furry paw on top of the three of ours. One moment we’re in the bedroom I grew up in, plastered with band posters and pictures of me and my friends, and the next we’re standing in the middle of a freeze cold field.
I instantly drop to my knees and throw up. My body feels like it just got squeezed through a tube too small for any human body to fit through.
“Don’t worry, love. Most people vomit on the first time.” The creepy lady, Lisa, holding the cat says delightfully. “Let’s get a move on then or you’ll freeze to death.”
I push myself off the ground, wrapping my arms around my bare arms. My teeth are chattering and I’m silently thanking myself for wearing pajama pants and socks to bed last night. Rage and fear are coursing through my veins but the cold is dampening any feelings from coming directly to the surface. I don’t care what just happened at the moment, she’s right I need to get somewhere warm.
We begin walking and just as we crest a hill, a massive, fairytale type of castle comes into view. I nearly stop in my tracks to stare at it, not believing my eyes. *Where are we? Why is there a beautiful castle here?*
But off in the distance, a short ways away from the castle, is a small, circular thatch roof home. A light is on inside and smoke is billowing from the chimney. I take in a breath and walk faster.
“Slow down, love. You’ll scare him half to death if you start knocking on his door when he doesn’t know who you are.”
“Where are we? What is this place?” I ask through chattering teeth.
“What is this place?” The other woman gasps. “Why, this is none other than Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”
**Hai! If you’d like to read more of my stories they can all be found at r/AliesStories! Thanks for reading! :3**
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[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
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Covens aren't all they're cracked up to be. When I had first been informed of the situation, I thought along similar lines to what you might expect from a story like mine. "Oh, dark arts! Potions! Spells!" were all I could think about on the way back to their compound. But upon arrival I was quickly proven wrong.
As we walked through their various buildings, I did indeed see all kinds of magics taking place. Witches going about their days, working on whatever nefarious projects they had going on. It was all so titillating! But all we did was keep walking. No explanations of what I was seeing, no stopping to discuss my position; just this silent tour filled with the uncertainty on whether I had stumbled into a blessing or a curse.
It was the latter.
After what felt like ages, we finally came out an unassuming door at the back of the main building. Before me stood a house. Kind of. It looked like a normal, suburban two-story residence. But it was smaller. Confused, I noticed there was a sign above the door. "Simon's House."
Before I could say anything, my former tour guide spoke up. "Simon is our cat. He found you so you're his, now. You'll live with him here. He doesn't speak English, so you'll have to figure that out. And yes, we did try giving him a language option, but he's a cat this incredibly stubborn, so it didnt take. We're all pretty busy so don't bother us unless it's an emergency."
With that, the witch who had brought me here disappeared back through the door, and I was at once alone with Simon outside of his house. "So, got anything to eat, Simon?"
"Meow."
I wasn't sure what he meant, but it *seemed* like a yes, some made our way into the tiny house and I began the search for sustenance. Soon, I found a small pantry. Dozens and dozens of cans of canned fish; salmon, tuna, sardines, and all other varieties you could imagine. "You like seafood, eh Simon?"
"Meeeeeoooowwwwwww!"
"Me too, buddy."
To be honest, it was a pretty great life for a while. Simon was a great cat, and I didn't really have any responsibilities. We'd go for long walks all over the property, and I'd share my theories about what the witches were working on to fill the silence. Simon never shared my opinions - but he's a cat, so I was never going to be right, anyway.
But eventually, the sheen wore off the apple. I don't know if it was magic, or if a sneaky assistant came while we were out, but the pantry was always filled the same. I never had a chance to request something, anything, else. Our walks then began to match the rest of the monotone colors of my experience. It was all the same, on repeat, seemingly forever. I was a prisoner. Soon, thriving had been fully replaced with surviving.
Then one day, I sat at the tiny kitchen table, eating my salmon as I had countless times before. I was staring mindlessly out the window, looking at the world that had become dull and empty. I heard Simon's collar bell jingle as he came in, but I paid no mind. Then, out of nowhere, a voice.
"Get's tiring, doesn't it?"
Startled, I knocked my can and spoon to the floor. They clanged about in the otherwise extremely awkward silence.
"What?" was all I could say.
"The salmon. The tuna. The sardines. They get tiring, don't they?" Simon repeated.
"Um. You're talking. Have I lost my mind? Has all over this pushed me over the edge?"
"Nah, I can speak English. I just didn't want to say anything until you were at your limit. I needed you to know the desperation. The loneliness. Only then could you understand me."
"Why haven't you told the witches that their potion worked?"
"Do you really think the life of an English speaking cat in the hands of witches would end well?"
"I guess that's fair," was all I could say, still in a bit of shock. Then Simon continued.
"I'm already a prisoner. But at least I'm not a tool. I can still do what I want, within boundaries. I like the naps, anyway."
I liked the naps, too, I had to admit. "So, you feel like a prisoner, too?"
"Yeah. I mean, I haven't been here that much longer than you, really. One of the witches adopted me, they tried to use me, and when I didn't speak English to them they had to keep me. Something about their rules with adoptions; they're binding I guess."
"So, then I-"
"Yeah, you're stuck, too. I'm sorry, but I think you understand, now. I was lonely, desperate for a friend. I bugged the hell out of the witches until they decided to let me adopt someone. You were nice - you helped me. And so you were chosen."
"Well, thanks Simon. Glad to know I was chosen, at least!"
"I like your sarcasm. Took a lot of restraint to not respond to it over the last few months. You're a funny guy."
"Thanks, Simon. Look, don't take this the wrong way. But I don't think I can do this. I'm a human. I know we can talk, now, but it's not the same. Our only bond are English and our state as desperate prisoners. Can we really build a friendship on that?"
"No, I guess we can't."
Another awkward silence arose. And my life came to a moment that was both ridiculous and necessary. I was going to beg a cat for help. "Please, Simon, I need you to do something."
Simon pensively paced back and forth the house in silence, as he thought through the predicament. I think he had long known what he was going to suggest, but wasn't sure if he wanted to travel further into this ethical abyss. But finally he came and sat across from me, peering directly into my eyes.
"How do you feel about adoption?"
___________
r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested.
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I tried to throw my blanket off me and scream, cry, ask who they are and what is happening. But my arms and legs just went stiff and stuck out at unnatural angles. My voice caught in my throat and just came out a chittering, choking, moan.
"Just relax." Said the one who first spoke. "You will not be harmed. You have saved one of our own and we pledge our powers to your longevity. As long as you are one of us, you shall not die.
"Lilli, come forward."
The witches parted, and a young girl pushed out of the curtain of black.
"This is Lilli. Like you, she is new. Together, you will learn the ways of magik and the tennets of our dark pact. You join this sisterhood now, and nothing shall break this bond: not man, nor death, nor God."
I writhed in fear and agony. I could not break free, and only tangled further in my bed clothes. My fingers, which had grown long nails, shredded my sheets. I yowled, being unable to put together cohesive words. My tail thrashed.
"Lilli, go forth and collect your familiar. It will be your companion, and guide through the world of humans. Protect your familiar, and it shall protect you. Now, you must give it a name and you will be tied forever."
The little girl came forward and wrapped her arms around me. I could feel her breath blowing my fur as she said, "This is my little Fluffy Tay Tay Marshmallow Paw, and we're going to be the bestest of friends forever."
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[WP] In your world, tears hold magical power. The sadder the person is when the tears are shed, the more powerful. Tears of joy are known to be of no value, until one day you decide to try collecting some yourself...
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“No, Rachel, no! Please don’t leave me…”
The tragic ending of the movie plays on the screen. There’s sad violin music in the background.
My coworkers all already have red and puffy eyes, but they valiantly try to squeeze a few more tears into their vials. Theirs are nearly filled to the brim with liquid power, but my stupid tear ducts aren’t cooperating.
All my life, this is the way it’s been. I can cry from fright, or anger, or even from laughing too much, but show me a sad movie and my eyeballs immediately transfigure into stone.
It’s just that there are so many sad movies out these days. Every advertisement is a tearjerker, the internet is chock-full of over-the-top sad stories, and Youtubers make millions off of their ten minute cryfests. How can everyone else not get sick of it?
Oh yeah, the magic powers. Those are pretty cool. We’re not allowed to use them in public without a permit and all, but it’s magic. Nice.
More immediately, the money’s also important. Crying tears of sorrow and misery is my literal job, but I’m starting to think I got into the wrong industry. I failed to fulfill my quota again today.
Everyone around me gets up to put their vials in the freezer for storage until they get shipped off, but I put a stopper in mine and shove it in my pocket. I’ll be fired soon anyway, so why not keep the few tears I do have? I felt hard for these!
I walk alone through the dim, blue hallways, past the government-funded drinking fountains, and into an elevator. The elevator music is piano with sounds of rain in the background. Posters are plastered all over the walls. “Every 10 seconds, a child dies of starvation.” The classic photos accompany the caption. In black-and-white, of course.
Nothing changes once I’m out in the streets. Everyone wears black like they’re either headed to funerals or really dedicated to the goth look. The cars on the road have matte paint.
Come on, people. We have magic powers now! Aren’t we supposed to be in a fantasy superhero utopia already? To put it simply: screw this!
I pull out the vials I have on me. There’s 8 vials of sadness I’ve stolen over time, 3 mild sadness, 5 boredom, and 1 joy. Of those, the sadness ones are moderately powerful, the boredom ones have a tiny trickle of power, and the joy vial… Well, suffice it to say that tears of joy are ranked lower than tears of onion-cutting.
It’s not all that much, but still, it’s magic. There has to something I can do.
I start with the vials of boredom. I don’t even know what it is I want to do, but I focus on the power of the tears anyway. There’s a spark. I bring out the vials of mild sadness, too. The spark begins to burn brighter.
I uncork the vials and start chugging. That’s always the worst part.
As flashy lights start to spring up around me, people begin crossing to the other side of the street. Someone shouts in alarm. “Blah blah, police.”
I’ll probably be arrested for this, but come on, who actually wants to live in a world like this one? Selling my bodily fluids for minimum wage?
Out of sheer spite at humanity itself, I chug all the vials. Even the joy one. Why not. We’re going all in, baby.
… That joy vial was the only one I’ve ever collected. Tears of joy just aren’t useful.
I don’t know exactly why, but that vial’s been with me for a long time. Months by now, which is pretty nasty, but it’s been with me for a lot. Every time I’ve felt genuine joy -- not just laughter, but actual, genuine, joy -- I’ve held the vial straight up to my eyes, first one, then the other. There were a lot of good memories in that thing.
That I’ve only managed to get 1 vial of joy after so many months says more about this society than my mouth can.
I wonder, though. Humans have always been crying out of pain and sorrow throughout history. How many times since the Day of Tears have people cried out of genuine joy? For that matter, how many people have even let themselves feel it?
Even if joy doesn’t have any value, I want people to feel it anyway.
My body is levitating now. There’s a crowd of people gathered around to watch the lightshow. Police sirens sound out in the distance.
I don’t have much power, but I have a little. Not enough to do anything drastic, maybe not even enough to fight off an arrest, but there’s enough to perhaps send a message. Make a little bit of change.
But what to do with it?
Well, for starters, this city could use a little remodeling…
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[Poem] a tear of joy? There useless you see. They grant no power! There as weak as can be. But if power is not what you choose. Than a tear of joy is what you must use. for a normal tear makes your foes run away. But a tear of joy keeps you happy all day.
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[WP] The heroes nearly won with the “Friendship is power” trope, but lost because the villains did that trope but better.
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Pain. A universal constant. They had all felt it, every single volunteer of eternal doom knew what it was like to suffer. They knew that even at the best of times, darkness lurked in the background
The organization hadn’t started as a world ending terrorist group. It had started as a therapy group. Within that group were the rejected, broken, and tired members of society, who most days were ready to throw it all away. Why bother continuing when every day from the moment of birth was just filled with tears? But in that room they found something they never normally found in their everyday lives
*companionship. Understanding. The feeling that they weren’t alone in the world that seemed to treat them like garbage*
When somebody posed the idea of ending the world, and thus, ending mankind’s suffering, it was initially dismissed. They could all relate to that sentiment, for one reason or another that the best thing for the world would just be too destroy it altogether, but the idea seemed too ambitious. 30 or so depressed adults seeking to destroy the world? Come on
Time passed, and the suffering got worse, and thus so did the bitterness . The therapy sessions never seemed able to help them cope, if anything, it made them angrier, to see their friends hurting as much as they were. So it was disbanded. But every single member remained in contact. And they continued to be angry
They would meet together, and make plans. Possible theories, designs, anything that could destroy the world. Through each others encouragement they bettered themselves. They became stronger, faster, smarter.
Suddenly the ambitious dream of destroying the planet didn’t seem so ambitious. They had a blueprint. And they had determination
More people began to join the group, people who had been just as hurt and quickly bonded with a team where every single person would die for each other.
Their goal would not come cheap, so they began to collect the money for their dream, through any means possible. Crimes were committed in the name of their dream, and this caught the attention of the so called “good guys”
When their plans were revealed they were dismissed. Just a group of terrorists, like any other. They were nicknamed “eternal doom” for their pessimistic viewpoints and their ultimate goal. But they failed to realize the one thing setting them apart from other terrorists was the loyalty they held to each member.
As more members joined, and suddenly their plans were nearly finished, only then did the “good guys” start really trying to fight back. But their fight was doomed to fail from the beginning
Sure, they had the superior numbers, they had government funding. But they fought for themselves. They fought each other almost as much as they fought Eternal Doom. They fought trying harder not to die then to win the fight. Every death for them was a statistic. An expected casualty. For the members of Eternal Doom, every death was a tragedy. It strengthened their resolve. They would not let their sacrifice be in vain
So when the plan was finished, a button press away from destroying all of mankind, the remaining members sat together, staring in-pity at the heroes who failed. A ragtag group only together for their selfish ideals and who would otherwise hate each other. The only death they feared was their own
Meanwhile the final members of Eternal Doom, stood there, unafraid. They told each other how happy they were to meet each other. They may have met each other through pain, but their friendships were formed on absolute love for another, and so too, was their plan to destroy the earth, built on love.
They pushed the button, and human suffering was no more
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I had accepted my fate. The three heroes had combined their power. The leader Macha charging at me, his blade flashing with incredible magical power. I was doomed. I closed my eyes, lowered my guard, and prayed. I felt a light breeze, and then heard a scream.
I opened my eyes, and saw my best friend Draia in front of me. Macha's sword sticking out her back. She turned and smiled at me as she fell to the ground, and I saw red. Draia didn't deserve this. She never hurt any one, she just stuck with me. Even when I was at my worst. These heroes, these monsters... I felt something I had never felt before. A pure rage filled me. Rage and love. I raised my blade, and the heroes fell. My friend would find peace
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[WP] It is Halloween night. A witch has cursed your neighborhood. Everyone turns into whatever their Halloween costume. You decided not to dress up this year; and now you must survive until dawn.
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I turned off the porch light and grabbed a cold beer. No trick-or-treaters this year! I flopped down into the couch and turned on the TV. As the blue haze of the television screen lit up the room, the front door to my condo came flying off its hinges.
"Trick-'o-Treat?" bellowed from the figure that was now standing in the doorway. What appeared to be grown man dressed in an orange jump suit, wearing an intricate round pumpkin mask stood there staring at me through triangle eyes.
"Wo, that's a pretty sick costume, but you're definitely gonna have to pay for my door!" I blurted out.
The pumpkin man lumbered forward. "Trick-o'-Treat?" he let out again.
"Ok, dude, back the fuck up and get out of my house. I'm gonna call the cops," I yelled.
I soon realized the pumpkin creature was not a man. It was a monster. It pulled a razor sharp kitchen knife from its pocket. Holding it above his head, he roared in a deep, rumbling laughter. The stringy veins hanging out of its mouth were flung onto my face. I took several steps backwards and found myself against a wall.
"Trick-o'--" the pumpkin creature held his knife high in the air. Just as it was about to make its downward plunge into my chest, an explosion shook the room. A yellow light blinded me, and I was drenched in wet bits of pumpkin.
"Oh gosh, I only meant to light the candle inside the head." Through a hole above my door, I could see Iron Man, who looked more like an Iron Boy, hovering in a three-foot-tall metal suit. Pointing at me, he said, "How you doin' kid? Don't worry about him. He didn't have a good head on his shoulders." I watched as a werewolf leapt off my neighbor's roof, sending it and Iron Man careening out of sight.
I ran into the street. Dozens of Halloween creatures and ghouls were battling the most well-known heroes. A jedi swung his blue lightsaber, cutting a mummy in half and leaving its tattered ribbons on the floor. A four-foot-tall Hulk jumped the length of five houses, bringing his fists down onto a skeleton that shattered into hundreds of pieces. "Hulk smash!" he shouted. Mario, riding Yoshi, galloped past and howled, "It's a me, Mario!"
"What the hell is going on . . . " The words fell out of my mouth.
The ear piercing laughter of a witch drew my attention up into the starry, night sky. The Wicked Witch of the West pointed her mangled, green finger at me,"You are cursed, my pretty, and your little neighborhood too! Once the sun rises, there will be nothing you can do!" The witch twirled in a circle, getting exponentially faster each time around. With a loud whoosh, she disappeared.
"Cap, get the kid!" Iron Man said; the werewolf's claws leaving dozens of deep grooves in his suit. A small Captain America vaulted over a parked car. Standing five feet away, he called out to me "Come with me! We got to get to that witch before this becomes a very -- Not Happy -- Halloween."
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Oh shit! Everyone is like, a real witch or blooducker! Or a zombie or a whatever that thingy is? Holy shit, this spell went so wrong!
Um... fukit... Uh, Trapa!
I said, Fuckin' Trapa!!!
Ok, um ... nothing has changed... That was clearly the wrong one. Um....ok.
Oh wait, Now I got it!
"Apart!"
Oh ok, Oh thank God! Everyone is boring again. Hoo That was close! Sorry. I'd much rather deal with Gray people over those fucking shiny vampires!
Edit: I don't know what the fuck this was. I'm drunk. Hopefully maybe you giggled. If you didn't, I don't care because, refer to the first sentence... Second sentence. IDC!
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[WP]: Two discount electric candles. A chocolate bar (half-eaten). A pentagram scribbled on the floor with an almost-dead felt pen, with symbols you made up on the spot. Blue light flames: You have summoned the demon of ”meh, that’ll do”.
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The Youtube video was unbelievably vague, poorly produced, and bordering on incoherent, but while searching the term "How to summon a real life demon", you have to lower your expectations just a tad, don't you? Scrolling through results, they were *all* a bit laughable, and every single one had more thumbs downs than up. This particular one only caught my eye because of the comments below it, all of which claimed that the instructions contained within miraculously worked.
Vague instructions turned out to be a boon for me, because I had very little of the actual summoning items on hand, but almost every one had a 'or something like that' tacked on. It called for a pentagram made out of 100 candles. I had a dozen of my mom's cheap electric candles arrayed in a vaguely mishapen star. It called for demonic runes painted in the summoners own blood. Being a wimp about blood, I barely pricked my own finger allowing a single drop to fall on the floor, then drew the rest with red sharpie. I was supposed to be clothed in either elaborate, flowing black robes, or completely naked with scribbles all over my body. There was zero chance I was going either of those routes, so I grabbed one of my trusty hoodie sweatshirts and flipped the hood up.
The only instruction I did attempt to follow precisely was the incantation to be spoken. "Erunn kalathamarrr... degunthur... demonia prospecto rumalllllll," I pronounced poorly as I followed along. Predictably, nothing that was supposed to happen actually happened. Smoke and fire did not fill the room. The candles did not extinguish (they couldn't, I'd just put fresh batteries in), I did not hear evil spirits whispering, the runes did not glow. Nope, nada, nothing.
As I began mentally chastising myself for even attempting such a ridiculous plan, I felt a tug at the bottom of my hoodie. I looked down, stunned to find a tiny, reddish, mishapen creature, I guess somewhat resembling a demon, standing at my feet. I jumped back in fright and confusion.
"You rang?" he asked in a bored tone.
"You're--the demon I summoned? You don't seem very, demonic?"
"Oh, right, right," he mumbled before attempting to deepen his voice. "AHEM-- I ammmmm the great and terrifying Kel'thunarr! Tremble mortal! While I am bound to your service until such a time that--ehhhh, this spiel goes on for AWHILE. So blah blah blah, yada yada, you and I are bound by blood and I'm contractually obligated to serve you for a bit at the cost of some part of your soul. Got it? Good. Saved us both like 10 minutes and a wholeee lot of boredom." As soon as he finished speaking he immediately plopped down on my couch and lit up what appeared to be an unfiltered cigarette. "So what are we doin' here today?"
"I need you to do something for me. Something... something bad," I began.
"Yeah, yeah, we can dispense with your whole 'moral quandry'. I wouldn't be here if it weren't bad. You'll get no judgement from me, trust me, I've heard it all! Just lay it on me already."
"I need you to... scare my boyfriend Billy."
"Scare Billy?" he repeated, clearly unimpressed.
"Yeah, like... threaten him with eternal damnation or something? He- he cheated on me. Well, this is the fourth time technically, the second time with one of my family members and I-- ugh, don't ask why I keep giving him chances. It's just- we love each other, I just know it! But he needs to be scared straight! And I don't know-"
"Uhuh, uhuh... teenage love, very complicated, tragic how raging hormones always seem to get in the way, amirite? Okay, will do," he muttered without ever taking his eyes off his phone screen. I stared daggers at him. "Oh, you want me to do that now?"
"Yes now! I wouldn't have summoned you if I wasn't in dire need of help immediately! Hell, if I'd waited any period of time I might have come to my senses and not even gone down this asinine path, so yes, 'NOW' now."
"Fine fine. I'll be back in a jiffy," he said while exiting the room.
"Wait! I'll give you his address and-"
"Nah nah nah, I'm a demon, I know how to find sinful humans."
He was gone for only about 30 minutes before he strode back into the room, which left me with some concern as to how thorough a job he'd actually done.
"Hey girly, it's done," he said lazily as he walked through the door and dropped a large sack at my feet. "I mean uhhh, ya know, 'our pact is complete, oooOOooOOoOOO, magical mystical pacttttt', all that jazz."
"What is that?" I asked warily.
"Proof that I held up my side of the bargain and completed the task you demanded. Take a look for yourself."
Cautiously I approached the bag and slowly opened it. An old man's severed human head stared back at me. "Jesus! Fuck!" I exclaimed. "Oh... oh my god! You- you killed someone?!"
"Yeah that was the only guy named Willie I could find in the whole town, so I was sure it was the right guy."
"BILLY! I SAID *BILLY!* And I said 'SCARE' him, not KILL!"
"Ehh, scare Billy, kill Willie. Kinda the same thing isn't it?"
"I- wha- NO! Completely different names! Completely different tasks!" I stammered, the words stumbling out of my mouth awkwardly. "Different letters, different sounds... you've, you've gotta fix this, can you fix this?"
"Fix?" he scoffed while taking a long drag. "I mean, technically I have the power to put him back together, return him to some sort of state that vaguely resembles being 'alive', but it's a whole long deal. Do you reallllllly need me to go through all that time and work just to-"
"Yes! God yes! Of course!"
"Urghhhh, blehhhhh, fine!" he grumbled before a not so subtle smile crossed his face. "Uhhhhhh, I will need some supplies for the uh... the reincarnation ceremony. There will be costs, fees, unavoidable overhead..."
"And?"
"And... you got like 50 bucks on you?" my shitty grifter of a demon concluded.
"I mean.... sure," I said opening my purse.
"Excellent, excellent! I'll buy what I need, and be back in an hour or something. Oh, and don't be alarmed if I only return with cigarettes, adult movies, and booze. All are required if we're gonna successfully bring that poor bastard back to life, which I am fully, totallllllly committed to doing... eventually."
As he merrily sauntered out the front door, I had a sinking feeling that there would almost surely be another similar demand for more cash tomorrow.
​
r/Ryter
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I never wanted to be a warlock. Even as a kid. All the other children would go around, pretending to summon and command demons. They’d shout “spells” loud as they could, pretending to call down fire and lightning. Not me. I wanted to be an artist.
I wanted to conjure images of beauty. I wanted to command oils and brushes, not legions of bloodthirsty monsters. But when your dad is Grand Warlock and your mother is Chief Summoner, you don’t have much of a choice, do you?
Ever since I was a baby, people would always whisper, “That Jayden Shadeflame is gonna be a right powerful summoner. He comes from a good line, powerful line. You watch, he’s gonna shake up the Covens.”
‘Shake up the covens.’ Yeah, right. I have about as much talent as I do desire.
I tried for a long time. Honest, I did! Everyone wants to make their parents proud, right? So, I tried for years, I studied the needlessly obtuse arcane texts. I tried to memorize the intricate and precise runes and bindings. But every time I set my chalk to stone, my lines would turn from wardings to sunflowers. Before I knew it, I’d have a small floral garden made in chalk. My dad hadn’t been pleased.
“Jayden,” he’d boom, “you must focus! If you are going to succeed me as head of the family, and as Grand Warlock, you must be disciplined! No more drawings.”
I’d been left with no choice but to study then. And trust me, nothing kills motivation more than guilt trips and heavy-handed force. So, my art went underground. I stole pieces of multicolored chalk, different colored pens from around the mansion, and even some of my mother’s makeup, just for a chance to use a different medium. I was convinced that once I became of age, I’d finally have the choice between art school and the Coven Academy. I’d be free to make my own decision. I had been wrong.
On the eve of my 20th birthday, I had told my parents that I didn’t intend to go to the academy. I was going to the normal world, to study art. It hadn’t gone over well.
“You will go to the academy, and you will be a warlock!” Dad had said, “You are a Shadeflame! Your destiny is to command the dark arts. Not the useless ones!”
I had tried to argue back, but they had simply shouted over me. Our dinner had ended with father throwing a bottle of wine and mother telling me to go to my room until I came to my senses. Oh, I came to my senses all right. They wanted to me to summon a demon? Fine. I’d summon a demon.
I marched back up the winding staircase back to my room, slammed the door behind me, and retrieved my ill-gotten goods. I drew a binding ward on the ground from memory, the lines sloppy and uneven. I grabbed a couple of my half-burnt birthday candles and set them wherever felt right. I lavishly indulged in the runes, making them up on the spot and drawing them as beautifully and ornate as I could. As a finishing touch, a half eaten bar of chocolate as a sacrifice for whatever demon wanted two month old candy.
Demon summoning and binding is a precise business. If everything isn’t just right, the summoning could fail. Or worse, you could summon an uncontrolled demon. It could burn the house down before mom and dad managed to control it. In fact, that was what I was counting on.
The way I saw it, one of two things would happen. Either the summoning wouldn’t work, and I could show it to them as proof of my ineptitude. If they refused my request, I could spread some photos around of it, to kill my reputation. Or, even better, I succeeded in summoning something, and it ran loose and caused mayhem and destruction. Then they’d be practically begging me to get out of their house and away from their precious Shadeflame name. Either way, I won.
So, I lit the candles with a stolen lighter, half-chanted half-sung the theme to *The Omen* , and hoped that nothing happened. To my surprise, something did. There was a sudden gust of wind and the birthday candles extinguished, leaving me in darkness.
Darkness has a way of playing on your fears. At least, for me it does. And standing in the darkness, listening to the sound of breathing that was not my own, suddenly made me realize how bad of an idea this was. Demons were dangerous, they could kill me! Why had I thought this was a good idea again?
The candles reignited, a flickering yellow like dying light bulbs. In the center of the circle was a demon. It was short, maybe two foot, with dark green skin, yellowing teeth, and amber eyes. It looked up at me, a decidedly annoyed frown across its face.
“Yeah, whaddya want kid?”
“Y-you’re a demon,” I stammered.
“Yeah, big scary demon, big whoop,” he glanced down at his wrist, as if there was a watch there, “Listen, I got, like, a party in twenty minutes? Can we hurry this up?”
“Oh, um, sure,” I said, still staring at the vaguely goblin-like demon.
It tapped its foot, waiting for me to give it an order. It bent down, picking up the candy bar and taking a large hunk out. “And? Why’d you summon me, genius?” It said as it ate.
“Oh, I wanted to prove to my parents that I couldn’t summon a demon.”
“Oh, well, surprise,” he threw out his hands, cheap flaky confetti flew from his fingertips, “I’m Paulda’nazsher’memon. But you can just call me Paulie. I’m the demon of incompetence and half-assery.”
“Well, uh,” I shuffled my feet, scratching the back of my head, “Could you maybe tell my parents I’m too incompetent to be a summoner?”
Paulie glanced down at my summoning circle. “Yeah, sure thing, kid. Nice runes by the way. Utter nonsense, but they’re pretty.” He effortlessly stepped over the binding and containment circles, heading for my door, “While I’m here, you got any more food?”
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[WP] During a family reunion you noticed something was wrong when you were talking to your siblings, you couldn't put your finger on what exactly until you remembered that you are an only child
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I can vividly remember the first time I had a panic attack. It was the first day of Christmas break, a week I was looking forward to for *months*. School and work had been very demanding, and I couldn't wait to have one week without any responsibilities. Well, next to family duties. With two families to satisfy, mine and that of my boyfriend's, we had a busy week of socializing ahead of us. Luckily, most of it involved eating ourselves sick and watching telly. Nothing too stressful, you would think.
This day also happened to be Christmas Day. Its morning went by uneventful - partly because I was asleep for the better half. I was sat on the couch, fighting my morning grogginess with a cup of coffee. Me and my stepfather were watching the morning news silently. We liked it that way. Eating usually started around midday, when my mother would dish up the first course. She would plan these meals weeks in advance, making sure to get the best ingredients, and everything would have to be delicious, even the side salads. Her rummaging in the kitchen was a background noise I was all too familiar with, it was as much part of Christmas as the presents, or the films we would watch every year.
She called us to the table. I was excited, ready to enjoy the food and company. I made an effort to chat with my stepdad, something that wouldn't come easily to me, and put some smoked salmon and toast on my plate. It was good, until suddenly, all at once, it wasn't.
My ears started ringing and I couldn't breath properly. Something had a grip on my intenstines and was twisting them. I thought I had to be sick. Everything felt strange, as if this family wasn't my family, and it wasn't really Christmas, just a weird dream that looked so much like reality it had me fooled for a bit. I was still holding my fork, but somehow it wasn't me. *I* put it down.
"Is everything alright?" my boyfriend asked. I nodded. "I think I just need to lie down for a moment."
Now - at least fifteen Christmasses and a lot of therapy sessions later - I wouldn't have imagined getting trapped in the same state again. My body went on full autopilot, chewing on some chicken breast I didn't really taste anymore. Time became viscous. Loud ringing muddled the animated dinner conversations. My husband laughed at some stupid joke that was told.
"Get it?" His elbow bumped mine, almost knocking the cutlery out of my hand. "Emily is so funny."
I glanced at the woman that was supposed to be Emily. She had our mother's nose, for sure, and my stepfather's hair. Nobody seemed to notice that anything was off, eating away at the abundancy of food spread out in front of them. In contrast to the first time I experienced this - something definitely was wrong.
I was sure Emily didn't exist.
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My little toy cars zoomed around the room -- they had been a present for my fifth birthday party. Everyone was out meandering around the rest of the house, but my room; my room was for me and Harry only. Harry looks just like me, you know. We aren't twins, but I like to think that we are. Speaking of Harry, here he is!
"Hi, Harry!"
"Hi, Mike!"
"Today was my birthday! Wanna play with my new cars?"
"Really? Cool, it was mine, too! Sure, let's play!"
"Happy birthday, Harry." I remembered to say as I pulled out another set of cars for Harry. For some reason, he never used any remotes, and he wouldn't let me turn on the TV. He said that they would break. Maybe he won't do that this time -- Oh, no, he did.
I frantically glanced at the door, hoping Mommy and Daddy didn't hear him shriek. When Mommy and Daddy come, Harry goes away.
"No electronics!!!" Harry shrieked. He slowly relaxed, and pushed some cars around by hand. We played with our cars for a while, and then Harry paused and listened for a moment.
"Hey, I think I hear Mommy calling you. You should go see what she needs." He quietly told me.
"Ok, Harry! Thanks. Can we play cars again next time we get a chance?"
"Yeah, Mike. Bye."
"Bye-bye!" I crossed the doorway to go see Mommy. Mommy and Daddy always say I'm something called an 'only child', but that's not right. Harry is my brother, Mommy and Daddy just don't know him.
I never saw him give my back a feral grin as he melted back into my shadow.
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[WP] Sometime between 13 and 17, every child is summoned to another world as a hero to save it from evil. Except you. You've never been summoned. But as you tell your daughter and her friends to quiet down their slumber party antics, a summoning circle opens and engulfs everyone. Including you.
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Cutting the onions made his eyes sting, but it was well worth it. Guacamole was a necessary addition, and the perfect taco-Friday could not do without. Nick finished cutting and faced away while carefully wiping his eyes with the back of his hands, washed his hands, and then poured the freshly cut onions into a bowl. On the bench were other smaller bowls of already chopped tomatoes and cucumbers, corn, salad, beans and pineapple. Something to like for everyone.
From the living room, small voices rung out over the sound of video games being played. A young girl shouted victoriously while a few other kids made mixed sounds of laughter and grumbles. His daughter, Emily, had a sleepover this weekend, and a group of her friends had been invited for a sleepover during the yearly Heroic Remembrance Day. Every other friend, colleague, Dick and Harry were at the late-night festivals. All but Nick Mason. Nick felt his eyes sting again and wondered if perhaps he hadn’t been careful enough wiping his eyes.
“Dad!” Emily came shouting as she approached the kitchen. “George doesn't want to share the controller!” She crossed her arms the way her mom would do whenever she was being serious. It made her look sweet and precocious.
“Really now?” Nick replied, trying to hide a chuckle. Her only response was a silent gaze, and with a somewhat exaggerated tugging on one eyebrow. She had learned that from her mother too.
“Well, fine, let’s see what we have here”. He nodded, making a serious expression, and followed Emily into the living room.
There, five other kids around the age of fourteen were gathered around the television, playing some cartoon-like racing game. One of the kids looked considerably guilty. They had all obviously heard the conversation from the kitchen.
“I… I didn’t mean anything by it, Mr. Mason.” George’s face went a little pale. “We’re all just playing together.”
Usually, Nick would spend a few minutes talking about the importance of sharing, or comradeship, or whatever. But he didn’t have it in him to give any parental lectures right now. Not on a day like this.
“I just want to make sure you’re all having fun together." Nick made a wave of his hand towards the television screen, not really looking at the blinking text or bright colors. "It’s just a game, after all!"
“Why aren’t you having fun with the other grown-ups, Mr. Mason?” The question came as if out of nowhere. Like lightning from blue sky, or an assassin’s arrow flying from behind bushes and hitting its mark. Nick turned and looked at Vanessa, a dark-haired girl, same class as Emily, who looked at him with an inquiring curiosity.
It must’ve taken some time before Nick came to, as one of the other kids – a young boy with curly blond hair and big nose named Bran – answered the question for him. “It’s ‘cause Nick Mason isn’t a hero.”
It came out so matter-of-factly. Like a sentence that had been repeated so many times, that it became as true as ‘sun is warm’ and ‘snow is cold’. Most adults knew about it, but were considerate enough to avoid the topic, or to at least name it the ‘you-know-what’. Bran wasn’t the first to think it, but he was among the few who said it out loud. Kids weren’t always so sensitive with the ruthless truths.
“Seriously? He’s being nice making tacos for us, and you say that?” Emily put her arms on her hips making a scorn look at Bran.
“That’s not what the heroes do!” Bran objected. “They save worlds from evils. Everyone else have done it! Just not – “
“You’re in our house now! Be nice!” Emily pointed at Bran, and then the other children joined in.
“Mrs. Dorson fought off five dragons, all by herself!”
“My aunt said that she could fly, and that she – “
“ – and then they made it out right in the nick of time and – “
“ – bright light and loud drums coming from everywhere – “
“ – isn’t a hero.”
“You’re right!” Nick heard his own voice echo out from the living room walls, and the room grew eerily quiet. The only sound left was the computer-generated music coming from the television, which was almost comically cheerful by comparison. Nick realized that he had shouted, which wasn’t what he had intended.
The frustration had been building up for the past few days. His colleagues and been talking about the big day coming up, his friends making plans to meet and discuss their heroic adventures, all awkwardly avoiding the topic whenever Nick showed his face. Even his own wife had avoided the topic entirely, which had made it even more painful. Now, he had just now let that frustration all out, and not to the crowd that deserved it the most.
The somewhat fear-stricken children were looking at each other, not sure who would be brave enough to break the silence.
“Listen…” Nick sighed and sat down on a leg rest trying a smile. “You’re right. I’m not a hero. I’m not like your parents, or your grandparents, aunt, uncle or your neighbors. I’ve never fought dragons, negotiated peace between world leaders, found the last ingredient of a cure, or done any of those things.” He took a deep breath as he swallowed a lump in his throat and felt the sting leave his eyes. “I have never been summoned.”
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For as long as humanity had existed, we were fearsome warriors whoose strength and cruelty knew no bounds.
We knew a million and one ways to rupture a spine or gouge an eye ball and a billion other ways to kill our enemy.
This made the elder gods afraid and they sent on us on dangerous quests far, far away to keep us occupy with endless war, lest we turn our guns on them.
No one knows why or how, but as soon as you turn 13-17, you would be whisked away on one magical night to save a far away land from evil.
And you'll wake up thinking the blood and flesh you spilt was all but a totally rocking prebuscent dream.
At least, that's how It should have worked.
But when I turned 17 in 2000, I was never whisked away.
I grew up feeling with a distinctive lack of being left outside, as other kids talked about their countless adventures in the realms beyond.
I eventually moved on and by 2006, I had a baby girl, Isra (the first person with a non-edwardian name in my family!), with my beautiful wife.
And now, as I am writing this 13 years later, my daughter has reached the age for her adventure.
It was 23rd December 2019 when my daughter had her pre-christmas slumber party with her friends in the attic.
I had just came home from a tired day working at Fort Benning, where I try to make my own mystical adventures by training with the US military.
Isra was up there laughing loudly with her pals past 10, as I tried to go to sleep.
11 ticked and she's still laughing.
12, still no dice.
It was 1.30 in the morning when I had enough.
I stomped up to the attic intending to scold her when before I could open my mouth, a serene voice sounded:
"Good, they are all gathered."
"Let us begin."
And a portal opened up and swooped us away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is It for now, but I'll probably write a part 2 later if this is recieved well.
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[WP] Sometime between 13 and 17, every child is summoned to another world as a hero to save it from evil. Except you. You've never been summoned. But as you tell your daughter and her friends to quiet down their slumber party antics, a summoning circle opens and engulfs everyone. Including you.
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Twenty-five years. It's been twenty-five years since I gave up all hope of seeing the other world. It had only started fifty years ago, but it had already become a rite of passage. One I'd never experienced. My friends at the time described it as a fantasy world of dragons and sorcery, where wonder and adventure were around every corner. They weren't wrong, but they lied, they weren't really my friends. I know that now. I've seen it. I'd always thought it was strange that no one prepared their children better for the summoning. Now, I know why. And they'll kill me to keep it quiet.
After college, I married my high school sweetheart, Jessica, and five years later, we conceived a child. It was a pregnancy Jess wouldn't survive. I watched her waste away, my heart, breaking the entire time, but she wouldn't give up. She made me promise to raise our daughter strong and prepare her for the Trials. In hindsight, it was an odd request — something I should have questioned. I didn't, and I don't think she'd have told me even if I'd asked. I don't think she could have.
No one ever revealed any specifics about the world they were summoned to but always reported that they received gifts and training when they got there, some of which they held on to. Magic, items of power, enhanced abilities, everyone came back with a small measure of the power they reported having in that other world. The density of mana, the foundation of magic, is lower in this world than it is in the other.
Jess knew she wouldn't see our daughter grow up, and she wanted her prepared for something. I didn't question it. I just promised. What else could I do? Scout was born in a grave atmosphere. The doctors kept Jess alive as long as they could, but her heart gave out before her daughter's first full-throated cry. The next few weeks were difficult. I was a new father and a new widower. I beat myself up over and over, and the only thing keeping me from tipping over the edge was my promise to Jess. I would raise our little girl to be a survivor. I started learning everything I could so that I could pass it on to her before she came of age. Survival skills, weapon, and combat training, anything I could think of to make her stronger I learned. I had no idea what she was going to be walking into, so I taught her everything I knew, and we learned new things together when needed.
Thinking back, I was probably a bit obsessed, but Scout never complained about it. I still made sure she had plenty of socialization, and she breezed through her classwork. Before I knew it, she was celebrating her thirteenth birthday. Training didn't stop. I couldn't afford for her to get rusty. Some of her friends even started joining us in our preparation. Those three: Sara, Jocelyn (Joci), and Erica, were there for Scout's fifteenth birthday, the night when the world went sideways on us all. If you've never seen a pillow fight between four pubescent girls with multiple black belts between them, I don't think I can do justice to the carnage they can dish out. It was an odd proud papa moment for me and sad demise of several pillows. Eventually, I had to put a stop to it, though. "Alright," I called out, clapping my hands together. "I think that's enough weapons of fluff destruction for one evening. You girls need to call it a night. We have a big day tomorrow."
""""Awww,"""" they bemoaned.
"Come on. It's one in the morning and-" I stopped as the hair on the back of my neck shot up, and everyone fell silent. It started as just a feeling, but the glow was quick to follow. Red lines seemed to burn themselves into the very air forming an intricate arcane circle. I stepped further into the room and gestured the girls into a circle. "Alright, everyone, hold hands. We don't know what's going to happen once the circle finishes, but maybe we can stick together if we hang on."
To be honest, I wasn't even sure I would be able to tag along on this trip, but I'd heard stories of younger kids being dragged along with older siblings accidentally. If I was lucky, I could help keep them safe. It was a terrifying risk, but if I could increase their chances, even one percent, I would. Not all kids made it back. I'd be damned if my daughter or her friends would be one of those statistics. The glow increased quickly to blinding levels of brightness. I felt the world shift and then nothing.
That was where the fantasy ended, and the horror began. The feeling of warmth surrounded me like floating in a bath of warm water. It was a relaxing feeling. One I wanted to continue, but at the edge of consciousness, it felt wrong. My fingers moved through a viscous fluid, and it was then I noticed the pressure. Not against my body, but something intangible like something was pressing against my soul. I willed my eyes open.
In the dimly lit room, the first thing I saw was pure nightmare fuel. A creature, wrinkled and gray with a tentacle filled maw stretched open above me. It had no eyes, but two large openings just above the maw gave the impression of a nose. It was otherwise humanoid with a black metal collar around its neck. It was this collar that I grabbed and pulled. I yanked myself up, pulling the creature's head down into the thick aloe-like gel I'd been resting in. It struggled and flailed, so I tightened my grip. I felt a pop, and the creature went still. It was a lot more fragile than I thought it would be. It was then I noticed that pressure I'd felt before had vanished. I had a bad feeling about this.
I looked around the room. There were ten pods like the one I was in. They appeared to be organic like they were grown right out of the floor and walls. The pale green light was emanating from a moss that clung to walls and ceiling. There was a black metal chain connected to the center of the floor to the ankles of the creature whose neck I'd broken. I was getting a bad feeling at this point.
I stepped out of the pod. I was still wearing my t-shirt and lounge pants, which made me feel better oddly enough. Strangely, I wasn't wet at all despite the gel. I stepped over to the pod closest to me and found another person inside. I didn't recognize them, but I reached down and pulled them up. "Hey, wake up, kid," I said, slapping his cheek. "Come on. Snap out of it."
I pulled his eyelids back, and he stared blankly ahead. I checked the pulse, and it was still there. So, he wasn't dead. The lights were on, but no one was home. I felt the panic building inside. I dropped the kid back into the pod and started checking the others. On the opposite wall of the room was what looked like a doorway. Facing that door, everyone to the right of me was like the first kid, catatonic. It's horrible to say, but I was thankful that none of them were any of the girls. I was hoping that the creature had started on that side of the door and moved around coming to me first. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw pulled scout up and out of the gel, and she sucked in a breath.
"Sweetheart. Calm down. It's me," I whispered, holding her shoulders.
She gasped, looking around in a panic, her eyes eventually settling on me. Confusion abating, her breathing slowed. "Dad?"
"Yeah, it's me."
"What's going on? Where are we?"
" Keep your voice down. I don't have the answers yet," I said. "but I don't think it's the magical world everyone described. Come on. Let's check on the other girls." A few minutes later, the girls were awake and scared. I couldn't blame them. I was scared shitless, but we'd been preparing for this for damn near fifteen years. We hit our first problem at the door. It didn't open from the inside. We had to wait for someone to open the door from the other side. Unarmed and in our pj's wasn't exactly ideal for an ambush. Scout had the same thought and started reaching into the pockets of the people in the other pods looking for anything that could be a weapon. She got lucky when one of them had a folding knife.
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For as long as humanity had existed, we were fearsome warriors whoose strength and cruelty knew no bounds.
We knew a million and one ways to rupture a spine or gouge an eye ball and a billion other ways to kill our enemy.
This made the elder gods afraid and they sent on us on dangerous quests far, far away to keep us occupy with endless war, lest we turn our guns on them.
No one knows why or how, but as soon as you turn 13-17, you would be whisked away on one magical night to save a far away land from evil.
And you'll wake up thinking the blood and flesh you spilt was all but a totally rocking prebuscent dream.
At least, that's how It should have worked.
But when I turned 17 in 2000, I was never whisked away.
I grew up feeling with a distinctive lack of being left outside, as other kids talked about their countless adventures in the realms beyond.
I eventually moved on and by 2006, I had a baby girl, Isra (the first person with a non-edwardian name in my family!), with my beautiful wife.
And now, as I am writing this 13 years later, my daughter has reached the age for her adventure.
It was 23rd December 2019 when my daughter had her pre-christmas slumber party with her friends in the attic.
I had just came home from a tired day working at Fort Benning, where I try to make my own mystical adventures by training with the US military.
Isra was up there laughing loudly with her pals past 10, as I tried to go to sleep.
11 ticked and she's still laughing.
12, still no dice.
It was 1.30 in the morning when I had enough.
I stomped up to the attic intending to scold her when before I could open my mouth, a serene voice sounded:
"Good, they are all gathered."
"Let us begin."
And a portal opened up and swooped us away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is It for now, but I'll probably write a part 2 later if this is recieved well.
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[WP] Sometime between 13 and 17, every child is summoned to another world as a hero to save it from evil. Except you. You've never been summoned. But as you tell your daughter and her friends to quiet down their slumber party antics, a summoning circle opens and engulfs everyone. Including you.
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Winston adjusted his glasses, trying to focus on the newspaper he was reading. As he did this, one of his wife’s cats jumped up on the couch beside him and nestled into his arm, purring.
“Why hello, Birdie!” he greeted the cat, patting her and scratching her chin.
“That’s not Birdie,” said a voice behind Winston, “that’s Barbara.”
Winston turned around to see his wife, Judy, her hands on her hips, clearly offended by his mix-up. “Well,” Winston retorted, “how was I suppose to know? They’re both fluffy, gray tabbies! Do you really expect me to be able to tell them apart?”
Judy huffed, refusing to respond to his question. Instead, she picked up Barbara and sashayed out of the room, heading towards the kitchen to start prepping dinner.
Which was totally fine by Winston, as he now had the peace and quiet he’d wanted to finish his reading.
At least, he thought he had peace and quiet. Right as he picked up the paper, he felt a deep, pulsing sensation in his chest, rattling his whole body with its sound. He groaned, realizing exactly what it was and where it had come from.
His daughter, Lucy, was having a sleepover upstairs, which meant she probably had multiple forms of (very loud) entertainment with her. It must be some sort of music, he reckoned, and probably not a good kind.
Furious, he stormed up the stairs to Lucy’s room. He’d told her not to do this a thousand times! It was almost as if... *gasp*... she hadn’t listened! Oh, the horror! Who could imagine a teenage girl doing such a terrible thing to her father? It was unspeakable!
Winston reached Lucy’s door and pounded on it, but did not receive a response. So he barged in anyway, as all good parents do.
“What the hell is going on in here?” he snarled, glaring at Lucy.
“N-nothing,” she stammered, wringing her hands nervously. “W-we’re just listening to this one album Kathy likes, that’s all!”
“Oh, really?” Winston replied. “Is that so?” he stomped further into the room, stopping in front of the girl named Kathy. “What kind of an album is it?”
“Uhh...” Kathy mumbled, “a rap album?”
“Aha!” Winston yelled. “Just as I thought!” He snatched the phone out of her hand and put it in his pocket. “If you’re going to listen to music, you should at least listen to something with meaning, not this ‘rapper’ garbage. Here, hold on a minute... I’ll go get my record player and show you all what REAL music is.” He turned to leave the room but did not get very far, as a hole soon opened up beneath him and swallowed him up.
—————
Winston closed his eyes and steadied his breathing, trying not to scream, although the screams came out anyway. He felt his body shift and change as he fell, pulling out in all directions before snapping back like a taut rubber band. He was squished and stretched, poked and prodded by all sorts of unseen monsters before finally landing face-down in what felt like a very large puddle of mud.
Somebody walked over to him and crouched down by his head, tapping him on the shoulder. “Dad?” they asked him. “Is that you?”
Winston looked up. “Lucy! Oh my god, Lucy, you’re here, too!” He stood up and looked around him. “Jesus, you’re all here, aren’t you?” His eyes came to rest on one of Lucy’s friends, a friend he’d never seen before and most definitely did not want near his daughter.
“Is that...” he half-growled, “is that a BOY!?”
“Yeah,” Lucy conceded. “That’s Alejandro. He just moved here from Argentina and we thought we’d invite him over to be nice.”
“Hi, Mr. Lawrence!” Alejandro smiled. “I was hiding in the closet!”
“Oh, how lovely,” Winston quipped back.
He opened his mouth to say more, but was quickly interrupted by a flash of blinding, white light from the heavens, which assembled itself into a ball and crashed to the ground in front of them. When the dust finally cleared, he saw what looked to be a little old lady in a Victorian-era dress and a blue-feathered hat. “Hello, children!” she greeted them, waddling toward Winston and his company. “What a lovely bunch of young ladies- and men- you are! Now, tell me...”
“WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?” Winston bellowed at the lady.
“Oh dear,” she replied. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“NONE OF US SHOULD BE HERE!” Winston continued. “YOU CAN’T JUST KIDNAP AN ENTIRE SLEEPOVER OF INNOCENT CHILDREN AND EXPECT ME, THEIR GUARDIAN, TO BE OKAY WITH IT!”
“No, I mean you REALLY shouldn’t be here. You’re much too old- this mission is meant for teenagers.”
“Mission? Whaddaya mean ‘mission?’”
“Don’t you remember?” The old lady questioned. “Why, you went on this same exact mission yourself when you were their age. You’re supposed to help save us from the Shadowbrook Princes.”
“Oh my god,” Lucy chimed in. “You mean THAT mission! I think Cheryl Larson just got back from it yesterday! She would NOT shut up about how cool it was.”
“Holy sh*t, you’re right!” Kathy added. “If what she said is true, this is gonna be so much fun!” The girls began to talk among themselves, giggling.
The old lady smiled at them. “It’s so nice to have kids be excited about this for once. Usually they’re terrified.”
“So you mean all this bullsh*t is real?” Winston confronted her once more. “I... I used to hear about this quest in high school, but I thought it was all just a prank. Everyone would talk about this place and how they got summoned here... yet no one ever summoned me. So I guess I kind of forgot about it and moved on with my life.”
The old lady appeared puzzled. “Huh,” she thought aloud. “That’s strange... everyone’s supposed to come here during their adolescence. I don’t know how we skipped over you. Or how you finally came to us today.”
“Honestly, I don’t mind coming here late at all.” Winston assured her. “As long as I can go home and finish reading today’s paper, if that’s not too much to ask.”
“I’m afraid it might just be,” the old lady sighed. “No one’s allowed to return until they’ve finished the job. You included.” She turned towards Lucy and her friends. “Oh, and that reminds me... you’re more than overdue to meet the king and queen of Sarisonia. Come now, all of you!”
“What about me?” Winston shouted. “What am I supposed to do, stand here for the rest of the day?”
“Oh no, you’re coming, too.”
“I thought I was too old!” Winston protested. “I’m fifty-five, and this mission is meant for people a quarter of my age.”
“You do have a point,” the old lady admitted.
Winston sighed in relief, glad he didn’t have to partake in the journey. That was, until the lady pulled out a magic wand, aimed it at him and fired, sending him flying backwards into some bushes.
“There, you’re fifteen now. Problem solved.”
“WHAT?”
“You heard me!”
Horrified, Winston stood up and looked down at his body, realizing she was right. He’d become much skinnier, with awkward, lanky limbs and freckles.
“Don’t worry, I’ll change you back when you’re done. I promise,” The old lady swore.
“B-but...”
“The more you talk, the longer you’re stuck like this.”
Winston sighed, knowing there was no way he could win this argument. He hung his head, defeated, and followed the old lady down off the cliff they were standing on to lower ground. The others joined him, some of them snickering at his change in appearance.
“Wow,” Alejandro gasped, “you have really long hair, Mr. Lawrence!”
“Shut up!” Winston snapped, although he secretly agreed. “Everyone, just... just leave me alone!” He slowed his walking to fall behind the crowd.
The castle was just below the horizon and they had a very long way to go. Winston felt homesick already, having been thrown into this strange world, in this strange body, without knowing when, or if, he’d return. He tried once again to steady his breathing, hoping to take his mind off his troubles. Right now, his goal was to save the kingdom of Sarisonia, and nothing more.
He could worry about the rest when he was done.
—————
Thanks for reading! I may add a part two in the morning (it’s quite late where I live) if I feel willing, so stay tuned!
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My favourite movie was on.One where no one was playing as the hero.Just a bunch of powerful beings, disregarding the responsibility that some thought would come with it. All they did was protect themselves, and whoever was fortunate enough to hold their trust and love.Otherwise they just did whatever the hell they wanted.The TV’s hues lit up the dark room, it’s lights illuminating the interior, along with my wife and me cuddled up beside each-other. The rain pounded on the windows, streaks of lightning flashing behind the curtains, failing to block out the light.
All I could think of was that this is what a home should feel like;the love of you’re life cuddled up beside you, the warmth from her shielding you from the cold world outside, and the faint giggles drifting from up the stairs.She was asleep, as I took in her features, her long curly blonde hair tickling my nose as her eyelids hid the sparkling emerald that I could forever get lost into. A small smile graced her face, and I also beamed down at her, for managing a thing I thought was impossible, creating someone I loved just as much as her. Rose,my daughter.
Rose should’ve been in bed asleep, getting ready for her ballet lessons that were taking place early tomorrow. Yet instead after falling myself a victim of her pout and pleading, her two best friends were also over, having a sleepover at the house. As far as friends went, I was glad Rose picked ones that were as intelligent as her, something my wife loved to tell me came only from her,as I would grumble back playfully. But even then, it was getting close to 12am, and I didn’t want Rose putting up a fuss being waked up at 6am to go drop her friends off and to then travel out 4 hours, to go to the best dancing academy in the country.Rose was definitely a prodigy I thought, and I was glad she had something she could pour her passion into, something which my parents never thought was necessarily.
I nudged Emily gently and her eyes slowly fluttered open,allowing me to peak into the beautiful green abyss.
“Babe” I said, “its getting close to midnight, I think its time to tell the girls to go to bed, you know how Rose is in the mornings”.
“Mmm, but you’re so comfy, I don’t want my teddy bear to leave me alone in the cold.” She softly replied closing her eyes again.I chuckled.”Oh but stuffed animals don’t do half the things I love to do to you” I whispered in her ear prompting a blush to rise up slowly from her neck. *It will never got old to me,getting a rise out of my wife* I thought to myself as I leaned in to peck her soft plump lips.
A piercing scream rang out through the air, as loud as the clap of thunder that followed, and I would’ve thought it was the TV for a second,if it wasn’t for the thud that echoed from upstairs. At one look at each other, we both separated and bolted up the stairs fearing the worst. *Was it time maybe*? It had never happened to me but my wife always taunted me with her tales of grandeur. As I busted open the bedroom door I was blinded for a second, my eyes having to get accustomed to the sudden light, my pupils adjusting themselves to accommodate for the difference. The first thing I took in was Rose hiding in the corner along with one of her friends,Juliet, curled up beside each other looking across the room, as Talia snickered to herself, still also staying as far away from the other side of the room as she could. “What happened” I said looking around the room not noticing anything out of the ordinary, with Emily right behind me as I shielded her slightly from what ever could’ve been the reason for the screaming.
“Its just a spider” Talia laughed as she pointed to the picture that hung on the wall, a small spider crawling along slowly, enjoying the dry atmosphere instead of the harsh wet one that was outside. I sighed, wiping an imaginary sweat drop from my forehead and Emily giggled peering into the room.
“Girls don’t scare us like that, I was thinking that one of you was hurt or something” I said sternly looking at Rose, my mask of disappointment breaking slightly as a smile tugged upon my lips. “But daddy”Rose said stretching the word, “there’s a monster in the room, and its up to you to kill it and save the damsels in distress”. “Thats enough fantasy movies for you” I replied promoting a whine in response as I grabbed a piece of paper and a tissue from within the room, moving over to fight the beast that dared to mock my daughter.
After picking up the spider, showing it my distaste for disturbing the peace, and walking downstairs to throw it outside the front door, I went to turn off the TV deciding that it was time for me to also go to bed,knowing that Rose got her hatred for the mornings from me. As I walked into the bedroom and made up the blankets, Emily told the girls that it was time to go to bed before coming into our room and hopping into the bed ruining the great effort I put into making the sheets immaculate. I quickly reached over and started tickling her for her disobedience before we ended up making love and drifting off into the night.The last thought I had was that everything was perfect. Oh how far off I really was.
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[WP] Sometime between 13 and 17, every child is summoned to another world as a hero to save it from evil. Except you. You've never been summoned. But as you tell your daughter and her friends to quiet down their slumber party antics, a summoning circle opens and engulfs everyone. Including you.
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"And then with my powerful Axe i'll take down that orc in one blow!""Sure" I thought within myself "As if you had the strenght, my lil Charlotte".I heard the others laugh and chatter. My daughter, my beloved child, the light of my eyes, the best thing that ever happened in my life, Charlotte, had invited three friends and they were having a pijama party, but the pitch had become too high for me to go to sleep, so i was going to "ask" to lower their voices. I entered her room. Bettie and Whitney were laughing on the other bed, while Jade was immersed in the act of casting a spell. My child was swinging a broomstick, the "axe", probably.
"So so so" they are looked at me "we are quite loud, aren't we?"
"But Daaad! We are training. We are preparing battle plans!"
"I see i see. Well lower your voices or you won't be able to go to the battlefield, because If i get interrupted another time",
i raised a bit my voice, and i mean, it was a difficult case the one i was working on and the trial was coming soon, so i had to finish my preparations, being a lawyer and a father was not easy, so i proceeded, giving myself a tone of authority,
"You will all go to sleep".
I exited the room, closing the door and listening to their quiet, excited whispering.
"Preparations, uh? Sure it's already age, someday they'll probably go there." I sighed "I never went there, and, GOD, i desired it so badly. Everyone went there, everyone talked about their travel. The Travel.. While me.." My flow of thought was interrupted by an excited scream. I slammed the door open"Ok, i told you, as i wa--" Words stopped while i gasped at the sight of Golden ring surrounding the girls. There was no floor and i found myself walking on a black void, fillled with dark red dots. Golden symbols projected on the walls. It was it… the Call, the beginning of the Travel. We fell.
i don't know for how much time. At first i got scared, but after some time , minutes? Hours? i don't know, had passed i started thinking and relaxing. "Does this count as kidnapping?"
In the meantime the four girls were all floating around. Then the floor reached us.
Well for me it was mud, as i slapped my face into a dirty pool of brown water. The four girls landed with grace on a stone. There was a blue fire there. At their appearence it glowed brightly, taking the shape of an old woman, her white, long hair, her pointy ears, the tatoos all over the face, the staf in her hand. An elf.. a wizard? Maybe a druid or a shaman of some sort. Whatever.
"Fellow companions!" She shouted all aorund "Our saviours have arrived!"From the forest many creatures came ahead, they looked a bit scared, but all filled with hope. Dwarves, men, fairies, fauns and many other magical creatures gathered aroundmy child and her friends. It seems they didn't notice me, in the dark, half in the mud.
The girls and the old woman were talking, but i couldn't hear well.
"Our saviors, Jade, Charlotte, Whitney and Bettie!" The woman presented them.
"As we know, Sitri, the Devil, lord of darkness, famine and consumption has started its invasion. We lost friends, houses, we lost our beloved ones. If not stopped his army will slaughter the remainings of us, destroy our forests and cities. Their empire will grow larger and larger, enslaving everyone under its domain. But this can be avoided, because They are here. Our heroines will protect our world thanks to the blessing of the elder gods. And because of that i call their intervention to grant them powers and tools for their miss- "
"Can i be in too?" I shouted coming out of the darkness, filled with excitement, with hope.
Everyone looked at me, with doubt, suspect and fear.
"Who are you!? Are you a spy of Sitri?"
"Nono! He is my dad" said Charlotte
"Yes i, i am Connor, Connor Berkley, i've got dragged in together with the children"
The elder druid closed her eyes, reflecting.
"Very well. If the gods let this man come here, then it means they have plans for him too. Come Connor Berkley, stand and reach our heroines."
i aproached a bit excited, a bit worried.
"Now let the blessing of the gods descend upon us"The woman slammed her staff on the stone and a wind started to diffuse from that point. Clouds opened and in a golden light an angelic creature descended slowly.
"Dear Whitney" it talked with the most beautiful voice i''ve ever heard "The gift you will receive is the life bow. This living wooden bow grows its own arrows and if you hit an ally with them you will restore their wounds" "Wait wounds?" i thought to myself. The angel seemed to look towards me, but i really couldn''t tell, because the light coming from it made it almopst impossible to notice its expression. Anyway beetween the hands of the creature a light brown seed sprouted in a bow with contorted decorations and leaves. The girl took it with pride and a big smile.
"For you, Jade, the book of knowledge. Once you'll touch it you will be able to understand many mechanisms of magic and you'll be able to predict any spell that someone you can see is about to use Other than this you'll gain the ability to control your own magical power" The angel touched with the point of its figner the forehead of the girl, who glowed of bright light for a moment. In her hands a book appeared , its endless pages moving one after the other one.
"Charlotte, my dear" "Oh that is my child!" And again it looked like the creature turned towards me, as if my thoughts were heard. "For you the Demon's bane. This axe is powerful and will purify any evil creature it kills. Other than this you will be bestowed with strenght and speed far above mortal limits"
And this enormous black axe, with its long white, blue glowing handle was in the hands of Charlotte. She looked enthusiastic and fierce. "Well i suppose she has the strenght" i laughed internally "but more importantly.. what is this story of killing evil creatures. My daughter, an assassin? i won't let-"
"You will let it happen. Connor Berkley. Now be quiet and wait your turn" The angelic voice talked only in my head, since anyone of the others acted as if anything had happened.
"For you, Betty the ability to teleport and bring your companions with you, but no further than 30 meters. As well the cape of many forms that will let you disguise as everyone you have met, but also to blend into darkness and to camouflage everywhere. This dagger will glow if you are noticed and it's blade causes unbereable pain to demons, devils and other fiendish creatures."
"And finally, Connor Berkley, we come to you. It is time you fulfill your destiny as well." I could not but notice that the tone was a bit less serious or at least less Majestic. "This glove will make everyone you touch tell the truth. They will answer truthfully to your questions."
"Is it all here?"
"Nono, here, receive Understanding" As i opened my hands a pile of really heavy books stacked. i observed them: "Demon rights: tome one.", "Owning a soul, rules and exceptions", "moral implications of being evil". I looked at the angel "You see, we divine creatures, but devils as well, are reallly, really reeaaaally lawful"
I understood slowly. Then i grinned. "Very well, i asked to the crowd, do we have any witnesses of the last invasion of these demons? Did someone lose something? It's showtime"
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Together?
\_\_
He never said it to me but I heard him and mom talking about her hero journey. Me and Macy took one of the kits to create the portal in Miss Gulf's closet. It was going to be a surprise on his birthday but Lizzy, that idiot, heard about it and had it behind her back during monopoly. She knew it was supposed to be a surprise and still taunted me with it almost the whole game. She thought it was hilarious before she started losing all her properties.
She got boardwalk first, which if you play monopoly competitively, is as superficially beneficial as it gets -- but she was psyched. Her haughty attitude let us five slowly take back control of the board, leaving her with just a royal blue piece of paper. I was the one who eventually bankrupted her with my hotel'd marvin gardens. It was quite a celebration until she whipped out the kit and started cranking.
"STOP LIZZY WAIT."
It was too late though. The jack had erupted and as my dad looked up from his phone, he saw us one by one evaporate into the box giving him just enough time to widen his eyes before caboosing.
Phasing back up, we awoke standing in a circle near the semi-forested edge of what looked like a big city. There were soldiers everywhere. We had nothing except our bare hands and Lizzy's boardwalk card. There was something wrong with my Dad, his hand was gripping his chest and was focused on the dirt.
"Dad?"
He scraped an inhaling wheeze but didn't raise his head enough to look at me before dropping to his knees and faceplanting.
"DAD!?"
"Help her."
We flipped him over and his eyes were rolled back in his head and his tongue was actually stuck to his left nostril. Lizzy went to pull it out but I pounced.
"THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT," I raved.
We tumbled a ways away and were in the midst of a serious bout of hair-pulling and screeching when the rest of the group, up near my dad started running down to where we were. Macy stayed the longest and I watched her skin fry. One by one they were vaporized by what looked like some sort of heat-weapon. I got up and dashed behind a tree but Lizzy didn't have enough time, she was boiled just a few feet from me and the rotting flesh tickled my gag reflex. I was hyperventilating. Did they see me? There was only one way out, I had to wait.
Around two minutes after the last blast, I peeked out and saw the hovering suited soldiers examining my dad. My eyes welled. They can't do this, I won't let them. I bolted at them howling the fiercest battle cry my bulging tears could produce with a set of flailing arms. I stared the barrels directly down the muzzle and watched the lazer engulf my vision.
I blinked.
I was back in the living room with the monopoly board. Park place hadn't been bought. I reached down for the kit and closed it. All it said was congratulations.
|
|
[WP] Sometime between 13 and 17, every child is summoned to another world as a hero to save it from evil. Except you. You've never been summoned. But as you tell your daughter and her friends to quiet down their slumber party antics, a summoning circle opens and engulfs everyone. Including you.
|
It was the annual Winter break sleepover and I had to make this last story-time count. Suze just turned thirteen and she was already bemoaning her goofy dad reading her and her friends stories, but hey, it was a tradition: I’ve been regaling her and her friends with stories at the Winter break sleepover since she was in kindergarten. And I had a feeling this was the last year she’d let me do it. So I went all out.
When the tradition first began, I quickly found that I loved reading classic fantasy stories to them, I was quite taken with the distinctly lyrical prose and the challenge of voicing the menagerie of characters. In fact, it had blossomed into a love for all things fantasy, as well as a couple failed attempts at publishing my own books.
Goofy may have been an accurate statement as I stood before the half circle of giggling thirteen-year-olds dressed as a wizard, waiting patiently for Suze to bring out the last cups of cocoa for the group. As she returned, I brought out my phone and began playing my carefully curated playlist from my fully charged Bluetooth speaker. I was prepared.
As the music built, I positioned myself in the middle of the group, striking my best and most meticulously practiced wizard pose: I held my staff aloft in my right hand, and in my left, an overly thick tome I created by slapping together the manuscripts of my two failed books and the first few chapters of *The Mists of Avalon,* which I had planned to read to them.
As I began reciting my histrionic introduction, something bright and and purple flared loudly all around us. It took me a moment to register what happened - I continued my speech in my great and knowledgeable wizard persona:
“-- and *I* will serve as your guide through…” I stopped while I tried to reconcile my new surroundings. I immediately took stock of the girls, they were all present and wide-eyed, unsure of what just happened.
“...Dad?” Suze asked, a slight nervousness accompanied by tenuous wonderment.
“I’m here sweetie,” I said, as I trained my eyes on our new surroundings, allowing my eyes to adjust. We were in a small forest clearing and it was pitch dark. I looked toward the sky and saw two strangely colored moons through the sparse branches of the surrounding pines. I could feel the bitterly cold air bite at the tip of my nose. Then I heard the murmuring voices all around us.
“Welcome to our world, young heroes,” someone shouted behind me, a deep and sanguine voice that cut through the curious whispers that encircled us. “You have been called upon by the great magics, chosen by our High Mystery, to aid our kingdom in a most pressing of ventures.”
I searched over the eyes of the sleepover party; upon each girl’s face was a look of arrant vexation. Their eyes all fixed on the source of the voice behind me. I turned slowly to face the person who spoke.
“We do not beckon you heedlessly,” he continued, approaching from the treeline, torch in hand. “We are in desperate need of heroes and will aid you as best we can in your quest. I am sure you have many a question, we will--”
He stopped cold as he met my worried gaze.
“Gods,” he whispered breathlessly. “Mezlon! You’ve returned!” He dropped to his knees suddenly, bowing his head out of what appeared to be reverence. The surrounding crowd muffled a gasp and grew quiet.
“You look just as you did when you departed forty years ago,” the strange man went on. “And you have returned when we need you most… just as you promised.”
“I- uh,” I said. My mind was racing. Thinking quickly was something I struggled with. My biggest priority was keeping the girls safe. I decided in that meant playing along for the moment. “I’m afraid my mind is a bit of a fog presently… Uh, what we have just done is quite taxing on one’s mental state. Please, er- my boy, tell me precisely where I am.”
“But of course, your Excellency” he said. “You have returned to the kingdom of Hour-el.”
“Hour-el?” I asked. Sounds vaguely familiar…
“Indeed. In the kingdom of Hour-osdania,” the man added.
*Ourosdania?!* My thoughts picked up speed as I opened my tome. I flipped hurriedly past the first few chapters of *The Mists of Avalon* to find the title page of my manuscript. I held my breath, staring at the title page of my first manuscript.
*The Siege of Ourel*
The forest was silent as all my churning thoughts stopped in place. “I’ve always pronounced it ‘Oral’” I said absentmindedly.
“Ah, yes,” the strange man laughed. “You always have.”
|
Together?
\_\_
He never said it to me but I heard him and mom talking about her hero journey. Me and Macy took one of the kits to create the portal in Miss Gulf's closet. It was going to be a surprise on his birthday but Lizzy, that idiot, heard about it and had it behind her back during monopoly. She knew it was supposed to be a surprise and still taunted me with it almost the whole game. She thought it was hilarious before she started losing all her properties.
She got boardwalk first, which if you play monopoly competitively, is as superficially beneficial as it gets -- but she was psyched. Her haughty attitude let us five slowly take back control of the board, leaving her with just a royal blue piece of paper. I was the one who eventually bankrupted her with my hotel'd marvin gardens. It was quite a celebration until she whipped out the kit and started cranking.
"STOP LIZZY WAIT."
It was too late though. The jack had erupted and as my dad looked up from his phone, he saw us one by one evaporate into the box giving him just enough time to widen his eyes before caboosing.
Phasing back up, we awoke standing in a circle near the semi-forested edge of what looked like a big city. There were soldiers everywhere. We had nothing except our bare hands and Lizzy's boardwalk card. There was something wrong with my Dad, his hand was gripping his chest and was focused on the dirt.
"Dad?"
He scraped an inhaling wheeze but didn't raise his head enough to look at me before dropping to his knees and faceplanting.
"DAD!?"
"Help her."
We flipped him over and his eyes were rolled back in his head and his tongue was actually stuck to his left nostril. Lizzy went to pull it out but I pounced.
"THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT," I raved.
We tumbled a ways away and were in the midst of a serious bout of hair-pulling and screeching when the rest of the group, up near my dad started running down to where we were. Macy stayed the longest and I watched her skin fry. One by one they were vaporized by what looked like some sort of heat-weapon. I got up and dashed behind a tree but Lizzy didn't have enough time, she was boiled just a few feet from me and the rotting flesh tickled my gag reflex. I was hyperventilating. Did they see me? There was only one way out, I had to wait.
Around two minutes after the last blast, I peeked out and saw the hovering suited soldiers examining my dad. My eyes welled. They can't do this, I won't let them. I bolted at them howling the fiercest battle cry my bulging tears could produce with a set of flailing arms. I stared the barrels directly down the muzzle and watched the lazer engulf my vision.
I blinked.
I was back in the living room with the monopoly board. Park place hadn't been bought. I reached down for the kit and closed it. All it said was congratulations.
|
|
[WP] Sometime between 13 and 17, every child is summoned to another world as a hero to save it from evil. Except you. You've never been summoned. But as you tell your daughter and her friends to quiet down their slumber party antics, a summoning circle opens and engulfs everyone. Including you.
|
It was the annual Winter break sleepover and I had to make this last story-time count. Suze just turned thirteen and she was already bemoaning her goofy dad reading her and her friends stories, but hey, it was a tradition: I’ve been regaling her and her friends with stories at the Winter break sleepover since she was in kindergarten. And I had a feeling this was the last year she’d let me do it. So I went all out.
When the tradition first began, I quickly found that I loved reading classic fantasy stories to them, I was quite taken with the distinctly lyrical prose and the challenge of voicing the menagerie of characters. In fact, it had blossomed into a love for all things fantasy, as well as a couple failed attempts at publishing my own books.
Goofy may have been an accurate statement as I stood before the half circle of giggling thirteen-year-olds dressed as a wizard, waiting patiently for Suze to bring out the last cups of cocoa for the group. As she returned, I brought out my phone and began playing my carefully curated playlist from my fully charged Bluetooth speaker. I was prepared.
As the music built, I positioned myself in the middle of the group, striking my best and most meticulously practiced wizard pose: I held my staff aloft in my right hand, and in my left, an overly thick tome I created by slapping together the manuscripts of my two failed books and the first few chapters of *The Mists of Avalon,* which I had planned to read to them.
As I began reciting my histrionic introduction, something bright and and purple flared loudly all around us. It took me a moment to register what happened - I continued my speech in my great and knowledgeable wizard persona:
“-- and *I* will serve as your guide through…” I stopped while I tried to reconcile my new surroundings. I immediately took stock of the girls, they were all present and wide-eyed, unsure of what just happened.
“...Dad?” Suze asked, a slight nervousness accompanied by tenuous wonderment.
“I’m here sweetie,” I said, as I trained my eyes on our new surroundings, allowing my eyes to adjust. We were in a small forest clearing and it was pitch dark. I looked toward the sky and saw two strangely colored moons through the sparse branches of the surrounding pines. I could feel the bitterly cold air bite at the tip of my nose. Then I heard the murmuring voices all around us.
“Welcome to our world, young heroes,” someone shouted behind me, a deep and sanguine voice that cut through the curious whispers that encircled us. “You have been called upon by the great magics, chosen by our High Mystery, to aid our kingdom in a most pressing of ventures.”
I searched over the eyes of the sleepover party; upon each girl’s face was a look of arrant vexation. Their eyes all fixed on the source of the voice behind me. I turned slowly to face the person who spoke.
“We do not beckon you heedlessly,” he continued, approaching from the treeline, torch in hand. “We are in desperate need of heroes and will aid you as best we can in your quest. I am sure you have many a question, we will--”
He stopped cold as he met my worried gaze.
“Gods,” he whispered breathlessly. “Mezlon! You’ve returned!” He dropped to his knees suddenly, bowing his head out of what appeared to be reverence. The surrounding crowd muffled a gasp and grew quiet.
“You look just as you did when you departed forty years ago,” the strange man went on. “And you have returned when we need you most… just as you promised.”
“I- uh,” I said. My mind was racing. Thinking quickly was something I struggled with. My biggest priority was keeping the girls safe. I decided in that meant playing along for the moment. “I’m afraid my mind is a bit of a fog presently… Uh, what we have just done is quite taxing on one’s mental state. Please, er- my boy, tell me precisely where I am.”
“But of course, your Excellency” he said. “You have returned to the kingdom of Hour-el.”
“Hour-el?” I asked. Sounds vaguely familiar…
“Indeed. In the kingdom of Hour-osdania,” the man added.
*Ourosdania?!* My thoughts picked up speed as I opened my tome. I flipped hurriedly past the first few chapters of *The Mists of Avalon* to find the title page of my manuscript. I held my breath, staring at the title page of my first manuscript.
*The Siege of Ourel*
The forest was silent as all my churning thoughts stopped in place. “I’ve always pronounced it ‘Oral’” I said absentmindedly.
“Ah, yes,” the strange man laughed. “You always have.”
|
"And then with my powerful Axe i'll take down that orc in one blow!""Sure" I thought within myself "As if you had the strenght, my lil Charlotte".I heard the others laugh and chatter. My daughter, my beloved child, the light of my eyes, the best thing that ever happened in my life, Charlotte, had invited three friends and they were having a pijama party, but the pitch had become too high for me to go to sleep, so i was going to "ask" to lower their voices. I entered her room. Bettie and Whitney were laughing on the other bed, while Jade was immersed in the act of casting a spell. My child was swinging a broomstick, the "axe", probably.
"So so so" they are looked at me "we are quite loud, aren't we?"
"But Daaad! We are training. We are preparing battle plans!"
"I see i see. Well lower your voices or you won't be able to go to the battlefield, because If i get interrupted another time",
i raised a bit my voice, and i mean, it was a difficult case the one i was working on and the trial was coming soon, so i had to finish my preparations, being a lawyer and a father was not easy, so i proceeded, giving myself a tone of authority,
"You will all go to sleep".
I exited the room, closing the door and listening to their quiet, excited whispering.
"Preparations, uh? Sure it's already age, someday they'll probably go there." I sighed "I never went there, and, GOD, i desired it so badly. Everyone went there, everyone talked about their travel. The Travel.. While me.." My flow of thought was interrupted by an excited scream. I slammed the door open"Ok, i told you, as i wa--" Words stopped while i gasped at the sight of Golden ring surrounding the girls. There was no floor and i found myself walking on a black void, fillled with dark red dots. Golden symbols projected on the walls. It was it… the Call, the beginning of the Travel. We fell.
i don't know for how much time. At first i got scared, but after some time , minutes? Hours? i don't know, had passed i started thinking and relaxing. "Does this count as kidnapping?"
In the meantime the four girls were all floating around. Then the floor reached us.
Well for me it was mud, as i slapped my face into a dirty pool of brown water. The four girls landed with grace on a stone. There was a blue fire there. At their appearence it glowed brightly, taking the shape of an old woman, her white, long hair, her pointy ears, the tatoos all over the face, the staf in her hand. An elf.. a wizard? Maybe a druid or a shaman of some sort. Whatever.
"Fellow companions!" She shouted all aorund "Our saviours have arrived!"From the forest many creatures came ahead, they looked a bit scared, but all filled with hope. Dwarves, men, fairies, fauns and many other magical creatures gathered aroundmy child and her friends. It seems they didn't notice me, in the dark, half in the mud.
The girls and the old woman were talking, but i couldn't hear well.
"Our saviors, Jade, Charlotte, Whitney and Bettie!" The woman presented them.
"As we know, Sitri, the Devil, lord of darkness, famine and consumption has started its invasion. We lost friends, houses, we lost our beloved ones. If not stopped his army will slaughter the remainings of us, destroy our forests and cities. Their empire will grow larger and larger, enslaving everyone under its domain. But this can be avoided, because They are here. Our heroines will protect our world thanks to the blessing of the elder gods. And because of that i call their intervention to grant them powers and tools for their miss- "
"Can i be in too?" I shouted coming out of the darkness, filled with excitement, with hope.
Everyone looked at me, with doubt, suspect and fear.
"Who are you!? Are you a spy of Sitri?"
"Nono! He is my dad" said Charlotte
"Yes i, i am Connor, Connor Berkley, i've got dragged in together with the children"
The elder druid closed her eyes, reflecting.
"Very well. If the gods let this man come here, then it means they have plans for him too. Come Connor Berkley, stand and reach our heroines."
i aproached a bit excited, a bit worried.
"Now let the blessing of the gods descend upon us"The woman slammed her staff on the stone and a wind started to diffuse from that point. Clouds opened and in a golden light an angelic creature descended slowly.
"Dear Whitney" it talked with the most beautiful voice i''ve ever heard "The gift you will receive is the life bow. This living wooden bow grows its own arrows and if you hit an ally with them you will restore their wounds" "Wait wounds?" i thought to myself. The angel seemed to look towards me, but i really couldn''t tell, because the light coming from it made it almopst impossible to notice its expression. Anyway beetween the hands of the creature a light brown seed sprouted in a bow with contorted decorations and leaves. The girl took it with pride and a big smile.
"For you, Jade, the book of knowledge. Once you'll touch it you will be able to understand many mechanisms of magic and you'll be able to predict any spell that someone you can see is about to use Other than this you'll gain the ability to control your own magical power" The angel touched with the point of its figner the forehead of the girl, who glowed of bright light for a moment. In her hands a book appeared , its endless pages moving one after the other one.
"Charlotte, my dear" "Oh that is my child!" And again it looked like the creature turned towards me, as if my thoughts were heard. "For you the Demon's bane. This axe is powerful and will purify any evil creature it kills. Other than this you will be bestowed with strenght and speed far above mortal limits"
And this enormous black axe, with its long white, blue glowing handle was in the hands of Charlotte. She looked enthusiastic and fierce. "Well i suppose she has the strenght" i laughed internally "but more importantly.. what is this story of killing evil creatures. My daughter, an assassin? i won't let-"
"You will let it happen. Connor Berkley. Now be quiet and wait your turn" The angelic voice talked only in my head, since anyone of the others acted as if anything had happened.
"For you, Betty the ability to teleport and bring your companions with you, but no further than 30 meters. As well the cape of many forms that will let you disguise as everyone you have met, but also to blend into darkness and to camouflage everywhere. This dagger will glow if you are noticed and it's blade causes unbereable pain to demons, devils and other fiendish creatures."
"And finally, Connor Berkley, we come to you. It is time you fulfill your destiny as well." I could not but notice that the tone was a bit less serious or at least less Majestic. "This glove will make everyone you touch tell the truth. They will answer truthfully to your questions."
"Is it all here?"
"Nono, here, receive Understanding" As i opened my hands a pile of really heavy books stacked. i observed them: "Demon rights: tome one.", "Owning a soul, rules and exceptions", "moral implications of being evil". I looked at the angel "You see, we divine creatures, but devils as well, are reallly, really reeaaaally lawful"
I understood slowly. Then i grinned. "Very well, i asked to the crowd, do we have any witnesses of the last invasion of these demons? Did someone lose something? It's showtime"
|
|
[WP] Sometime between 13 and 17, every child is summoned to another world as a hero to save it from evil. Except you. You've never been summoned. But as you tell your daughter and her friends to quiet down their slumber party antics, a summoning circle opens and engulfs everyone. Including you.
|
In Another World with my Daughter
\*\*\*
I stomped down the stairs hoping my heavy footsteps would announce my presence before I reached the bottom, but my feet somehow matched the rhythm of the boomBoomBOOM bass that thumped from the entertainment centre and I stepped around the corner unheard.
​
Four teenage girls wearing brightly coloured pyjamas were huddled on a fake bearskin rug with their backs to me, engrossed with some video blaring from the big screen hanging on the wall.
​
I crept closer, curling my hands into claws and drawing them into a menacing pose next to my face. Crouching down behind them, I waited to be discovered.
​
My knees complained loudly as the music died.
Snap, crackle, pop. Old man in the room.
​
Their heads whipped around, eyes wide as they became aware of the creepy presence in the room. I roared, lurching towards them with my claws.
​
Shrieking, they scrambled backwards and a barrage of fluffy pillows impacted my face. \*Impressive reaction time\* I thought, falling backwards onto my butt.
​
“DAAAAD!” Tracy yelled, snagging a more suitable weapon in the shape of an overstuffed teddybear and launching herself at me in a flurry of polyfill fury. Moments later I was surrounded and beaten senseless by the underaged horde.
​
“Arright! Arright! I give, I give!” I yelled, shielding my head while pillows impacted with surprising force.
​
Planting a foot on my chest, Tracy thrust a pillow at my face. “Do you yield, miscreant?” she said in a commanding voice. Wisps of strawberry blonde hair surrounded her head like a halo. She looked so much like her mother at that moment my heart stopped, filled with too much pain and loss to beat.
​
And then it did. And again. And it kept beating despite all the reasons why it shouldn’t.
​
“I yield, fair maiden,” I said, showing empty hands. “I beg forgiveness and offer another hour of torture-music in exchange for my life.”
​
“I accept your offer, Demon-King” She said in an imperious voice. “But only on the condition that it includes more snackies.”
​
“That can be arrang…” the words died in my throat as the room was plunged into darkness. A golden glow filled the basement.
​
Struggling to my feet, I stared at the floor. A summoning circle sprang into existence, revolving like clockwork under our feet. “Get out!” I shouted, shoving my daughter towards the outer edge. She bounced off an invisible wall and fell to her knees, giving me a look of disbelief. Her friends, Dinah, Yvonne, and Paige looked at me as though I were insane.
​
“Calm down, Mr. Carter,” Yvonne said, her voice filled with excitement. “We’re being summoned.”
​
Dinah grabbed Tracy’s hand and pulled her to her feet, then linked hands with everyone else. Paige smiled at me. “It’s going to be okay,” she said. “We’re prepared for this. Everyone gets summoned.”
​
It’s true that everyone gets summoned sometime between the ages of 13 and 17. It’s a rite of passage. Get summoned to a fantasy world, gain fabulous mystic powers or gifts, defeat the Demon King and learn about responsibility, teamwork, duty, and all those other qualities that make you a good adult.
​
Everyone gets summoned. Except me. I was never summoned. I waited and watched as my friends vanished and reappeared, sometimes weeks or months later, and were hustled off to be debriefed. They would come back to school with some mystic, indefinable quality that made them different. They had faced death. Killed things. Killed \*people\*. And survived against evil. Usually.
​
Because I was never summoned, it drove me into Other World research. Why was I different? Why was I rejected? Why was I unworthy of saving the world? It galled me. It ate away at me and yes, it made me a bit bitter.
​
But it also pushed me to learn everything I could about other worlds. Each one unique, but sharing various commonalities. A Demon King, usually not terribly bright. Magic, usually following one of a dozen different archetypes. Enchanted items and training, usually gifted by the summoners. And when the Demon King was defeated the children were returned home. Usually.
​
Sometimes they didn’t return home.
​
I glared at the summoning circle, picking out the runes that defined the origin universe. Alept, Carva, Epion, Pfi, Ometh. Living gods. Transmogrification. Ritual Magic. Residence. Final death.
​
Children returned home when the Demon King was defeated. They returned home when they were killed. But sometimes they didn’t. And in each case Ometh was present in the summoning circle. Ometh meant that their death was final, their souls went to whatever deity that powered the ceremony.
​
The world turned sideways.
​
\*\*\*
Note: I don't have a subreddit or any way to update you guys, sorry. Currently a friend is pushing me to make a royal road account and publish there. I have no clue how that works and honestly, commitment terrifies me.
I'm just a grumpy old fart who enjoys watching anime and writing the occasional story for fun.
​
\[More on the way\]
[\[Part Two\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/dtvpuw/wp_sometime_between_13_and_17_every_child_is/f700xms?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
[\[Part Three\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/dtvpuw/wp_sometime_between_13_and_17_every_child_is/f70drpo?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
[\[Part Four\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/dtvpuw/wp_sometime_between_13_and_17_every_child_is/f70pd8r?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
[\[Part Five\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/dtvpuw/wp_sometime_between_13_and_17_every_child_is/f711282?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
[\[Part Six\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/dtvpuw/wp_sometime_between_13_and_17_every_child_is/f71ofc4?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
\[PART SEVEN\] -- Will be continued as soon as I have a subreddit up and going. My apologies for any confusion and irritation at the delay.
[https://www.reddit.com/r/wrygrin/](https://www.reddit.com/r/wrygrin/)
​
I have no idea what I'm doing. Send hugs.
|
The infinite nature of the multiverse implies that there is always a world that needs to be saved. Before society at large accepted this concept, most people went on their adventure and woke up with little time passing in their reality, attributing their experiences to a vivid dream. As time went on, however, it became increasingly difficult to ignore this phenomenon. Many reported the same warped creatures attacking these far off worlds. This led to the conclusion that, despite the adventure always being in a different realm, the enemy never changed. Like a metaphysical war occurred in a higher plane through shared dreams and fantasy.
Ted didn't believe any of this. He was pretty certain that these mass hallucinations were were just that: hallucinations. People, especially teenagers, love to feel heroic.
If everyone is talking about these otherworldly escapades, even the most skeptical individual is going to make up their own tall tales to fit in, which only perpetuated this silly trend. After all, that's what Ted did when he was in high school and it still filled him with shame to this day.
On a particular Friday afternoon, Ted arrived to his home to find that his daughter was hosting a slumber party with two friends. He didn't think much of it until later in the night, when they grew rowdy. Ted sighed. This was the one time of the week he could actually play on his PC. He didn't want to ruin their fun. Unfortunately, the constant interruptions forced him to go upstairs.
Ted knocked and opened the door but, before he could say anything, a portal swallowed them all.
Reality bent around them, turning their surroundings into a swirling vortex of light. This type of event would make a believer out of anyone. Not Ted, though. He just assumed it was a brain aneurysm until they landed feet first in a stone altar.
One of the girls, Irene, lost her balance and fell on her knees. The other two giggled, but helped her up. Ted relaxed. They handled the current predicament surprisingly well.
Ted scanned the room, gaping his mouth at the architecture. The place resembled a Gothic cathedral, only bigger and more elaborate than anything on Earth. Golden chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling with stone pillars intermittently holding up the entire place. Everything had small details carved into it. The pillars, the steps of the altar, even the ceiling had unnecessary patterns on its surface.
An old man at the base of the altar cleared his throat. He eyed everyone with a serene expression until he noticed Ted, which made him squint.
"Oh my..." said the old man, "you're not supposed to be here."
Ted frowned. Sarah, his daughter, then said:
"Can't you send him back?"
Ted looked at her.
"What?" said Sarah.
"You don't even know what's going on."
"It's pretty obvious this is our adventure."
"Yeah!" added Rebecca, the other friend.
Ted rolled his eyes. "You really shouldn't accept things at face value. For all you know, this old man could actually be the bad guy."
"Nah," said Sarah, "look at his clothes. He's obviously the wizard that summoned us."
"That's not-"
"Hey!" said Irene. "Mister old dude!"
"Yes?" said the old man.
"Are you the bad guy?"
The old man chuckled. "No, no. We don't have much time, though. I'll explain in detail later."
Sarah smirked. "See, dad?"
"This literally doesn't prove anything."
"Well, how did it happen in *your* adventure?"
Ted pursed his lips. "I dunno. It was so long ago..." He looked away. "I've kinda forgotten."
"Okay, boomer" said Rebecca.
Ted furrowed his brow. "I'm not a-"
The building shook.
Everyone tensed up. The old man then said:
"We're running out of time!" He walked up the altar, handing a gemstone to each girl. "These will draw out innate skills. Concentrate on them and you'll be armed with weapons best suited to your personality."
"What about me?" said Ted.
"Uhh..."
"Of course not."
The girls all glowed with energy. Their individual lights intensified, wrapping around them until they emerged with proper equipment for battle. Sarah had studded leather armor with a quiver and bow on her back, Irene had a loose robe and wooden staff, and Rebecca wielded a great axe twice the size of her head. Ted could only look on in horror as the girls rushed out the temple with gleeful enthusiasm. He couldn't get them to stop and think for a second. They didn't even know what they had to fight.
Ted glared at the old man. "This is incredibly irresponsible."
The old man shrugged. "I mean, it usually works."
"What do you mean by 'usually'?"
"The holy weapons only work for teenagers of other worlds. We only have to summon them every few thousand years when the demon lords resurrects. The heroes very rarely fail."
"Very rarely..."
The building shook again, more violently this time.
"We should go to the shelter. The city could fall any moment now."
Ted blinked a few times. This was insane. "I am *not* letting those girls go into battle alone. How are you even okay with this?!?"
"I mean, people from your world are pretty competent when it comes to violence. They'll be fine."
Ted ran out of the temple. He couldn't stay and deliberate with this inter-dimensional idiot. Sure, many people went through adventures like these, but that didn't help Ted feel comfortable at all. Some of the things he heard from his friend's adventures sounded traumatizing. At the very least, he would look over the fight to make sure the girls could handle it.
--------------------
*Continued below*
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[WP] You finally beat that RPG you've been working on for months. The next morning you wake up in an uncomfortably familiar room, just like the tutorial for the game. A voice calls out. "You are worthy. Please, save this realm... for real."
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“Are you STILL playing that stupid game?” The scorn in Miranda’s voice is palpable. I glanced at the clock… yup. 8:30. Time for the evening fight to start up again. Without fail, she kicked things right off. “God, I wish you’d never downloaded that stupid thing.” Her voice echoed through the empty house, settling on the same nerve in my spine it’s been yanking now for the last three years of our loveless relationship. “You going to be on that all night again?”
“Probably.” I didn’t really want to add that it beat talking to her. We really should have called things off when I caught her cheating last year. Or when I’d caught her cheating three months ago. Or when I’d looked on her cell phone last week and saw her setting things up for another guy for yet another side relationship. But I just didn’t have it in me.
I didn’t… do… confrontation. I was raised you didn’t raise your voice to a lady, you didn’t fight, you just went along with whatever she wanted. And though I was realizing that this pretty much made you one hell of a wet blanket if you wound up with the wrong woman, I also didn’t know how in the hell to get out of a bad relationship once you were in too deep. So my only recourse at this point was to try to annoy her enough that she’d hopefully leave.
To that end, I’d found this fantastic RPG to play. It was so bloody immersive, it was like a second life for me. I knew all the characters, I knew all the quests, and by this point, I had played every single character class to completion besides one. And tonight, I was going to finally beat the game with the final class, giving me one hundred percent completion on the game, my first platinum badge for a game, ever. Nothing that witch I lived with could do was going to take away from that.
She sighed, exasperated. “God. Whatever. I’m going out.” She stormed out the door, slamming it behind her. I knew where she was going, of course. I’d already read the texts. But it didn’t matter. All part of my plan to get her to leave, hopefully. Maybe this guy could convince her to stay.
Regardless, the game awaited, and the night was still young.
\*\*\*
I sighed and sat back, letting the end credits roll. I might have seen them before, but I still felt it worthwhile to let them go by; the creators of this game had done me quite a favor by creating this game, after all, and far be it for me to ignore their effort. Least I could do is let their names go by my screen with some snazzy music, you know? I took a sip of my lukewarm mountain dew and idly read the names as I waited for my badge to pop.
Finally, the words, “Thank you for playing!” appeared, and in the upper part of my screen, the badge appeared. It was over. There was nothing left.
Nothing.
So… now what was I supposed to play?
… Crud.
As I pulled out my phone to look up to see if the company had produced any other games, another screen popped up. It didn’t catch my attention immediately, but when it did, it took me a second to register what it said. I blinked and read it out loud in amazement. “You have unlocked the ‘Savior of the Realm’ mode. Would you like to advance to this mode and start a new game, Y/N?”
“Savior of the Realm mode?” I scratched at my chin and did a search online. Nothing online had ever mentioned this mode. And, after all, I already had the platinum badge for 100% completion, what else could there be? Sure enough, there wasn’t anything online at all about a ‘Savior of the Realm’ mode.
This had to be something new.
I grinned. I had access to something so new, there wasn’t even anything on Google about it. Better BELIEVE I’m going to try this out! I clicked “Y” and hit enter. More text scrolled, and I read it out loud. “Are you sure? Savior of the Realm mode is dangerous. You cannot save your game. You only get one life. You will experience things like never before. This is your only warning. Are you sure? Y/N?”
Hell to the “Y.”
The moment I pressed enter, I heard a strange sound. It sounded like a distant whistle mixed with the rattling of chains just at the edge of my hearing. Then, my vision swam, and I got dizzy. I closed my eyes, suddenly unable to keep them open…
\*\*\*
I’m cold. Like, really cold. Guess I’m going to have to get the air conditioning looked at again, I thought as I gradually returned to consciousness. I realized I’d fallen asleep as I sat up, the tree I’d fallen asleep against not a very comfortable sleeping mat. I stretched and looked around the glade, trying to regain my bearings.
… Tree? Glade?
Where the crap was my apartment? I scrambled fully to my feet and looked around in shock, my heart in my throat. My apartment had vanished. My comfy chair, my tv, my computer, all of it replaced with a thick forest that stretched in every direction. I was standing in a clearing with some thin underbrush, and a curious squirrel was peering down at me from a nearby tree. Otherwise, I was alone, though I could hear some songbirds off in the distance calling out to each other.
And I was cold. There was a hint of snow in the air. Lovely time to have been wearing short sleeves and biking shorts. What the hell… There was a scratch and snap of a twig behind me, and I spun on my heel. To my utter amazement, two people came walking out of the forest and casually crossed the distance to me, their movements casual and unfettered.
One of them was human. She was about the same height as me, with brilliant yellow hair that was pulled into a tight knot behind her. She wore some sort of leather gear about her, with a long knife and a quiver of arrows at her waist and a large bow slung about her shoulders. Her companion was a textbook definition of a dwarf, complete with a long red beard, chainmail armor and double-bladed axe slung across his back.
They both stopped a few feet from me and regarded me with interest. Finally, the woman spoke. “So. You are he?”
“I… suppose I am? Who am I supposed to be?”
“You accepted the Savior of the Realm mode, did you not?”
I blinked. “I did. What does that have to do with…”
“Welcome to the Realm.”
“… What?”
The dwarf snorted. “He’s a bit lacking in smarts for our conquering hero, isn’t he.”
“No, I mean…” I shook my head. “I’m confused.”
The woman sighed. “It’s simple. You chose the Savior of the Realm mode, did you not?” When I nodded, she continued, “The Realm is real. The ‘game’ is no game. We were looking for the one that would be able to do what none before have been able to do… and you are the first to have proven yourself worthy.”
“The Realm is… real?”
The dwarf sighed. “Can you please try to keep up?”
The woman smacked the dwarf on the top of his head. “Would you let him have at least some reaction, Alar? I would think this might take SOME getting used to, wouldn’t you?”
The dwarf, Alar, shrugged. “Seems normal to me.”
“But you’re from here.”
I held up my hands. “So wait. The Realm is real. And the Savior of the Realm mode means I come here to do… what?”
Alar fixed me with a look. “To do what you do best. You’ve already beat the game with every class. Now you need to beat the game one more time, and save the Realm for real.” His voice softened a bit. “There are quite a bit of people that are counting on you, my boy, people you’ve never even met that would be mighty grateful.”
“Please.” The woman smiled. “Alar might not say that, but I will. Please, sir. Would you save the realm, one last time?”
I smiled. “I wasn’t raised to tell a lady no. Count me in.”
Hope you enjoy an empty house, Miranda, I’ve got a Realm to save.
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I wake up to the sound of a distant, deep growl.
"Where am I?" I think, looking around the small cell I'm in, I go for the door and it's locked, but I hear something above me, and look up to see a knight, he looks back at me and drops a body into the cell, a key along with it, then leaves without a word
"This can't be..." I punch the wall, feeling no pain. "Must be a bad dream...I can't handle going through this again...or maybe" I grab the key and unlock the door, sprinting past the undead hollows and going up the ladder. I look around outside, an unlit bonfire is in the middle of a field all infront of a huge door. I open it and as I expected a huge demon drops down, but I run past it and into a door to the left that closes behind me.
"This is all to real..." I continue along the path, a long hallway is infront of me with two white glowing orbs on both sides. (First time writing, I have school now but I might continue later)
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[WP] As he bled out, as his ship disintegrated around him, he reached out for the helm. Gun batteries with no crew came back to life, spitting ammunition they didn't have. The reactor flared beyond safe limits, sending the ship screaming forward.
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I remember my first lesson as an officer. Wide-eyed, open-mouthed. A slack jawed recruit, as green as they come.
“What--” the instructing officer, Commander Harris, had demanded, his sharp voice captivating from the first word. “Is the most important thing to know when entering a new engagement?”
“Your enemy’s ship configurations?” A voice offered from the back of the lecture hall.
“No!” Barked Harris.
“Safe routes of retreat?” Another voice offered, to sneers of derision. Retreat? They’d never have to retreat, they thought. They were invincible.
“A good thought, that!” Harris allowed, cutting off the sneers immediately. “But still, no.”
And so it had gone, for a good 45 minutes. “Your ship configuration?” Someone had guessed, scraping the bottom of the barrel. “If you don’t know your own ship counts, you’re already dead.” Harris snapped, giving no quarter. “Next!”
Finally, a quiet student, sitting the in the back, had said a single question. “Why.”
“Ex-actly!” Harris bellowed, syllables cracking like a whip shocking us all to rapt attention. “Why.” He continued, voice suddenly soft, drawing us in all the more for it. “Why do you fight? Why are you there? *Why is this worth risking your life or the lives of your men?*”
He paused, for a long moment. “Some officers never learn that lesson. They’re the ones who throw countless lives into a pointless engagement just to avoid the mark of a coward. They’re the ones who retreat at the first sign of something going wrong--and something *always* goes wrong, mind you--regardless of what’s on the line. They’re the ones,” he continued, his voice rising in a sudden crescendo, “who win battles but lose wars.”
“And let me tell you,” he finished, voice once again barely a whisper. “Nobody gives a shit about the battle when it will cost you the war.”
I don’t remember much more from the class. But I remember that. It’s stuck with me, all these years. I’ve seen the truth in those words. Seen it in the crashing stars of men who throw it all at every battle, in the faces of the men saved by a retreat when the stakes just aren’t worth it. In the desperate embraces of families when they know it might be their very last. I see it in the face of my family, my wife, my son, every time I leave them behind.
I’d like to tell you that I was that quiet student. That even then, I’d known. But that would be a lie. It took me a long time to learn. It took most of us a long time. That student--Maria, her name was--she didn’t need the lesson, though. Or, perhaps, life had already taught her the lesson. She was an orphan, I learned later. A refugee from the Moredo Straight, a system that had been devastated during some of the opening salvos of this god forsaken war. Her mother had led a desperate sally against the oncoming horde, just barely buying time for the passenger ships to flee. For some, to flee, at least. I don’t know how she lost her father. That’s not important. Not anymore. She’s dead, now. Her squadron was my last set of reserves, crushed holding our left flank.
The console in front of me blinks. I’m having a hard time focusing on it, but at last, my fogged mind activating sluggish pathways, reflex and reaction drilled into me, and my hand comes down on the appropriate button. The radio activates.
“Commander?” The voice crackles. Barely alive.
“Yes.” I respond. “I’m still here.” My voice is distant in my own ears. Quiet, but somehow audible over the crashing alarms, the distant sound of rushing wind, as another section of the hull collapses, venting into space.
“They’re gone, commander. They made it out.”
“That’s good.” I say. “Good.” I trail off. Was I supposed to say anything else? I can’t remember.
“You’ve done well, Sir. An impossible command, held with dignity. You will be--” the voice cuts off, a flash of light off my starboard bow as another missile connects. The radio. Gone.
The ship shakes with the impact, a dangerous, wild vibration, and the metal groans. As it does, I shift on my seat, and the accompanying pain and fear help drive me to lucidity. It will be brief, I know.
They’re gone. They made it. I watch, distantly, as the surface of the planet trembles. The orbital bombardment continues. They never stop. Even when the people are gone.
A growl escapes my lips, and I grab at the shrapnel embedded in my side, driving it in deeper, letting the pain flare my mind back. I don’t need this body for long, but for however long I’ve got, I’ll use that pain. That clarity.
I’m out of ammunition. But I remember one other lesson from Commander Harris. A 200 ton chunk of flying metal is a pretty good weapon in its own right. And so, I punch the throttle.
As the alien ships looms in my screen, growing ever larger as I hurtle towards it through a field of explosions and death, I don’t find myself screaming with rage or defiance. I don’t find myself full of determination and soldierly dignity. Instead, my mind, clear and open, thinks of home. A field of grass, trees waving lazily in the wind. A joyous face, a sweet breeze. I smile, weary, but certain. I know why I’m here.
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Listen.
I want to talk to you about laying down your life. About humility. About the gentle peace when you know your resolve will have to be enough to save the ones you love.
I want to talk to you about how your heart beats in tandem with those who are equally ready to give as you would. That at the end of fury, comes stillness. That this life filled with rage, can end with a calm like no other. That the true breadth of the will of man, is to let it pass and as a quiet and immovable barrier against all hatred.
And I want to tell you how bullshit all of that is.
That your team died to give you enough auxiliary power to give the innocent evacuating your war-torn carrier, the barest chance of escape.
I don't know if what I saw actually happened, but I felt the final thrill as a sound caught in my throat. It was quiet but it burned like the scotch I so desperately wanted in that moment. That would sting at the burns on my face. That would give me one last taste of hell, before I find myself into whatever Goddamned void I was about to hurl myself toward.
I spat that sound out like some luugie, as so many lights and sounds shot what I hoped would look like a supernova to the pricks in front of me: "This one's on me, you bastards."
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[WP] For years you've found random money in your pockets and drawers that you don't remember having. Now, you've just figured out that you have a monster living under your bed. And he's paying rent.
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**Please forgive errors, I'm on mobile.**
1.
Well. He's not really a monster, and under my bed isn't entirely accurate. Nonetheless, there he stood, coins in hand, a look of fright and bewilderment upon his face.
I was taken aback, speechless when he told me what he'd been doing. How could anyone, (anything?), even live in such a small space?
My mind raced.
"Bbb." I started to speak but was only able to incoherently mumble. "What?"
His voice was weak, high-pitched, and fraught with distress.
"Please let me stay." He trailed off, obviously having troubles of his own in speaking. "Dddon't ma-ke... Me... Llleave."
With this the little creature fell to the floor. The brown satchel he'd been carrying also fell and landed with a muffled thud.
I gasped and instinctively ran to him to help. I was confused, to be sure, but resolved to address that in due time. Right now I needed to get this little guy comfortable and try to see what kind of aid I could administer.
Getting him into the bed was easy enough. His little body, though limp, was still warm to the touch and ever so faintly, his tiny chest rose as he breathed shallow breaths. At least he was alive, whatever he was.
2.
He leapt from the bed jumping several feet into the air. The sheet clung to him, and very acrobatically, he shredded it. He landed gracefully without disturbing any of the other bedding, a small blade in his paw-like hand.
I was across the room at a small square table lost in research on my phone when this occurred. The piping-hot coffee in my mug still steamed as I knocked it to the floor. The shattering of glass caught his attention and before I could react he was perched atop my chest pointing his now dangerous looking blade at the side of my neck.
The look in his eyes was devoid of compassion in that moment. He was operating on instinct and reflex. He held fast to my shirt collar with his left hand as I smashed my eyes closed certain my life had reached it's end.
Gasp.
I felt the grip on my collar loosen and the stiff weight on my chest relaxed. As I opened my eyes I could see regret take hold of his expression. The animosity was gone.
Again the creature leapt, this time backwards, flipped, sheathed his weapon, and landed before me on the floor. Instantly he bowed so deeply that his nose almost touched the tile.
3.
Barnaby smiled, milk dripping from his whiskers, as he carefully sat the mug down in front of him and focused again on the plate of food next to him. My mouth partially agape, still in shock, confused, and in utter disbelief I watched as he continued to eat.
"So, you're not from here?" What a stupid question I thought as soon as the words left my mouth. "Where are you from?"
"An area near here. Near the big lake." He replied in between bites far too big for his tiny mouth.
I recalled seeing a news story about an effort to cultivate some land near Lake Region. Apparently some politician had made a point to emphasize the potential economic impacts of urbanizing the area. I believe they quoted him as saying it needed to be more, "touristy".
"Where is your family?" I asked, sipping my newly poured coffee.
"What is a family?" He asked.
"Your people? You know?" I stopped for a moment suddenly unable to describe something so mundane.
He just stared for a moment perplexed before returning to his meal.
"How did you get here?"
"I walked."
This conversation was getting me nowhere. I decided to switch gears.
"Why are you giving me money?"
"Because humans love money."
"What do you mean?"
"It is universal knowledge." He paused to swallow. "You humans love shiny things."
I wasn't sure whether or not to be offended. I shrugged it off.
"Okay but why are you in my home giving me money?"
"Hhh...home? He said. "Your, hhome, is very nice. Safe. Warm. I wish to stay here. May I please?"
I must've looked like I was about to decline because he perked up, giving the conversation his full attention, and continued.
"Please Mr. Gary. I'll give more coins!"
He shot from his chair, landed effortlessly on the table, and bowed again, this time putting his nose all the way down.
4.
We conversed for hours. It was frustrating at times as he tended to be very literal in his responses and failed to understand certain concepts like family and work. By the end I was mentally fatigued, unsure how to proceed, and questioning reality.
What the hell is going on? Am I insane? Did I have an accident? Am I in a coma?
"No Mr. Gary. You're fine, here with me and safe. I will keep us safe sir!"
My eyes shot open, bulging in their sockets. I hadn't said that allowed.
"You can read my mind?" My pulse raced an uneasiness settling over me.
"What is this read?" He answered quizzically. "I hear you talking in your head."
Despite everything this, for whatever reason, was too much to bare. Panic took hold and I hurried him out the door forbidding him from coming back.
He stood there, sad and defeated, as I closed the door and locked it.
What the hell is going on?
5.
It took some time but I was able to move past the incident. A mind can play tricks.
Work seemed to pick up and I was more tired than usual as I stumbled up the stairs towards my apartment. I fumbled in my pocket for the keys as they jingled at me in defiance.
A yawn took hold causing me to pause for a moment and let it take it's course. My eyes were dry and my eyelids heavy. I was in desperate need of rest.
As I turned the knob I noticed the door was unlocked. Huh?
I paused for a moment, suddenly much less tired. I know I locked the door before leaving, right?
I was too tired to be sure. Was Barnaby back? Does that mean he WAS real? My mind raced.
I opened the door and stepped in.
"Barnaby." I called looking around in the darkness.
My fingers danced across the light switch and slid across the wall. I pulled them back and located the switch and flipped it.
"Who's Barnaby?"
A brute of a man in all black stood before me with a crooked grin across his face and his hands raised. I saw his fist fly towards me before everything went black. For an instant I felt a white hot pain and then nothingness.
6.
I began coming to in my bed. The familiar warmth of the sheets encased me. Slowly I began to wake and a splitting pain began mounting in my skull. It was then I smelled something. Coffee.
Like a waterfall a torrent of emotions rushed through me as I remembered the events of earlier that evening. Fear and terror shook me to my core as I scramled, unsuccessfully, to my feet.
Standing was not happening in that moment. Unable to catch my balance I fell, head-first, to the floor. Thud, and more pain.
Through the tears I looked towards the square table. I could hear a strange noise in that direction, like muffled screaming. The terror was immediately replaced with relief.
Sitting, expertly bound to the chair and gagged, was the brute that attacked me. In front of him, blade drawn and ready, stood Barnaby. Beside him steam rose from a coffee mug. He turned his head slightly my direction, staring down my assailant fiercely and spoke.
"Barnaby make you coffee sir so you feel better. Barnaby know you like coffee when you wake up." A grin tore across his face. "Barnaby get the bad man."
He bowed again, still grinning, eyes locked on the thug.
"Can Barnaby stay here again sir?"
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First attempt at responding to a prompt. Trying to improve my writing because I like my ideas, but everything always feels too slow. Be gentle, but suggestions are always appreciated:
I hadn't questioned the "magic" money in years. When I talked about finding wads of bills in odd places, people just laughed and called me forgetful. The month where I found more than six hundred dollars in an unwashed pair of jeans was where I drew the line. It was weird, but it didn't seem to have any downside for me.
Staring at the hairy behemoth standing at the foot of my bed, I had found the downside. He had just apologized to my screaming form for being short on his "rent" for the month. The guttural growls sounded close enough to speech for me to understand.
“Again. Sorry.” He growled as he passed me a wad of crumpled and sweaty bills.
I stared at him, frozen with terror, for what felt like an eternity. He slowly turned and began to slide under the bed.
“WAIT!” I managed to blurt out and he stood back to his towering height.
“What want?” The large creature asked.
I thought for a moment before squeaking out the only question that I could think of. “Wh-why? Why have you been paying me rent?”
“I no pay you rent. I help WITH your rent. You good person. Previous people bad. I like you. You no go.” He responded slowly. His words, growled but clear, seemed genuine and sure. This monster liked me as a roommate.
As odd as it sounds, I felt pleased by that thought. This hairy monster thought I was a good person.
I stuck out my shaking hand. “My name’s Aaron. What’s your name?”
“I no have name. None of us have names.” He replied. He brought his paw to his chin and scratched introspectively.
The thought of more monsters like him terrified me, but I found myself interested.
“You said ‘us’. Are there more like you?” I asked hesitantly.
He nodded his head. “Lots. Old ways forgotten. We can move freely now.”
I nodded my head as if I understood. “Were you locked up or something before? During the old ways?” I asked, my curiosity growing.
He shook his head. “No. Not locked up. Not trapped. Just couldn’t come in!”
He gestured to the room.
Realization dawned on me. “You mean you couldn’t go into houses!”
He nodded. “Buildings treated with old ways magics. Burned us to touch. New ways no use burn magic!”
I asked, “Old ways magics? Did they cast a spell? What are the old ways magics?”
The monster shook his head and gestured for me to follow him. He started pointing to random objects in the house. A salt shaker, a cheap religious icon, some old crusting metal rings, fireplace tools, and many cheap antique things I bought from garage sales to make the place look rustic. He finally led me to an old oak armoire inlaid with silver.
“Old magics strong. Come from the land itself. Me able to slip into shadows. No getting around old magics.”
“By old magics, you mean the superstitions right? Salt on your window sill, bags of herbs, iron, silver, and certain woods all were rumored to keep monsters away. Is that what you mean?” I asked.
He nodded solemnly. “Hard to eat when everyone protected by wicked magics.”
I turned suddenly. “Eat? As in you eat people?”
A terrifying toothy grin was his only reply.
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[WP] For years you've found random money in your pockets and drawers that you don't remember having. Now, you've just figured out that you have a monster living under your bed. And he's paying rent.
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Oh wow. So here we are, sitting in my room and guess what. I have a roommate I did not know I had.
I am generally able to handle most situations without being phased, but this was slightly too much even for me.
I was expecting company, so I decided to clean my room properly. Who would have thought that while vacuuming under my bed, I would fish out this little rascal stuck to the vacuum’s nozzle.
“Well, this is new,” I said to myself.
“Not really,” said the little creature. “I have been living under your bed for a few years now.”
“Say what now?” I am a silver-tongued devil.
“And I have paid my share of the rent too!”
“Huh? You what?” Very smooth indeed.
“Well, it seemed obvious that you are not doing too well yourself, so I thought I would help you out a little.”
He was smiling at me like this was no big deal.
“Do you mind explaining to me what the hell is going on and what are you doing here and who the hell are you supposed to be?”
I mean seriously, how often do you pull out a talking ball of dust from under your bed?
“I am sorry, James, I do realise that while I know you quite well, an introduction from my side is in order. I am Hoopza and you brought me home with you from your trip to Ireland. Two years ago.”
“I brought you here from Ireland? I mean, I do not remember much from that trip, but I would definitely remember getting a small fuzzball somewhere in the souvenir shop.”
“Oh! Sorry about that!” He said and started pulling bits of dust off himself, until he no longer looked like a fuzzball, but rather like a tiny person in a green suit.
“Of course you did not get me in a souvenir shop. How can I say this..” Hoopza was looking down to the ground, a guilty expression on his face.
“I kind of hitched a ride with you. I got bored of guarding my pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, so I just went for a little walk. And then I saw you resting in the forest and jumped in your backpack to speed up my trip to the city. But how many people do you know that go for a hike right before going to the airport? I ended up on the road with you. And it was an adventure for me, so I just let things develop from there. We got back from your trip and I hid in your room, under the bed.”
Would you look at that. I have an Irish leprechaun living with me.
“So you just decided to stay?”
“Well, what would you have me do? I have had no idea where I was for quite a while. And since you do not have any fairy creatures here in America that I could talk to, I was just figuring out a plan to get back to Ireland, hoping you would go back one day without even knowing I was here,” he said while shrugging his shoulders like it was not a big deal.
“And do we do now? Do I get a ticket to go back and take you with me?”
“Nah, I’m good. But since you are asking, I heard you mention that you wanted to go to New Zealand for your next vacation, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to tag along.”
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First attempt at responding to a prompt. Trying to improve my writing because I like my ideas, but everything always feels too slow. Be gentle, but suggestions are always appreciated:
I hadn't questioned the "magic" money in years. When I talked about finding wads of bills in odd places, people just laughed and called me forgetful. The month where I found more than six hundred dollars in an unwashed pair of jeans was where I drew the line. It was weird, but it didn't seem to have any downside for me.
Staring at the hairy behemoth standing at the foot of my bed, I had found the downside. He had just apologized to my screaming form for being short on his "rent" for the month. The guttural growls sounded close enough to speech for me to understand.
“Again. Sorry.” He growled as he passed me a wad of crumpled and sweaty bills.
I stared at him, frozen with terror, for what felt like an eternity. He slowly turned and began to slide under the bed.
“WAIT!” I managed to blurt out and he stood back to his towering height.
“What want?” The large creature asked.
I thought for a moment before squeaking out the only question that I could think of. “Wh-why? Why have you been paying me rent?”
“I no pay you rent. I help WITH your rent. You good person. Previous people bad. I like you. You no go.” He responded slowly. His words, growled but clear, seemed genuine and sure. This monster liked me as a roommate.
As odd as it sounds, I felt pleased by that thought. This hairy monster thought I was a good person.
I stuck out my shaking hand. “My name’s Aaron. What’s your name?”
“I no have name. None of us have names.” He replied. He brought his paw to his chin and scratched introspectively.
The thought of more monsters like him terrified me, but I found myself interested.
“You said ‘us’. Are there more like you?” I asked hesitantly.
He nodded his head. “Lots. Old ways forgotten. We can move freely now.”
I nodded my head as if I understood. “Were you locked up or something before? During the old ways?” I asked, my curiosity growing.
He shook his head. “No. Not locked up. Not trapped. Just couldn’t come in!”
He gestured to the room.
Realization dawned on me. “You mean you couldn’t go into houses!”
He nodded. “Buildings treated with old ways magics. Burned us to touch. New ways no use burn magic!”
I asked, “Old ways magics? Did they cast a spell? What are the old ways magics?”
The monster shook his head and gestured for me to follow him. He started pointing to random objects in the house. A salt shaker, a cheap religious icon, some old crusting metal rings, fireplace tools, and many cheap antique things I bought from garage sales to make the place look rustic. He finally led me to an old oak armoire inlaid with silver.
“Old magics strong. Come from the land itself. Me able to slip into shadows. No getting around old magics.”
“By old magics, you mean the superstitions right? Salt on your window sill, bags of herbs, iron, silver, and certain woods all were rumored to keep monsters away. Is that what you mean?” I asked.
He nodded solemnly. “Hard to eat when everyone protected by wicked magics.”
I turned suddenly. “Eat? As in you eat people?”
A terrifying toothy grin was his only reply.
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[WP] For years you've found random money in your pockets and drawers that you don't remember having. Now, you've just figured out that you have a monster living under your bed. And he's paying rent.
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"So you're the monster under my bed?"
Trevor hesitated, and then nodded sheepishly.
In fairness to Trevor, his nodding sheepishly was really a pretty good trick. He was the size of a small bulldozer with two hairy goat legs that somehow morphed into a super-muscled torso that was entirely covered in scales like a snake. He had claws like Seal Team combat knives and eyes that were literally burning coals. Also, the horns. Did I mention the horns? Though they could have been antlers. I mean they branched out and all, but Bambi never had antlers like these. I'm going with horns on this one. I was in my underpants, and he was in his scales. Fur. Antlers. Whatever. You get the picture. Sitting on my bed. The bed of under which he was a monster. If that makes sense.
"Technically, I'm not really a monster," started Trevor. "I'm actually more of a demon."
"A demon?". I raised my right eyebrow in the most accusatory manner I knew. Trevor came clean.
"Absolutely a demon. 100% demonish. Uh, demonic," Trevor finished with a helpless shrug. "I am what I am".
Popeye couldn't have put it better. He certainly looked the part. Glowing eyes, check. Horns, check. Cloven hooves, check.
"But what does this have to do with my socks?" He looked taken aback, but then another thought struck me. "Wait, so you're a Fallen Angel?"
Wrong thing to say. Ooboy. His face went blank, and a wall came down. I could sense it. Trevor turned his face to the floor, looking kind of lost.
"Sorry, I don't mean to ..."
"I'm not that person anymore. I've moved on, and I'd appreciate some support. I thought that you would understand." He hunched over, put his massive forearms on his knees and laced his fingers together. He looked the way hurt looked, when you asked for support and got a slap instead.
I most certainly would understand about chequered pasts. I too had been foolish in my youth. Okay, maybe more than just foolish. 'Criminal' would be a better choice of words, in fairness. Look, here's what happened: A robbery. Smash and grab in a jewelry store. No one was supposed to get hurt, but shots were fired and if the ambulance hadn't gotten there in record time, someone would have died. I was young, I was outside in the getaway car, and it was my first offence. So just five years. Five years of incredible boredom laced with moments of intense fear and dread. Like that time that Big Benny had...
"Hey, were you under my bed when I was doing time?"
Trevor raised his head, and sighed. "That's how you made those first few weeks."
New Fish. That's what we were when we arrived. New Fish get special treatment. And one of those who doled out that 'special treatment' was Big Benny. Shaved head, a chest like a cement mixer, and a taste for sadism. It happens some time during your first week. Suddenly, your cellmate is gone without notice. Just gone. Then, Big Benny strolls into your cell. Whatever happens next is supposed to set the tone for the remainder of your incarceration. What happened next was that I took a good hard swing at Big Benny, and missed by about a foot and fell over. By the time I got up, Big Benny was scrambling out of my cell calling for his mother and Jesus, with snot and tears running down his bloodied face. I had always wondered what had really happened. People made assumptions, but never asked me directly. Things weren't easy after that. There's no such thing as 'easy' in prison. But I shudder to think how things could have gone. But that didn't happen to me. Trevor had my back. And when I got out of prison, I went back to school and changed my world. Could have been so different. Talk about a knife edge.
A warm and vibrant gratitude flooded through me and I reached up and put my hand on his shoulder. "I'm really thankful." I tried to put into words how I felt. "I was so scared... I would have died..." Emotion overcame me and my throat caught, and I couldn't speak after that. Tears welled in my eyes and ran down my face, somehow warm and cold at the same time.
There was quiet for a while, and then I felt Trevor put his hand on my shoulder. With my thumb and forefinger I squeezed the last tears out of my eyes, and then I blew my nose. I took a swig from my bedside bottle of water, and felt much better. More together. Phew.
"I saw your aura on the prisoner transport bus. I knew you could protect me."
Wow. That was also unexpected. Trevor was way ahead in the 'gotcha' points.
"Wait a minute, what do you mean by 'protect you'?"
"Demons are supposed to do the Satanic will of Hell. That's pretty much how things go. But like I said, that's not me anymore."
"But Hell doesn't like renegades, does it?" I prodded him. Trevor nodded.
"War, pestilence, death, sin, temptation, all of that. It is not a suggestion list, it is a requirement. And when you don't pull your weight, well let's just say it isn't only mortals who are subject to the torments of Hell. Your aura is big. It shields me, and I can hide behind it."
"Like camouflage, you mean?"
"Exactly. It is like I am standing behind a bright light in the dark of night. It is hard to see behind the glare. Not impossible, but hard."
"So what's the deal with the money, then?" This is how I had caught him in the first place. Ever since prison I had always had money when I needed it. Short on rent? A couple of carelessly forgotten hundreds scrunched into a trouser pocket fixed that. A twenty here, a fifty there, it all added up over the years to some serious coin. Trevor had been reaching from under my bed and stuffing a few twenties into my wallet which had dropped on the floor. Still half asleep, I had grabbed his arm and then somehow the gigantic Trevor had squished himself out from under my bed, which had under bed drawers and a clearance of about half an inch at best.
"I pay my way. In prison, I looked after you. That was my rent. Once you got out, I had to find another way to pay. I thought money would work. You mortals love money."
He had me there. The love of money is the root of all evil. I was grateful he didn't look smug when he had reminded me of that little nugget of wisdom.
I had my next question lined up when Trevor shot to his feet taking a fighting stance, quivering with fear, or maybe nervous energy.
"Beelzebub. He's found me."
I felt his approach. It gave me the same sinking feeling as hearing a judge read out how many months and years you were to be imprisoned for each of the counts of which you had been found guilty. The death of good things. The onslaught of darkness and fear. Trevor trembled. He looked like he could bench press a house, and yet he was trembling like a lamb awaiting the slaughter. I gripped my water bottle tight.
When Beelzebub entered into my room, he washed all of the colors from the world. Completely. It wasn't simply that the world became black and white, because there was no white in the presence of Beelzebub. Only shades of bleak depression and despair. The world became a scream that could never adequately express the anguish it really felt. I was sure that if I could wring reality like a dishrag, pure evil would pour out of it, black and cancerous. Trevor fell to his knees, his head bowed, his will buckling. I knew why. Beelzebub was the antipathy of everything alive. Of hope. Of faith. I cannot describe him, for I could not really see him. He was a blur of black and blood, of hatred and fear, of insinuating evil, of malice sublime.
Boy was he surprised when I sloshed Holy Water into his face.
He lurched out of my room like Big Benny scrambling from my cell, bleating and crying. In a screech of anguish he was gone. Color flooded back into the world, and everything that had been 'wrong' suddenly shifted back to 'right' in a way that highlighted just how wrong everything had been. Holy Water. Good for what ails ya.
The thing about Holy Water is not that a priest blesses it. That isn't really how it works. The priest actually asks the Lord to bless it, and it is then sanctified by the Lord. I should know. After I left prison, I went back to school. Seminary school. And then ordination. Any pure water can be made into Holy Water. Like a bedside bottle, for instance.
Trevor was still on his knees, but looked a million times better. He looked like someone with a reason to live, like someone with Hope. He turned to me, and his mouth opened. But no words came out, and I think I knew why. Profound gratitude has that effect.
I looked at him, and he looked at me. I said "You're cover is blown here, but this is not the end." I lifted my water bottle above my head they way an athlete carries an Olympic torch. "Are you ready for some serious protection?"
Trevor nodded, and I poured out the water on his head and began: "I baptize you in the name of the Father, and the Son..."
I never saw Trevor again after that. Nor did I ever find any more surprise cash. On the other hand, I never lost another sock in the wash either. I sure wish he had explained that bit before he left.
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First attempt at responding to a prompt. Trying to improve my writing because I like my ideas, but everything always feels too slow. Be gentle, but suggestions are always appreciated:
I hadn't questioned the "magic" money in years. When I talked about finding wads of bills in odd places, people just laughed and called me forgetful. The month where I found more than six hundred dollars in an unwashed pair of jeans was where I drew the line. It was weird, but it didn't seem to have any downside for me.
Staring at the hairy behemoth standing at the foot of my bed, I had found the downside. He had just apologized to my screaming form for being short on his "rent" for the month. The guttural growls sounded close enough to speech for me to understand.
“Again. Sorry.” He growled as he passed me a wad of crumpled and sweaty bills.
I stared at him, frozen with terror, for what felt like an eternity. He slowly turned and began to slide under the bed.
“WAIT!” I managed to blurt out and he stood back to his towering height.
“What want?” The large creature asked.
I thought for a moment before squeaking out the only question that I could think of. “Wh-why? Why have you been paying me rent?”
“I no pay you rent. I help WITH your rent. You good person. Previous people bad. I like you. You no go.” He responded slowly. His words, growled but clear, seemed genuine and sure. This monster liked me as a roommate.
As odd as it sounds, I felt pleased by that thought. This hairy monster thought I was a good person.
I stuck out my shaking hand. “My name’s Aaron. What’s your name?”
“I no have name. None of us have names.” He replied. He brought his paw to his chin and scratched introspectively.
The thought of more monsters like him terrified me, but I found myself interested.
“You said ‘us’. Are there more like you?” I asked hesitantly.
He nodded his head. “Lots. Old ways forgotten. We can move freely now.”
I nodded my head as if I understood. “Were you locked up or something before? During the old ways?” I asked, my curiosity growing.
He shook his head. “No. Not locked up. Not trapped. Just couldn’t come in!”
He gestured to the room.
Realization dawned on me. “You mean you couldn’t go into houses!”
He nodded. “Buildings treated with old ways magics. Burned us to touch. New ways no use burn magic!”
I asked, “Old ways magics? Did they cast a spell? What are the old ways magics?”
The monster shook his head and gestured for me to follow him. He started pointing to random objects in the house. A salt shaker, a cheap religious icon, some old crusting metal rings, fireplace tools, and many cheap antique things I bought from garage sales to make the place look rustic. He finally led me to an old oak armoire inlaid with silver.
“Old magics strong. Come from the land itself. Me able to slip into shadows. No getting around old magics.”
“By old magics, you mean the superstitions right? Salt on your window sill, bags of herbs, iron, silver, and certain woods all were rumored to keep monsters away. Is that what you mean?” I asked.
He nodded solemnly. “Hard to eat when everyone protected by wicked magics.”
I turned suddenly. “Eat? As in you eat people?”
A terrifying toothy grin was his only reply.
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[WP] For years you've found random money in your pockets and drawers that you don't remember having. Now, you've just figured out that you have a monster living under your bed. And he's paying rent.
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"So you're the monster under my bed?"
Trevor hesitated, and then nodded sheepishly.
In fairness to Trevor, his nodding sheepishly was really a pretty good trick. He was the size of a small bulldozer with two hairy goat legs that somehow morphed into a super-muscled torso that was entirely covered in scales like a snake. He had claws like Seal Team combat knives and eyes that were literally burning coals. Also, the horns. Did I mention the horns? Though they could have been antlers. I mean they branched out and all, but Bambi never had antlers like these. I'm going with horns on this one. I was in my underpants, and he was in his scales. Fur. Antlers. Whatever. You get the picture. Sitting on my bed. The bed of under which he was a monster. If that makes sense.
"Technically, I'm not really a monster," started Trevor. "I'm actually more of a demon."
"A demon?". I raised my right eyebrow in the most accusatory manner I knew. Trevor came clean.
"Absolutely a demon. 100% demonish. Uh, demonic," Trevor finished with a helpless shrug. "I am what I am".
Popeye couldn't have put it better. He certainly looked the part. Glowing eyes, check. Horns, check. Cloven hooves, check.
"But what does this have to do with my socks?" He looked taken aback, but then another thought struck me. "Wait, so you're a Fallen Angel?"
Wrong thing to say. Ooboy. His face went blank, and a wall came down. I could sense it. Trevor turned his face to the floor, looking kind of lost.
"Sorry, I don't mean to ..."
"I'm not that person anymore. I've moved on, and I'd appreciate some support. I thought that you would understand." He hunched over, put his massive forearms on his knees and laced his fingers together. He looked the way hurt looked, when you asked for support and got a slap instead.
I most certainly would understand about chequered pasts. I too had been foolish in my youth. Okay, maybe more than just foolish. 'Criminal' would be a better choice of words, in fairness. Look, here's what happened: A robbery. Smash and grab in a jewelry store. No one was supposed to get hurt, but shots were fired and if the ambulance hadn't gotten there in record time, someone would have died. I was young, I was outside in the getaway car, and it was my first offence. So just five years. Five years of incredible boredom laced with moments of intense fear and dread. Like that time that Big Benny had...
"Hey, were you under my bed when I was doing time?"
Trevor raised his head, and sighed. "That's how you made those first few weeks."
New Fish. That's what we were when we arrived. New Fish get special treatment. And one of those who doled out that 'special treatment' was Big Benny. Shaved head, a chest like a cement mixer, and a taste for sadism. It happens some time during your first week. Suddenly, your cellmate is gone without notice. Just gone. Then, Big Benny strolls into your cell. Whatever happens next is supposed to set the tone for the remainder of your incarceration. What happened next was that I took a good hard swing at Big Benny, and missed by about a foot and fell over. By the time I got up, Big Benny was scrambling out of my cell calling for his mother and Jesus, with snot and tears running down his bloodied face. I had always wondered what had really happened. People made assumptions, but never asked me directly. Things weren't easy after that. There's no such thing as 'easy' in prison. But I shudder to think how things could have gone. But that didn't happen to me. Trevor had my back. And when I got out of prison, I went back to school and changed my world. Could have been so different. Talk about a knife edge.
A warm and vibrant gratitude flooded through me and I reached up and put my hand on his shoulder. "I'm really thankful." I tried to put into words how I felt. "I was so scared... I would have died..." Emotion overcame me and my throat caught, and I couldn't speak after that. Tears welled in my eyes and ran down my face, somehow warm and cold at the same time.
There was quiet for a while, and then I felt Trevor put his hand on my shoulder. With my thumb and forefinger I squeezed the last tears out of my eyes, and then I blew my nose. I took a swig from my bedside bottle of water, and felt much better. More together. Phew.
"I saw your aura on the prisoner transport bus. I knew you could protect me."
Wow. That was also unexpected. Trevor was way ahead in the 'gotcha' points.
"Wait a minute, what do you mean by 'protect you'?"
"Demons are supposed to do the Satanic will of Hell. That's pretty much how things go. But like I said, that's not me anymore."
"But Hell doesn't like renegades, does it?" I prodded him. Trevor nodded.
"War, pestilence, death, sin, temptation, all of that. It is not a suggestion list, it is a requirement. And when you don't pull your weight, well let's just say it isn't only mortals who are subject to the torments of Hell. Your aura is big. It shields me, and I can hide behind it."
"Like camouflage, you mean?"
"Exactly. It is like I am standing behind a bright light in the dark of night. It is hard to see behind the glare. Not impossible, but hard."
"So what's the deal with the money, then?" This is how I had caught him in the first place. Ever since prison I had always had money when I needed it. Short on rent? A couple of carelessly forgotten hundreds scrunched into a trouser pocket fixed that. A twenty here, a fifty there, it all added up over the years to some serious coin. Trevor had been reaching from under my bed and stuffing a few twenties into my wallet which had dropped on the floor. Still half asleep, I had grabbed his arm and then somehow the gigantic Trevor had squished himself out from under my bed, which had under bed drawers and a clearance of about half an inch at best.
"I pay my way. In prison, I looked after you. That was my rent. Once you got out, I had to find another way to pay. I thought money would work. You mortals love money."
He had me there. The love of money is the root of all evil. I was grateful he didn't look smug when he had reminded me of that little nugget of wisdom.
I had my next question lined up when Trevor shot to his feet taking a fighting stance, quivering with fear, or maybe nervous energy.
"Beelzebub. He's found me."
I felt his approach. It gave me the same sinking feeling as hearing a judge read out how many months and years you were to be imprisoned for each of the counts of which you had been found guilty. The death of good things. The onslaught of darkness and fear. Trevor trembled. He looked like he could bench press a house, and yet he was trembling like a lamb awaiting the slaughter. I gripped my water bottle tight.
When Beelzebub entered into my room, he washed all of the colors from the world. Completely. It wasn't simply that the world became black and white, because there was no white in the presence of Beelzebub. Only shades of bleak depression and despair. The world became a scream that could never adequately express the anguish it really felt. I was sure that if I could wring reality like a dishrag, pure evil would pour out of it, black and cancerous. Trevor fell to his knees, his head bowed, his will buckling. I knew why. Beelzebub was the antipathy of everything alive. Of hope. Of faith. I cannot describe him, for I could not really see him. He was a blur of black and blood, of hatred and fear, of insinuating evil, of malice sublime.
Boy was he surprised when I sloshed Holy Water into his face.
He lurched out of my room like Big Benny scrambling from my cell, bleating and crying. In a screech of anguish he was gone. Color flooded back into the world, and everything that had been 'wrong' suddenly shifted back to 'right' in a way that highlighted just how wrong everything had been. Holy Water. Good for what ails ya.
The thing about Holy Water is not that a priest blesses it. That isn't really how it works. The priest actually asks the Lord to bless it, and it is then sanctified by the Lord. I should know. After I left prison, I went back to school. Seminary school. And then ordination. Any pure water can be made into Holy Water. Like a bedside bottle, for instance.
Trevor was still on his knees, but looked a million times better. He looked like someone with a reason to live, like someone with Hope. He turned to me, and his mouth opened. But no words came out, and I think I knew why. Profound gratitude has that effect.
I looked at him, and he looked at me. I said "You're cover is blown here, but this is not the end." I lifted my water bottle above my head they way an athlete carries an Olympic torch. "Are you ready for some serious protection?"
Trevor nodded, and I poured out the water on his head and began: "I baptize you in the name of the Father, and the Son..."
I never saw Trevor again after that. Nor did I ever find any more surprise cash. On the other hand, I never lost another sock in the wash either. I sure wish he had explained that bit before he left.
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Andean wasn't one to judge, he kinda just went along with things, no matter how weird they were, but this was next level. Just a few seconds ago, he had looked under his bed for a missing shoe and lo and behold, a dark mass was under his bed.
His eyes must have been playing tricks on him. No way. Monster's didn't exist. He must he dreaming.
"You aren't dreaming." The creature said, the blob of shadow it was twisted and conformed into something of a wolf-like shape. It's gender was hard to base on the voice, as it was hogh enough to be female but low enough to be male.
Andean blinked, surprised. This thing could _read_ his mind?
"Uh, yeah. I can. Sorry if I scared you there, it's quite comfy under here. I like it. Though I detest the stereotype of monsters under the bed, it's... nice. I can feed on your soul and you wouldn't know." The creature snarled, almost gleefully.
"M-my soul? Feeding on it? What?" Andean's mind was a jumple of confusion.
"Yeah, how do you think we survive? We connect ourselves to a human soul and feed on it until the human dies, then we move on. Us monsters live thousand of years, hell I've seen some that have been living for hundreds of thousands of years. I dunno how they find suitable hosts. I myself am only a few hundred years old, very young." The creature gave a smile? It looked like it at least, it was as if the creature didn't know how to smile.
"Are you slowly k-killing me?" Andean asked, feeling just starting to come back to his body.
"Oh heavens no. You humans have an infinite amount of soul, it only affects you slightly. Mood changes and such. Such peculiar creatures. Did you know that only humans have an infinite soul?" It asked Andean.
"N-no. I thought we didn't have souls." He replied back.
"You silly human! Of course you do, every living thing does. Take a rabbit for example. They have a soul. A finite one of course, but a soul nonetheless." The creature said, moving towards Andean.
"What's your name?" Andean blurted out, terrified.
"My name? I don't really have one. Although, one of my previous hosts called me Skur. I like that name." Skur told him as it reached the edge of the bed.
Andean sat back.
"Do you know what happens to you when you die?" Skur asked him, staying within the dark spots underneath his bed.
"We get reincarnated?" He answered back.
"No. You go into a coma like state. And then when I die, you'll belong to me in the afterlife. I consumed your soul, you'll be mine." Skur stated matter-of-factly.
Andean did not like that idea at all. He didn't want to become someone's pet, after he had no say in it.
"That's just how it is Andean. Also, I hope you found the money I left lying around. I thought you could use some. Rent or whatever you humans call ot." Skur shook it's head sadly.
It stepped out from underneath the bed. Lightly, as if unsure. Andean's eyes hadn't protrayed him when he saw it looked like a wolf. It was black, with whisps of black mist flowing off of it.
"Would you prefer this form, or maybe this?" Skur started to shapeshift into something taller. It was an... unpleasant sight to watch. The end result was an insanely hot naked woman.
Andean looked away. "Yeah, no. Back to the other form." He waved it away.
"Alright, fine then. That's usually what men wanted. But then again this is the 21st century and men actually have morals." Skur muttered as it shifted back into its original form.
Andean looked at it. He couldn't get use to the idea of belonging to someone else. He wouldn't accept this idea.
"Andean, this is reality. You'll be mine til your soul in the afterlife rots away." Skur started to walk away, pausing mid-step.
"Oh, and, everyone you love will die." It left with that final statement.
Andean clutched his heart, which was beating loudly. Skur couldn't just leave with that ominous sentence! Was it a curse? Or was it a foretell? Did monsters even have future vision?
He curled up into an upright ball. This was so overwhelming. Why did it have be to him? Why couldn't it have been his bitch of a neighbor.
Either way, he'd have to face facts, and soon. Because by the looks of it, his life was going to turn upside down.
Sorry for any spelling mistakes! Its also my first time writing one of these.
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[WP] For years you've found random money in your pockets and drawers that you don't remember having. Now, you've just figured out that you have a monster living under your bed. And he's paying rent.
|
"So you're the monster under my bed?"
Trevor hesitated, and then nodded sheepishly.
In fairness to Trevor, his nodding sheepishly was really a pretty good trick. He was the size of a small bulldozer with two hairy goat legs that somehow morphed into a super-muscled torso that was entirely covered in scales like a snake. He had claws like Seal Team combat knives and eyes that were literally burning coals. Also, the horns. Did I mention the horns? Though they could have been antlers. I mean they branched out and all, but Bambi never had antlers like these. I'm going with horns on this one. I was in my underpants, and he was in his scales. Fur. Antlers. Whatever. You get the picture. Sitting on my bed. The bed of under which he was a monster. If that makes sense.
"Technically, I'm not really a monster," started Trevor. "I'm actually more of a demon."
"A demon?". I raised my right eyebrow in the most accusatory manner I knew. Trevor came clean.
"Absolutely a demon. 100% demonish. Uh, demonic," Trevor finished with a helpless shrug. "I am what I am".
Popeye couldn't have put it better. He certainly looked the part. Glowing eyes, check. Horns, check. Cloven hooves, check.
"But what does this have to do with my socks?" He looked taken aback, but then another thought struck me. "Wait, so you're a Fallen Angel?"
Wrong thing to say. Ooboy. His face went blank, and a wall came down. I could sense it. Trevor turned his face to the floor, looking kind of lost.
"Sorry, I don't mean to ..."
"I'm not that person anymore. I've moved on, and I'd appreciate some support. I thought that you would understand." He hunched over, put his massive forearms on his knees and laced his fingers together. He looked the way hurt looked, when you asked for support and got a slap instead.
I most certainly would understand about chequered pasts. I too had been foolish in my youth. Okay, maybe more than just foolish. 'Criminal' would be a better choice of words, in fairness. Look, here's what happened: A robbery. Smash and grab in a jewelry store. No one was supposed to get hurt, but shots were fired and if the ambulance hadn't gotten there in record time, someone would have died. I was young, I was outside in the getaway car, and it was my first offence. So just five years. Five years of incredible boredom laced with moments of intense fear and dread. Like that time that Big Benny had...
"Hey, were you under my bed when I was doing time?"
Trevor raised his head, and sighed. "That's how you made those first few weeks."
New Fish. That's what we were when we arrived. New Fish get special treatment. And one of those who doled out that 'special treatment' was Big Benny. Shaved head, a chest like a cement mixer, and a taste for sadism. It happens some time during your first week. Suddenly, your cellmate is gone without notice. Just gone. Then, Big Benny strolls into your cell. Whatever happens next is supposed to set the tone for the remainder of your incarceration. What happened next was that I took a good hard swing at Big Benny, and missed by about a foot and fell over. By the time I got up, Big Benny was scrambling out of my cell calling for his mother and Jesus, with snot and tears running down his bloodied face. I had always wondered what had really happened. People made assumptions, but never asked me directly. Things weren't easy after that. There's no such thing as 'easy' in prison. But I shudder to think how things could have gone. But that didn't happen to me. Trevor had my back. And when I got out of prison, I went back to school and changed my world. Could have been so different. Talk about a knife edge.
A warm and vibrant gratitude flooded through me and I reached up and put my hand on his shoulder. "I'm really thankful." I tried to put into words how I felt. "I was so scared... I would have died..." Emotion overcame me and my throat caught, and I couldn't speak after that. Tears welled in my eyes and ran down my face, somehow warm and cold at the same time.
There was quiet for a while, and then I felt Trevor put his hand on my shoulder. With my thumb and forefinger I squeezed the last tears out of my eyes, and then I blew my nose. I took a swig from my bedside bottle of water, and felt much better. More together. Phew.
"I saw your aura on the prisoner transport bus. I knew you could protect me."
Wow. That was also unexpected. Trevor was way ahead in the 'gotcha' points.
"Wait a minute, what do you mean by 'protect you'?"
"Demons are supposed to do the Satanic will of Hell. That's pretty much how things go. But like I said, that's not me anymore."
"But Hell doesn't like renegades, does it?" I prodded him. Trevor nodded.
"War, pestilence, death, sin, temptation, all of that. It is not a suggestion list, it is a requirement. And when you don't pull your weight, well let's just say it isn't only mortals who are subject to the torments of Hell. Your aura is big. It shields me, and I can hide behind it."
"Like camouflage, you mean?"
"Exactly. It is like I am standing behind a bright light in the dark of night. It is hard to see behind the glare. Not impossible, but hard."
"So what's the deal with the money, then?" This is how I had caught him in the first place. Ever since prison I had always had money when I needed it. Short on rent? A couple of carelessly forgotten hundreds scrunched into a trouser pocket fixed that. A twenty here, a fifty there, it all added up over the years to some serious coin. Trevor had been reaching from under my bed and stuffing a few twenties into my wallet which had dropped on the floor. Still half asleep, I had grabbed his arm and then somehow the gigantic Trevor had squished himself out from under my bed, which had under bed drawers and a clearance of about half an inch at best.
"I pay my way. In prison, I looked after you. That was my rent. Once you got out, I had to find another way to pay. I thought money would work. You mortals love money."
He had me there. The love of money is the root of all evil. I was grateful he didn't look smug when he had reminded me of that little nugget of wisdom.
I had my next question lined up when Trevor shot to his feet taking a fighting stance, quivering with fear, or maybe nervous energy.
"Beelzebub. He's found me."
I felt his approach. It gave me the same sinking feeling as hearing a judge read out how many months and years you were to be imprisoned for each of the counts of which you had been found guilty. The death of good things. The onslaught of darkness and fear. Trevor trembled. He looked like he could bench press a house, and yet he was trembling like a lamb awaiting the slaughter. I gripped my water bottle tight.
When Beelzebub entered into my room, he washed all of the colors from the world. Completely. It wasn't simply that the world became black and white, because there was no white in the presence of Beelzebub. Only shades of bleak depression and despair. The world became a scream that could never adequately express the anguish it really felt. I was sure that if I could wring reality like a dishrag, pure evil would pour out of it, black and cancerous. Trevor fell to his knees, his head bowed, his will buckling. I knew why. Beelzebub was the antipathy of everything alive. Of hope. Of faith. I cannot describe him, for I could not really see him. He was a blur of black and blood, of hatred and fear, of insinuating evil, of malice sublime.
Boy was he surprised when I sloshed Holy Water into his face.
He lurched out of my room like Big Benny scrambling from my cell, bleating and crying. In a screech of anguish he was gone. Color flooded back into the world, and everything that had been 'wrong' suddenly shifted back to 'right' in a way that highlighted just how wrong everything had been. Holy Water. Good for what ails ya.
The thing about Holy Water is not that a priest blesses it. That isn't really how it works. The priest actually asks the Lord to bless it, and it is then sanctified by the Lord. I should know. After I left prison, I went back to school. Seminary school. And then ordination. Any pure water can be made into Holy Water. Like a bedside bottle, for instance.
Trevor was still on his knees, but looked a million times better. He looked like someone with a reason to live, like someone with Hope. He turned to me, and his mouth opened. But no words came out, and I think I knew why. Profound gratitude has that effect.
I looked at him, and he looked at me. I said "You're cover is blown here, but this is not the end." I lifted my water bottle above my head they way an athlete carries an Olympic torch. "Are you ready for some serious protection?"
Trevor nodded, and I poured out the water on his head and began: "I baptize you in the name of the Father, and the Son..."
I never saw Trevor again after that. Nor did I ever find any more surprise cash. On the other hand, I never lost another sock in the wash either. I sure wish he had explained that bit before he left.
|
"What the hell?" I exhaled as I pulled another stack of bills from my underwear drawer. It was weekly at this point, just -money- appearing out of no where. I wasn't going to turn it down, of course. I must have had it at some point, right?
That's when I heard a sudden start from beneath the rickety old frame that supported my mattress and box spring. A shifting weight, and a distorted, menacing growl of a voice mutter, "shit!"
"Who's there!?" I shouted, mustering my most commanding tone, despite the fact I was just about to piss myself. "What're you doing in my house?"
A low bellowing sigh then erupted with a jet of steam from beneath the bed, and *going* to piss myself matured into pissed myself. "Alright, alright!" the thing said in a roar. The bed shook, and I saw a long, clawed hand of obsidian skin appear from beneath the bed. It then heaved out a lanky, hunched figure, who must have stood at near double my height; a shadow come to life, with two pinpricks of demon light shining down on my face. Hot, steamy breath huffed out of a gnarled jaw, from which obelisk of yellow bone jutted in random directs.
I gulped, and laughed nervously. "N-now, let's not be hasty. You can stay under my bed as long as you want, bud."
"I sure fuckin' hope so," the thing said in a huff, "I've been paying ya' rent for five damn weeks now."
I took a double take. "Excuse me, rent?"
"Yeah," he stretched out a freakishly long arm, and pointed at the fold of dollar bills in my hand, "been leavin' it in your dresser."
"So that was you?"
"Unless you've got another monster in here, It was me." he shifted his weight, and I noticed now that he was doubled over in the fetal position, his jaw resting on two buckle-like knees. "Hey, could you turn around for a second, guy?"
"As long as you promise not to kill me."
"Leave that to the reapers."
I shrugged my shoulders and turned around. As soon as I did, there was a series of horrible tearing and cracking noises, like a chicken in a trash compactor with less screaming. "Alright!" called a much more normal voice, "you can turn around now."
I turned, expecting to see a new, albeit smaller, monstrosity, but instead was met with a rather well dressed person, like a tomboy right out of the twenties. A swallow tail coat, mothballed and a little worse for wear, but still nice, and a bowler hat that matched the crimson slacks and vest.
"um... what happened to the other guy?" I asked, idiotically, as I knew damn well what happened, I just needed to hear it said.
This new figures smirked and cocked his... her... its head to the side, "uh, guy, I am the 'other guy'"
"Alright then, that's weird," I said, before realizing how offensive that was.
"Look, this body is hard to hold so I'm gonna keep this short. You- humans, I mean- aren't supposed to know about us. I just-," The person looked down at the void beneath my bed and scratched the back of their neck, "I felt bad livin in your house and not doing nothing for you, ya' know? I mean, you make a mean chili, guy."
*'I fucking knew I wasn't crazy!'* I thought to myself, thinking on how an entire crock pot of chili just up and vanished from my fridge a few weeks back. I sighed, and looked at this new being I now knew of, and the sad sight of those crimson eyes. "Alright," I said with a sigh, "you can stay here."
This monster looked up with surprise, "really? you're not kickin me out?"
"No, but I have a couple of rules I'd like you to follow: first, I don't care what you do, but if you're doing anything illegal, don't bring it here. next, if you eat anything out of the fridge, try not to eat all of it, I get hungry too. Finally, since you'll basically be living here, I would like you to clean and other house work. you're... *rent* ... will cover your share of groceries. Sound fair?" I extended my hand toward them, which was grasped by a cold grip, and a beaming yellow smile of needle-like teeth met my eyes.
"It's a deal!" They excitedly shouted, before letting go of my hand which throbbed in pain from the pressure of their grasp. Then, they winced themselves, "ah shit, this body's falling apart. You don't wanna see me shift, trust me." they got on the ground, and began to crawl beneath my bed.
"Wait!"
"What?"
"What's your name?"
They paused for a second. "Shea'loth."
"Daniel, I'm Daniel."
"Well, Dan, if you don't mind, I'm going to slip into this here pocket dimension, see you tomorrow?"
"See you tomorrow." I waved, as they were fully immersed into the space beneath my bed.
|
|
[WP] For years you've found random money in your pockets and drawers that you don't remember having. Now, you've just figured out that you have a monster living under your bed. And he's paying rent.
|
"So you're the monster under my bed?"
Trevor hesitated, and then nodded sheepishly.
In fairness to Trevor, his nodding sheepishly was really a pretty good trick. He was the size of a small bulldozer with two hairy goat legs that somehow morphed into a super-muscled torso that was entirely covered in scales like a snake. He had claws like Seal Team combat knives and eyes that were literally burning coals. Also, the horns. Did I mention the horns? Though they could have been antlers. I mean they branched out and all, but Bambi never had antlers like these. I'm going with horns on this one. I was in my underpants, and he was in his scales. Fur. Antlers. Whatever. You get the picture. Sitting on my bed. The bed of under which he was a monster. If that makes sense.
"Technically, I'm not really a monster," started Trevor. "I'm actually more of a demon."
"A demon?". I raised my right eyebrow in the most accusatory manner I knew. Trevor came clean.
"Absolutely a demon. 100% demonish. Uh, demonic," Trevor finished with a helpless shrug. "I am what I am".
Popeye couldn't have put it better. He certainly looked the part. Glowing eyes, check. Horns, check. Cloven hooves, check.
"But what does this have to do with my socks?" He looked taken aback, but then another thought struck me. "Wait, so you're a Fallen Angel?"
Wrong thing to say. Ooboy. His face went blank, and a wall came down. I could sense it. Trevor turned his face to the floor, looking kind of lost.
"Sorry, I don't mean to ..."
"I'm not that person anymore. I've moved on, and I'd appreciate some support. I thought that you would understand." He hunched over, put his massive forearms on his knees and laced his fingers together. He looked the way hurt looked, when you asked for support and got a slap instead.
I most certainly would understand about chequered pasts. I too had been foolish in my youth. Okay, maybe more than just foolish. 'Criminal' would be a better choice of words, in fairness. Look, here's what happened: A robbery. Smash and grab in a jewelry store. No one was supposed to get hurt, but shots were fired and if the ambulance hadn't gotten there in record time, someone would have died. I was young, I was outside in the getaway car, and it was my first offence. So just five years. Five years of incredible boredom laced with moments of intense fear and dread. Like that time that Big Benny had...
"Hey, were you under my bed when I was doing time?"
Trevor raised his head, and sighed. "That's how you made those first few weeks."
New Fish. That's what we were when we arrived. New Fish get special treatment. And one of those who doled out that 'special treatment' was Big Benny. Shaved head, a chest like a cement mixer, and a taste for sadism. It happens some time during your first week. Suddenly, your cellmate is gone without notice. Just gone. Then, Big Benny strolls into your cell. Whatever happens next is supposed to set the tone for the remainder of your incarceration. What happened next was that I took a good hard swing at Big Benny, and missed by about a foot and fell over. By the time I got up, Big Benny was scrambling out of my cell calling for his mother and Jesus, with snot and tears running down his bloodied face. I had always wondered what had really happened. People made assumptions, but never asked me directly. Things weren't easy after that. There's no such thing as 'easy' in prison. But I shudder to think how things could have gone. But that didn't happen to me. Trevor had my back. And when I got out of prison, I went back to school and changed my world. Could have been so different. Talk about a knife edge.
A warm and vibrant gratitude flooded through me and I reached up and put my hand on his shoulder. "I'm really thankful." I tried to put into words how I felt. "I was so scared... I would have died..." Emotion overcame me and my throat caught, and I couldn't speak after that. Tears welled in my eyes and ran down my face, somehow warm and cold at the same time.
There was quiet for a while, and then I felt Trevor put his hand on my shoulder. With my thumb and forefinger I squeezed the last tears out of my eyes, and then I blew my nose. I took a swig from my bedside bottle of water, and felt much better. More together. Phew.
"I saw your aura on the prisoner transport bus. I knew you could protect me."
Wow. That was also unexpected. Trevor was way ahead in the 'gotcha' points.
"Wait a minute, what do you mean by 'protect you'?"
"Demons are supposed to do the Satanic will of Hell. That's pretty much how things go. But like I said, that's not me anymore."
"But Hell doesn't like renegades, does it?" I prodded him. Trevor nodded.
"War, pestilence, death, sin, temptation, all of that. It is not a suggestion list, it is a requirement. And when you don't pull your weight, well let's just say it isn't only mortals who are subject to the torments of Hell. Your aura is big. It shields me, and I can hide behind it."
"Like camouflage, you mean?"
"Exactly. It is like I am standing behind a bright light in the dark of night. It is hard to see behind the glare. Not impossible, but hard."
"So what's the deal with the money, then?" This is how I had caught him in the first place. Ever since prison I had always had money when I needed it. Short on rent? A couple of carelessly forgotten hundreds scrunched into a trouser pocket fixed that. A twenty here, a fifty there, it all added up over the years to some serious coin. Trevor had been reaching from under my bed and stuffing a few twenties into my wallet which had dropped on the floor. Still half asleep, I had grabbed his arm and then somehow the gigantic Trevor had squished himself out from under my bed, which had under bed drawers and a clearance of about half an inch at best.
"I pay my way. In prison, I looked after you. That was my rent. Once you got out, I had to find another way to pay. I thought money would work. You mortals love money."
He had me there. The love of money is the root of all evil. I was grateful he didn't look smug when he had reminded me of that little nugget of wisdom.
I had my next question lined up when Trevor shot to his feet taking a fighting stance, quivering with fear, or maybe nervous energy.
"Beelzebub. He's found me."
I felt his approach. It gave me the same sinking feeling as hearing a judge read out how many months and years you were to be imprisoned for each of the counts of which you had been found guilty. The death of good things. The onslaught of darkness and fear. Trevor trembled. He looked like he could bench press a house, and yet he was trembling like a lamb awaiting the slaughter. I gripped my water bottle tight.
When Beelzebub entered into my room, he washed all of the colors from the world. Completely. It wasn't simply that the world became black and white, because there was no white in the presence of Beelzebub. Only shades of bleak depression and despair. The world became a scream that could never adequately express the anguish it really felt. I was sure that if I could wring reality like a dishrag, pure evil would pour out of it, black and cancerous. Trevor fell to his knees, his head bowed, his will buckling. I knew why. Beelzebub was the antipathy of everything alive. Of hope. Of faith. I cannot describe him, for I could not really see him. He was a blur of black and blood, of hatred and fear, of insinuating evil, of malice sublime.
Boy was he surprised when I sloshed Holy Water into his face.
He lurched out of my room like Big Benny scrambling from my cell, bleating and crying. In a screech of anguish he was gone. Color flooded back into the world, and everything that had been 'wrong' suddenly shifted back to 'right' in a way that highlighted just how wrong everything had been. Holy Water. Good for what ails ya.
The thing about Holy Water is not that a priest blesses it. That isn't really how it works. The priest actually asks the Lord to bless it, and it is then sanctified by the Lord. I should know. After I left prison, I went back to school. Seminary school. And then ordination. Any pure water can be made into Holy Water. Like a bedside bottle, for instance.
Trevor was still on his knees, but looked a million times better. He looked like someone with a reason to live, like someone with Hope. He turned to me, and his mouth opened. But no words came out, and I think I knew why. Profound gratitude has that effect.
I looked at him, and he looked at me. I said "You're cover is blown here, but this is not the end." I lifted my water bottle above my head they way an athlete carries an Olympic torch. "Are you ready for some serious protection?"
Trevor nodded, and I poured out the water on his head and began: "I baptize you in the name of the Father, and the Son..."
I never saw Trevor again after that. Nor did I ever find any more surprise cash. On the other hand, I never lost another sock in the wash either. I sure wish he had explained that bit before he left.
|
"Duuuuude-" I muttered, peering into the depths of the space under my bed.
The depths peered back.
"Uh... hi?" A gravely voice said, sounding as confused as I felt.
"Oh man, I am way too high for this." I sat back enough to still see under there, but from further away. I didn't know if this... hallucination? had teeth.
I got the important question out of the way first. "Are you a hallucination?"
"No, I'm Mark." The glowing eyes responded. Something long and black slowly crept out of the darkness, and for a second I wondered how the thing, Mark, got a hold of the 'toy' my last boyfriend bought me.
Then more of the same thing followed, and I realized Mark was coming out. And that Mark had tentacles.
"Oh no!" I said, scrambling back, "I am not gonna be in some hentai shit, am I?" I tried to keep my legs closed as I moved.
The monster under my bed came all of the way out, and cocked what I thought-hoped- was it's head. "Hentai shit? What's that?"
"Dude, if you don't know, I'm not gonna be the one to explain it to you. So... Mark? That's your name?" I felt like I was much calmer about this than I should be. I'm gonna talk to my 'guy' when this whole episode was over. Maybe get some more of whatever strain had me like this. Or yell at him. Depending on how this went.
The monster's top shuddered in an up and down motion. He was nodding.
"So... uh... what were you doing under there, Mark? I'm kind of a little old to have a monster under my bed."
Mark crossed his tentacles. "Excuse me? I am a *Demon-American."* He huffed. Oh great, I offended the monster under my bed. "Besides, that's where I rent to live. Where else would I be in my off time? *Socializing*? No thank you."
"You pay rent? To who?"
"Uh, you? Obviously."
I paused, not enough brain power to think this over and talk at the same time. Then it hit me! The random money I'd been finding in my pockets! My paycheck is direct deposited, so I never had cash before. But then a roll of $20's started just... appearing in my clothes.
Honestly that was a relief. I thought I had been doing illegal shit while I was black out drunk. My mom would have been so disappointing if I was arrested for solicitation.
"So wait, you give me... like..." I counted on my fingers. "$500 just to live in the space under my bed?"
"Yes, that is the standard going rate, right?" Mark seemed concerned. The black tentacles had become uncrossed and were swaying nervously.
"Dude, that's enough to rent the other room. If you wanna, anyway. I mean... I've gotta admit, I'm super uncomfortable with the thought that I've been sharing my room with a... male?" I shrugged awkwardly.
Mark seemed to consider that. "You have males in this room all of the time." Okay, rude. No need to slut shame, *Mark*. "Hm... is it furnished?"
"Only with like, a bed and dresser." I answered, frowning, still stinging at the 'lots of males' comment.
"Does it have a closet?"
"Yes?"
"Great! I can definitely work with that kind of space!" He exclaimed, clapping his tentacles. Then he held one out towards me, and I flinched. But it just hung in the air, "Well, are we going to shake on it or what?"
I reached out and firmly grasped the offered appendage. It wasn't slimy at all, which I have to admit, surprised me. "Uh, yeah... sure, welcome to the house officially, Mark. Um... could you leave your rent somewhere normal next month? Like... the kitchen counter?"
|
|
[WP] For years you've found random money in your pockets and drawers that you don't remember having. Now, you've just figured out that you have a monster living under your bed. And he's paying rent.
|
"So you're the monster under my bed?"
Trevor hesitated, and then nodded sheepishly.
In fairness to Trevor, his nodding sheepishly was really a pretty good trick. He was the size of a small bulldozer with two hairy goat legs that somehow morphed into a super-muscled torso that was entirely covered in scales like a snake. He had claws like Seal Team combat knives and eyes that were literally burning coals. Also, the horns. Did I mention the horns? Though they could have been antlers. I mean they branched out and all, but Bambi never had antlers like these. I'm going with horns on this one. I was in my underpants, and he was in his scales. Fur. Antlers. Whatever. You get the picture. Sitting on my bed. The bed of under which he was a monster. If that makes sense.
"Technically, I'm not really a monster," started Trevor. "I'm actually more of a demon."
"A demon?". I raised my right eyebrow in the most accusatory manner I knew. Trevor came clean.
"Absolutely a demon. 100% demonish. Uh, demonic," Trevor finished with a helpless shrug. "I am what I am".
Popeye couldn't have put it better. He certainly looked the part. Glowing eyes, check. Horns, check. Cloven hooves, check.
"But what does this have to do with my socks?" He looked taken aback, but then another thought struck me. "Wait, so you're a Fallen Angel?"
Wrong thing to say. Ooboy. His face went blank, and a wall came down. I could sense it. Trevor turned his face to the floor, looking kind of lost.
"Sorry, I don't mean to ..."
"I'm not that person anymore. I've moved on, and I'd appreciate some support. I thought that you would understand." He hunched over, put his massive forearms on his knees and laced his fingers together. He looked the way hurt looked, when you asked for support and got a slap instead.
I most certainly would understand about chequered pasts. I too had been foolish in my youth. Okay, maybe more than just foolish. 'Criminal' would be a better choice of words, in fairness. Look, here's what happened: A robbery. Smash and grab in a jewelry store. No one was supposed to get hurt, but shots were fired and if the ambulance hadn't gotten there in record time, someone would have died. I was young, I was outside in the getaway car, and it was my first offence. So just five years. Five years of incredible boredom laced with moments of intense fear and dread. Like that time that Big Benny had...
"Hey, were you under my bed when I was doing time?"
Trevor raised his head, and sighed. "That's how you made those first few weeks."
New Fish. That's what we were when we arrived. New Fish get special treatment. And one of those who doled out that 'special treatment' was Big Benny. Shaved head, a chest like a cement mixer, and a taste for sadism. It happens some time during your first week. Suddenly, your cellmate is gone without notice. Just gone. Then, Big Benny strolls into your cell. Whatever happens next is supposed to set the tone for the remainder of your incarceration. What happened next was that I took a good hard swing at Big Benny, and missed by about a foot and fell over. By the time I got up, Big Benny was scrambling out of my cell calling for his mother and Jesus, with snot and tears running down his bloodied face. I had always wondered what had really happened. People made assumptions, but never asked me directly. Things weren't easy after that. There's no such thing as 'easy' in prison. But I shudder to think how things could have gone. But that didn't happen to me. Trevor had my back. And when I got out of prison, I went back to school and changed my world. Could have been so different. Talk about a knife edge.
A warm and vibrant gratitude flooded through me and I reached up and put my hand on his shoulder. "I'm really thankful." I tried to put into words how I felt. "I was so scared... I would have died..." Emotion overcame me and my throat caught, and I couldn't speak after that. Tears welled in my eyes and ran down my face, somehow warm and cold at the same time.
There was quiet for a while, and then I felt Trevor put his hand on my shoulder. With my thumb and forefinger I squeezed the last tears out of my eyes, and then I blew my nose. I took a swig from my bedside bottle of water, and felt much better. More together. Phew.
"I saw your aura on the prisoner transport bus. I knew you could protect me."
Wow. That was also unexpected. Trevor was way ahead in the 'gotcha' points.
"Wait a minute, what do you mean by 'protect you'?"
"Demons are supposed to do the Satanic will of Hell. That's pretty much how things go. But like I said, that's not me anymore."
"But Hell doesn't like renegades, does it?" I prodded him. Trevor nodded.
"War, pestilence, death, sin, temptation, all of that. It is not a suggestion list, it is a requirement. And when you don't pull your weight, well let's just say it isn't only mortals who are subject to the torments of Hell. Your aura is big. It shields me, and I can hide behind it."
"Like camouflage, you mean?"
"Exactly. It is like I am standing behind a bright light in the dark of night. It is hard to see behind the glare. Not impossible, but hard."
"So what's the deal with the money, then?" This is how I had caught him in the first place. Ever since prison I had always had money when I needed it. Short on rent? A couple of carelessly forgotten hundreds scrunched into a trouser pocket fixed that. A twenty here, a fifty there, it all added up over the years to some serious coin. Trevor had been reaching from under my bed and stuffing a few twenties into my wallet which had dropped on the floor. Still half asleep, I had grabbed his arm and then somehow the gigantic Trevor had squished himself out from under my bed, which had under bed drawers and a clearance of about half an inch at best.
"I pay my way. In prison, I looked after you. That was my rent. Once you got out, I had to find another way to pay. I thought money would work. You mortals love money."
He had me there. The love of money is the root of all evil. I was grateful he didn't look smug when he had reminded me of that little nugget of wisdom.
I had my next question lined up when Trevor shot to his feet taking a fighting stance, quivering with fear, or maybe nervous energy.
"Beelzebub. He's found me."
I felt his approach. It gave me the same sinking feeling as hearing a judge read out how many months and years you were to be imprisoned for each of the counts of which you had been found guilty. The death of good things. The onslaught of darkness and fear. Trevor trembled. He looked like he could bench press a house, and yet he was trembling like a lamb awaiting the slaughter. I gripped my water bottle tight.
When Beelzebub entered into my room, he washed all of the colors from the world. Completely. It wasn't simply that the world became black and white, because there was no white in the presence of Beelzebub. Only shades of bleak depression and despair. The world became a scream that could never adequately express the anguish it really felt. I was sure that if I could wring reality like a dishrag, pure evil would pour out of it, black and cancerous. Trevor fell to his knees, his head bowed, his will buckling. I knew why. Beelzebub was the antipathy of everything alive. Of hope. Of faith. I cannot describe him, for I could not really see him. He was a blur of black and blood, of hatred and fear, of insinuating evil, of malice sublime.
Boy was he surprised when I sloshed Holy Water into his face.
He lurched out of my room like Big Benny scrambling from my cell, bleating and crying. In a screech of anguish he was gone. Color flooded back into the world, and everything that had been 'wrong' suddenly shifted back to 'right' in a way that highlighted just how wrong everything had been. Holy Water. Good for what ails ya.
The thing about Holy Water is not that a priest blesses it. That isn't really how it works. The priest actually asks the Lord to bless it, and it is then sanctified by the Lord. I should know. After I left prison, I went back to school. Seminary school. And then ordination. Any pure water can be made into Holy Water. Like a bedside bottle, for instance.
Trevor was still on his knees, but looked a million times better. He looked like someone with a reason to live, like someone with Hope. He turned to me, and his mouth opened. But no words came out, and I think I knew why. Profound gratitude has that effect.
I looked at him, and he looked at me. I said "You're cover is blown here, but this is not the end." I lifted my water bottle above my head they way an athlete carries an Olympic torch. "Are you ready for some serious protection?"
Trevor nodded, and I poured out the water on his head and began: "I baptize you in the name of the Father, and the Son..."
I never saw Trevor again after that. Nor did I ever find any more surprise cash. On the other hand, I never lost another sock in the wash either. I sure wish he had explained that bit before he left.
|
I always thought she was a bit eccentric, no one in the family ever took any of her claims seriously.
Doctors, psychologists, priests, they all told her the same thing, it was in her imagination, it was cute when we were little; as we grew up it became sad.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised at where she ended up. Locked in a padded room and fed drugs until she was a drooling zombie. I’m not sure why our grandparents favored her, why they left her the old house.
The house I now had responsibility to refurbish and renovate. I chose the largest room with a huge bay window bed, overlooking the massive yard, the tree line which was at least 8 feet away was visible the morning auburn light shined into the room casting out the shadows and revealing the cracked walls.
Water stains spread across the high ceiling in patches, the whole house had a worn and tired feel around it.
This house was a blessing. And now that it was just Tia and I, and her medical bills it was time to fix this place up and bring her home.
I noticed the crumbled bills at first in drawers, small bills fives and tens. It was strange, every knob would come off doors, and every time I found something broken. I found loose change and small bills. It was a pleasant surprise but also a strange one.
The paint samples I looked over and made a few patches. I sighed.
“There’s no way that’s the right color.”
I muttered to myself and groaned as I went to the closet to get the paint supplies and door broke off and gravity embraced the large lump nearly taking me with it.
I screamed in frustration.
“Stupid broken house, and it’s stupid broken walls! I can’t afford to fix this whole place! When every freaking door and hand handle breaks!”
I yelled kicking the door with my work boot.
I screamed and frustration and fell onto my knees and succumbed to a full blown tantrum.
It was exhausting, fixing this house, was exhausting. I sat and cried myself into a ball until I fell asleep.
It was the whispers I heard, as I suddenly became aware, I felt sore and I knew I’d have to stretch. Moving right now was too much of an effort.
“not that one, the big one.”
“What does it matter the number sequence?”
“It’s important if we want HER back-“
“Back! Ha! She has not been back in years!”
“Hush”
“Ten years! Ten years she promised to return and, Ten years we’ve been waiting to pay! And she has not returned she is a liar! Best friends for life! Ha! I told HER befriending a human was nonsense! I told YOU humans care only for their trivial short lives! But no! You had to invite into OUR home! For what? So you can meet a selfish, flawed, lying human That brings nothing but trouble and changes our wall to Eggplant purple!?The worst color one can choose!”
“Marius!”
I stared wide eyed at the two shadow creatures they didn’t quite have figures, they were more a solid mass of nothingness, while I saw in front of them a pile of dirty crumbled bills. The smaller one was verbal and it’s voice was raspy, like a cold that didn’t quite go away.
“I told you, humans are nothing but trouble, but no! You don’t want to listen! Now we have another meat walker in our house, and changing everything! I hope you are pleased with yourself!”
The door that previously lied discarded now flew into the wall slamming with such force if I hadn’t been awake and witnessing the phenomenon I would have jolted in panic.
The hiss that came from the larger creature was deep and angry. As solid dark red eyes stared back into my green ones.
I couldn’t move, I couldn’t even breath as my whole body froze in terror. The thing named Marius turned to me and I couldn’t even move.
“The eggplant color is hideous! I wouldn’t choose it in hell!”
I gulped and took in a deep breath burning my chest and lungs.
“You’ve frightened the poor girl!”
“You don’t know its a girl!”
“It has long hair of course it’s a girl!”
“It’s clearly male!”
“Don’t insult it”
“Me insult it? It insulted us with that eggplant color it chose for MY wall”
“You don’t even like that wall! It shortens the room!”
“It’s my wall! It’s been my wall for 83 years! And I like it the way it is!”
“Well things change every few centuries! not everything is made of stone and mortar!”
I couldn’t keep up with the two figures as they seemed to bicker like an old married couple. I felt like my grandparents were arguing. It would be entertaining if it wasn’t so .. insane.
I knew it, I lost my mind, this old house made people crazy, I was now crazy. That’s what was happening, I’ve had a mental breakdown and I was now losing my mind. There was a sharp pressure building up as their voices became more raspy and screeched as they argued.
“Who cares about the eggplant wall!”
“I do! I care! Because I have to look at it for the next 50 years!”
“Um.”
The suddenly pressure stopped and I breathed in the heavy air. It was silent as these two beings stared at me with their fire eyes.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Faris and this is Marius.”
What the fuck? I didn’t quite know how to process that at the moment I looked at the crumbles pile of dirty money on the floor. And then back to them, I blinked and shook my head.
The one who had been more diplomatic spoke first.
“Do you have any other colors besides Eggplant?”
“What are you planning to do to the kitchen? Those cabinets have been in since the depression, and I disliked them even then?”
“The kitchen...?”
“The gold and silver backsplash will look better in the bathroom, the kitchen needs a more modern tile.”
I stared at them in awe. They were asking about the house? My family home. As if they lived here.
“Don’t mind Marius, he liked watching those renovations with Birdie, on the picture box.”
“It’s called a television,”
The demon named Marius and I spoke at the same time. I couldn’t believe it, I knew these two, they were my sisters imaginary friends her entire life.
Her BEST friends, My mouth resembled a carp as they turned to each other and began discussing the chimney.
“A new gas fire place is better and works more quickly.”
“And can cause gas leaks and explosions, I am not losing my home because some pothead teenagers were too fucked up to turn off the gas!”
“This is my home too! You don’t get to push me aside and to make a Roman themed bathhouse in the library!”
“I bathhouse is practical and useful! What do you need a library for? You haven’t read a book since the French resistance!”
“Well I pay rent here! So I can choose things to.”
“Guys! Guys! Guys! Or. girls.. look I have an idea.”
I said and reached to the piles of large folders of wall paper samples.
“Why don’t we find something we like together. And if it’s something a little more pricey we can look into the budget and see if we can adjust some things.”
I said they were both quite and I gulped as I felt the heavy pressure on my chest.
“We have a concern.”
The smaller demon rasped and I gulped, did they want to hurt me? Drive me away? Were they going to try to kill me and eat my flesh?
“Ok..”
The larger one floated forward and I felt those red eyes one me as he looked over me.
“You’re not going to choose anything pastel. Are you?”
I gulped and let out a breathy sigh of relief
“Nn-no?”
The air lightened
“Good, i hate Pastel.”
I gulped and nodded
“Good to know.”
|
|
[WP] For years you've found random money in your pockets and drawers that you don't remember having. Now, you've just figured out that you have a monster living under your bed. And he's paying rent.
|
"So you're the monster under my bed?"
Trevor hesitated, and then nodded sheepishly.
In fairness to Trevor, his nodding sheepishly was really a pretty good trick. He was the size of a small bulldozer with two hairy goat legs that somehow morphed into a super-muscled torso that was entirely covered in scales like a snake. He had claws like Seal Team combat knives and eyes that were literally burning coals. Also, the horns. Did I mention the horns? Though they could have been antlers. I mean they branched out and all, but Bambi never had antlers like these. I'm going with horns on this one. I was in my underpants, and he was in his scales. Fur. Antlers. Whatever. You get the picture. Sitting on my bed. The bed of under which he was a monster. If that makes sense.
"Technically, I'm not really a monster," started Trevor. "I'm actually more of a demon."
"A demon?". I raised my right eyebrow in the most accusatory manner I knew. Trevor came clean.
"Absolutely a demon. 100% demonish. Uh, demonic," Trevor finished with a helpless shrug. "I am what I am".
Popeye couldn't have put it better. He certainly looked the part. Glowing eyes, check. Horns, check. Cloven hooves, check.
"But what does this have to do with my socks?" He looked taken aback, but then another thought struck me. "Wait, so you're a Fallen Angel?"
Wrong thing to say. Ooboy. His face went blank, and a wall came down. I could sense it. Trevor turned his face to the floor, looking kind of lost.
"Sorry, I don't mean to ..."
"I'm not that person anymore. I've moved on, and I'd appreciate some support. I thought that you would understand." He hunched over, put his massive forearms on his knees and laced his fingers together. He looked the way hurt looked, when you asked for support and got a slap instead.
I most certainly would understand about chequered pasts. I too had been foolish in my youth. Okay, maybe more than just foolish. 'Criminal' would be a better choice of words, in fairness. Look, here's what happened: A robbery. Smash and grab in a jewelry store. No one was supposed to get hurt, but shots were fired and if the ambulance hadn't gotten there in record time, someone would have died. I was young, I was outside in the getaway car, and it was my first offence. So just five years. Five years of incredible boredom laced with moments of intense fear and dread. Like that time that Big Benny had...
"Hey, were you under my bed when I was doing time?"
Trevor raised his head, and sighed. "That's how you made those first few weeks."
New Fish. That's what we were when we arrived. New Fish get special treatment. And one of those who doled out that 'special treatment' was Big Benny. Shaved head, a chest like a cement mixer, and a taste for sadism. It happens some time during your first week. Suddenly, your cellmate is gone without notice. Just gone. Then, Big Benny strolls into your cell. Whatever happens next is supposed to set the tone for the remainder of your incarceration. What happened next was that I took a good hard swing at Big Benny, and missed by about a foot and fell over. By the time I got up, Big Benny was scrambling out of my cell calling for his mother and Jesus, with snot and tears running down his bloodied face. I had always wondered what had really happened. People made assumptions, but never asked me directly. Things weren't easy after that. There's no such thing as 'easy' in prison. But I shudder to think how things could have gone. But that didn't happen to me. Trevor had my back. And when I got out of prison, I went back to school and changed my world. Could have been so different. Talk about a knife edge.
A warm and vibrant gratitude flooded through me and I reached up and put my hand on his shoulder. "I'm really thankful." I tried to put into words how I felt. "I was so scared... I would have died..." Emotion overcame me and my throat caught, and I couldn't speak after that. Tears welled in my eyes and ran down my face, somehow warm and cold at the same time.
There was quiet for a while, and then I felt Trevor put his hand on my shoulder. With my thumb and forefinger I squeezed the last tears out of my eyes, and then I blew my nose. I took a swig from my bedside bottle of water, and felt much better. More together. Phew.
"I saw your aura on the prisoner transport bus. I knew you could protect me."
Wow. That was also unexpected. Trevor was way ahead in the 'gotcha' points.
"Wait a minute, what do you mean by 'protect you'?"
"Demons are supposed to do the Satanic will of Hell. That's pretty much how things go. But like I said, that's not me anymore."
"But Hell doesn't like renegades, does it?" I prodded him. Trevor nodded.
"War, pestilence, death, sin, temptation, all of that. It is not a suggestion list, it is a requirement. And when you don't pull your weight, well let's just say it isn't only mortals who are subject to the torments of Hell. Your aura is big. It shields me, and I can hide behind it."
"Like camouflage, you mean?"
"Exactly. It is like I am standing behind a bright light in the dark of night. It is hard to see behind the glare. Not impossible, but hard."
"So what's the deal with the money, then?" This is how I had caught him in the first place. Ever since prison I had always had money when I needed it. Short on rent? A couple of carelessly forgotten hundreds scrunched into a trouser pocket fixed that. A twenty here, a fifty there, it all added up over the years to some serious coin. Trevor had been reaching from under my bed and stuffing a few twenties into my wallet which had dropped on the floor. Still half asleep, I had grabbed his arm and then somehow the gigantic Trevor had squished himself out from under my bed, which had under bed drawers and a clearance of about half an inch at best.
"I pay my way. In prison, I looked after you. That was my rent. Once you got out, I had to find another way to pay. I thought money would work. You mortals love money."
He had me there. The love of money is the root of all evil. I was grateful he didn't look smug when he had reminded me of that little nugget of wisdom.
I had my next question lined up when Trevor shot to his feet taking a fighting stance, quivering with fear, or maybe nervous energy.
"Beelzebub. He's found me."
I felt his approach. It gave me the same sinking feeling as hearing a judge read out how many months and years you were to be imprisoned for each of the counts of which you had been found guilty. The death of good things. The onslaught of darkness and fear. Trevor trembled. He looked like he could bench press a house, and yet he was trembling like a lamb awaiting the slaughter. I gripped my water bottle tight.
When Beelzebub entered into my room, he washed all of the colors from the world. Completely. It wasn't simply that the world became black and white, because there was no white in the presence of Beelzebub. Only shades of bleak depression and despair. The world became a scream that could never adequately express the anguish it really felt. I was sure that if I could wring reality like a dishrag, pure evil would pour out of it, black and cancerous. Trevor fell to his knees, his head bowed, his will buckling. I knew why. Beelzebub was the antipathy of everything alive. Of hope. Of faith. I cannot describe him, for I could not really see him. He was a blur of black and blood, of hatred and fear, of insinuating evil, of malice sublime.
Boy was he surprised when I sloshed Holy Water into his face.
He lurched out of my room like Big Benny scrambling from my cell, bleating and crying. In a screech of anguish he was gone. Color flooded back into the world, and everything that had been 'wrong' suddenly shifted back to 'right' in a way that highlighted just how wrong everything had been. Holy Water. Good for what ails ya.
The thing about Holy Water is not that a priest blesses it. That isn't really how it works. The priest actually asks the Lord to bless it, and it is then sanctified by the Lord. I should know. After I left prison, I went back to school. Seminary school. And then ordination. Any pure water can be made into Holy Water. Like a bedside bottle, for instance.
Trevor was still on his knees, but looked a million times better. He looked like someone with a reason to live, like someone with Hope. He turned to me, and his mouth opened. But no words came out, and I think I knew why. Profound gratitude has that effect.
I looked at him, and he looked at me. I said "You're cover is blown here, but this is not the end." I lifted my water bottle above my head they way an athlete carries an Olympic torch. "Are you ready for some serious protection?"
Trevor nodded, and I poured out the water on his head and began: "I baptize you in the name of the Father, and the Son..."
I never saw Trevor again after that. Nor did I ever find any more surprise cash. On the other hand, I never lost another sock in the wash either. I sure wish he had explained that bit before he left.
|
**Please forgive errors, I'm on mobile.**
1.
Well. He's not really a monster, and under my bed isn't entirely accurate. Nonetheless, there he stood, coins in hand, a look of fright and bewilderment upon his face.
I was taken aback, speechless when he told me what he'd been doing. How could anyone, (anything?), even live in such a small space?
My mind raced.
"Bbb." I started to speak but was only able to incoherently mumble. "What?"
His voice was weak, high-pitched, and fraught with distress.
"Please let me stay." He trailed off, obviously having troubles of his own in speaking. "Dddon't ma-ke... Me... Llleave."
With this the little creature fell to the floor. The brown satchel he'd been carrying also fell and landed with a muffled thud.
I gasped and instinctively ran to him to help. I was confused, to be sure, but resolved to address that in due time. Right now I needed to get this little guy comfortable and try to see what kind of aid I could administer.
Getting him into the bed was easy enough. His little body, though limp, was still warm to the touch and ever so faintly, his tiny chest rose as he breathed shallow breaths. At least he was alive, whatever he was.
2.
He leapt from the bed jumping several feet into the air. The sheet clung to him, and very acrobatically, he shredded it. He landed gracefully without disturbing any of the other bedding, a small blade in his paw-like hand.
I was across the room at a small square table lost in research on my phone when this occurred. The piping-hot coffee in my mug still steamed as I knocked it to the floor. The shattering of glass caught his attention and before I could react he was perched atop my chest pointing his now dangerous looking blade at the side of my neck.
The look in his eyes was devoid of compassion in that moment. He was operating on instinct and reflex. He held fast to my shirt collar with his left hand as I smashed my eyes closed certain my life had reached it's end.
Gasp.
I felt the grip on my collar loosen and the stiff weight on my chest relaxed. As I opened my eyes I could see regret take hold of his expression. The animosity was gone.
Again the creature leapt, this time backwards, flipped, sheathed his weapon, and landed before me on the floor. Instantly he bowed so deeply that his nose almost touched the tile.
3.
Barnaby smiled, milk dripping from his whiskers, as he carefully sat the mug down in front of him and focused again on the plate of food next to him. My mouth partially agape, still in shock, confused, and in utter disbelief I watched as he continued to eat.
"So, you're not from here?" What a stupid question I thought as soon as the words left my mouth. "Where are you from?"
"An area near here. Near the big lake." He replied in between bites far too big for his tiny mouth.
I recalled seeing a news story about an effort to cultivate some land near Lake Region. Apparently some politician had made a point to emphasize the potential economic impacts of urbanizing the area. I believe they quoted him as saying it needed to be more, "touristy".
"Where is your family?" I asked, sipping my newly poured coffee.
"What is a family?" He asked.
"Your people? You know?" I stopped for a moment suddenly unable to describe something so mundane.
He just stared for a moment perplexed before returning to his meal.
"How did you get here?"
"I walked."
This conversation was getting me nowhere. I decided to switch gears.
"Why are you giving me money?"
"Because humans love money."
"What do you mean?"
"It is universal knowledge." He paused to swallow. "You humans love shiny things."
I wasn't sure whether or not to be offended. I shrugged it off.
"Okay but why are you in my home giving me money?"
"Hhh...home? He said. "Your, hhome, is very nice. Safe. Warm. I wish to stay here. May I please?"
I must've looked like I was about to decline because he perked up, giving the conversation his full attention, and continued.
"Please Mr. Gary. I'll give more coins!"
He shot from his chair, landed effortlessly on the table, and bowed again, this time putting his nose all the way down.
4.
We conversed for hours. It was frustrating at times as he tended to be very literal in his responses and failed to understand certain concepts like family and work. By the end I was mentally fatigued, unsure how to proceed, and questioning reality.
What the hell is going on? Am I insane? Did I have an accident? Am I in a coma?
"No Mr. Gary. You're fine, here with me and safe. I will keep us safe sir!"
My eyes shot open, bulging in their sockets. I hadn't said that allowed.
"You can read my mind?" My pulse raced an uneasiness settling over me.
"What is this read?" He answered quizzically. "I hear you talking in your head."
Despite everything this, for whatever reason, was too much to bare. Panic took hold and I hurried him out the door forbidding him from coming back.
He stood there, sad and defeated, as I closed the door and locked it.
What the hell is going on?
5.
It took some time but I was able to move past the incident. A mind can play tricks.
Work seemed to pick up and I was more tired than usual as I stumbled up the stairs towards my apartment. I fumbled in my pocket for the keys as they jingled at me in defiance.
A yawn took hold causing me to pause for a moment and let it take it's course. My eyes were dry and my eyelids heavy. I was in desperate need of rest.
As I turned the knob I noticed the door was unlocked. Huh?
I paused for a moment, suddenly much less tired. I know I locked the door before leaving, right?
I was too tired to be sure. Was Barnaby back? Does that mean he WAS real? My mind raced.
I opened the door and stepped in.
"Barnaby." I called looking around in the darkness.
My fingers danced across the light switch and slid across the wall. I pulled them back and located the switch and flipped it.
"Who's Barnaby?"
A brute of a man in all black stood before me with a crooked grin across his face and his hands raised. I saw his fist fly towards me before everything went black. For an instant I felt a white hot pain and then nothingness.
6.
I began coming to in my bed. The familiar warmth of the sheets encased me. Slowly I began to wake and a splitting pain began mounting in my skull. It was then I smelled something. Coffee.
Like a waterfall a torrent of emotions rushed through me as I remembered the events of earlier that evening. Fear and terror shook me to my core as I scramled, unsuccessfully, to my feet.
Standing was not happening in that moment. Unable to catch my balance I fell, head-first, to the floor. Thud, and more pain.
Through the tears I looked towards the square table. I could hear a strange noise in that direction, like muffled screaming. The terror was immediately replaced with relief.
Sitting, expertly bound to the chair and gagged, was the brute that attacked me. In front of him, blade drawn and ready, stood Barnaby. Beside him steam rose from a coffee mug. He turned his head slightly my direction, staring down my assailant fiercely and spoke.
"Barnaby make you coffee sir so you feel better. Barnaby know you like coffee when you wake up." A grin tore across his face. "Barnaby get the bad man."
He bowed again, still grinning, eyes locked on the thug.
"Can Barnaby stay here again sir?"
|
|
[WP] For years you've found random money in your pockets and drawers that you don't remember having. Now, you've just figured out that you have a monster living under your bed. And he's paying rent.
|
"So you're the monster under my bed?"
Trevor hesitated, and then nodded sheepishly.
In fairness to Trevor, his nodding sheepishly was really a pretty good trick. He was the size of a small bulldozer with two hairy goat legs that somehow morphed into a super-muscled torso that was entirely covered in scales like a snake. He had claws like Seal Team combat knives and eyes that were literally burning coals. Also, the horns. Did I mention the horns? Though they could have been antlers. I mean they branched out and all, but Bambi never had antlers like these. I'm going with horns on this one. I was in my underpants, and he was in his scales. Fur. Antlers. Whatever. You get the picture. Sitting on my bed. The bed of under which he was a monster. If that makes sense.
"Technically, I'm not really a monster," started Trevor. "I'm actually more of a demon."
"A demon?". I raised my right eyebrow in the most accusatory manner I knew. Trevor came clean.
"Absolutely a demon. 100% demonish. Uh, demonic," Trevor finished with a helpless shrug. "I am what I am".
Popeye couldn't have put it better. He certainly looked the part. Glowing eyes, check. Horns, check. Cloven hooves, check.
"But what does this have to do with my socks?" He looked taken aback, but then another thought struck me. "Wait, so you're a Fallen Angel?"
Wrong thing to say. Ooboy. His face went blank, and a wall came down. I could sense it. Trevor turned his face to the floor, looking kind of lost.
"Sorry, I don't mean to ..."
"I'm not that person anymore. I've moved on, and I'd appreciate some support. I thought that you would understand." He hunched over, put his massive forearms on his knees and laced his fingers together. He looked the way hurt looked, when you asked for support and got a slap instead.
I most certainly would understand about chequered pasts. I too had been foolish in my youth. Okay, maybe more than just foolish. 'Criminal' would be a better choice of words, in fairness. Look, here's what happened: A robbery. Smash and grab in a jewelry store. No one was supposed to get hurt, but shots were fired and if the ambulance hadn't gotten there in record time, someone would have died. I was young, I was outside in the getaway car, and it was my first offence. So just five years. Five years of incredible boredom laced with moments of intense fear and dread. Like that time that Big Benny had...
"Hey, were you under my bed when I was doing time?"
Trevor raised his head, and sighed. "That's how you made those first few weeks."
New Fish. That's what we were when we arrived. New Fish get special treatment. And one of those who doled out that 'special treatment' was Big Benny. Shaved head, a chest like a cement mixer, and a taste for sadism. It happens some time during your first week. Suddenly, your cellmate is gone without notice. Just gone. Then, Big Benny strolls into your cell. Whatever happens next is supposed to set the tone for the remainder of your incarceration. What happened next was that I took a good hard swing at Big Benny, and missed by about a foot and fell over. By the time I got up, Big Benny was scrambling out of my cell calling for his mother and Jesus, with snot and tears running down his bloodied face. I had always wondered what had really happened. People made assumptions, but never asked me directly. Things weren't easy after that. There's no such thing as 'easy' in prison. But I shudder to think how things could have gone. But that didn't happen to me. Trevor had my back. And when I got out of prison, I went back to school and changed my world. Could have been so different. Talk about a knife edge.
A warm and vibrant gratitude flooded through me and I reached up and put my hand on his shoulder. "I'm really thankful." I tried to put into words how I felt. "I was so scared... I would have died..." Emotion overcame me and my throat caught, and I couldn't speak after that. Tears welled in my eyes and ran down my face, somehow warm and cold at the same time.
There was quiet for a while, and then I felt Trevor put his hand on my shoulder. With my thumb and forefinger I squeezed the last tears out of my eyes, and then I blew my nose. I took a swig from my bedside bottle of water, and felt much better. More together. Phew.
"I saw your aura on the prisoner transport bus. I knew you could protect me."
Wow. That was also unexpected. Trevor was way ahead in the 'gotcha' points.
"Wait a minute, what do you mean by 'protect you'?"
"Demons are supposed to do the Satanic will of Hell. That's pretty much how things go. But like I said, that's not me anymore."
"But Hell doesn't like renegades, does it?" I prodded him. Trevor nodded.
"War, pestilence, death, sin, temptation, all of that. It is not a suggestion list, it is a requirement. And when you don't pull your weight, well let's just say it isn't only mortals who are subject to the torments of Hell. Your aura is big. It shields me, and I can hide behind it."
"Like camouflage, you mean?"
"Exactly. It is like I am standing behind a bright light in the dark of night. It is hard to see behind the glare. Not impossible, but hard."
"So what's the deal with the money, then?" This is how I had caught him in the first place. Ever since prison I had always had money when I needed it. Short on rent? A couple of carelessly forgotten hundreds scrunched into a trouser pocket fixed that. A twenty here, a fifty there, it all added up over the years to some serious coin. Trevor had been reaching from under my bed and stuffing a few twenties into my wallet which had dropped on the floor. Still half asleep, I had grabbed his arm and then somehow the gigantic Trevor had squished himself out from under my bed, which had under bed drawers and a clearance of about half an inch at best.
"I pay my way. In prison, I looked after you. That was my rent. Once you got out, I had to find another way to pay. I thought money would work. You mortals love money."
He had me there. The love of money is the root of all evil. I was grateful he didn't look smug when he had reminded me of that little nugget of wisdom.
I had my next question lined up when Trevor shot to his feet taking a fighting stance, quivering with fear, or maybe nervous energy.
"Beelzebub. He's found me."
I felt his approach. It gave me the same sinking feeling as hearing a judge read out how many months and years you were to be imprisoned for each of the counts of which you had been found guilty. The death of good things. The onslaught of darkness and fear. Trevor trembled. He looked like he could bench press a house, and yet he was trembling like a lamb awaiting the slaughter. I gripped my water bottle tight.
When Beelzebub entered into my room, he washed all of the colors from the world. Completely. It wasn't simply that the world became black and white, because there was no white in the presence of Beelzebub. Only shades of bleak depression and despair. The world became a scream that could never adequately express the anguish it really felt. I was sure that if I could wring reality like a dishrag, pure evil would pour out of it, black and cancerous. Trevor fell to his knees, his head bowed, his will buckling. I knew why. Beelzebub was the antipathy of everything alive. Of hope. Of faith. I cannot describe him, for I could not really see him. He was a blur of black and blood, of hatred and fear, of insinuating evil, of malice sublime.
Boy was he surprised when I sloshed Holy Water into his face.
He lurched out of my room like Big Benny scrambling from my cell, bleating and crying. In a screech of anguish he was gone. Color flooded back into the world, and everything that had been 'wrong' suddenly shifted back to 'right' in a way that highlighted just how wrong everything had been. Holy Water. Good for what ails ya.
The thing about Holy Water is not that a priest blesses it. That isn't really how it works. The priest actually asks the Lord to bless it, and it is then sanctified by the Lord. I should know. After I left prison, I went back to school. Seminary school. And then ordination. Any pure water can be made into Holy Water. Like a bedside bottle, for instance.
Trevor was still on his knees, but looked a million times better. He looked like someone with a reason to live, like someone with Hope. He turned to me, and his mouth opened. But no words came out, and I think I knew why. Profound gratitude has that effect.
I looked at him, and he looked at me. I said "You're cover is blown here, but this is not the end." I lifted my water bottle above my head they way an athlete carries an Olympic torch. "Are you ready for some serious protection?"
Trevor nodded, and I poured out the water on his head and began: "I baptize you in the name of the Father, and the Son..."
I never saw Trevor again after that. Nor did I ever find any more surprise cash. On the other hand, I never lost another sock in the wash either. I sure wish he had explained that bit before he left.
|
Oh wow. So here we are, sitting in my room and guess what. I have a roommate I did not know I had.
I am generally able to handle most situations without being phased, but this was slightly too much even for me.
I was expecting company, so I decided to clean my room properly. Who would have thought that while vacuuming under my bed, I would fish out this little rascal stuck to the vacuum’s nozzle.
“Well, this is new,” I said to myself.
“Not really,” said the little creature. “I have been living under your bed for a few years now.”
“Say what now?” I am a silver-tongued devil.
“And I have paid my share of the rent too!”
“Huh? You what?” Very smooth indeed.
“Well, it seemed obvious that you are not doing too well yourself, so I thought I would help you out a little.”
He was smiling at me like this was no big deal.
“Do you mind explaining to me what the hell is going on and what are you doing here and who the hell are you supposed to be?”
I mean seriously, how often do you pull out a talking ball of dust from under your bed?
“I am sorry, James, I do realise that while I know you quite well, an introduction from my side is in order. I am Hoopza and you brought me home with you from your trip to Ireland. Two years ago.”
“I brought you here from Ireland? I mean, I do not remember much from that trip, but I would definitely remember getting a small fuzzball somewhere in the souvenir shop.”
“Oh! Sorry about that!” He said and started pulling bits of dust off himself, until he no longer looked like a fuzzball, but rather like a tiny person in a green suit.
“Of course you did not get me in a souvenir shop. How can I say this..” Hoopza was looking down to the ground, a guilty expression on his face.
“I kind of hitched a ride with you. I got bored of guarding my pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, so I just went for a little walk. And then I saw you resting in the forest and jumped in your backpack to speed up my trip to the city. But how many people do you know that go for a hike right before going to the airport? I ended up on the road with you. And it was an adventure for me, so I just let things develop from there. We got back from your trip and I hid in your room, under the bed.”
Would you look at that. I have an Irish leprechaun living with me.
“So you just decided to stay?”
“Well, what would you have me do? I have had no idea where I was for quite a while. And since you do not have any fairy creatures here in America that I could talk to, I was just figuring out a plan to get back to Ireland, hoping you would go back one day without even knowing I was here,” he said while shrugging his shoulders like it was not a big deal.
“And do we do now? Do I get a ticket to go back and take you with me?”
“Nah, I’m good. But since you are asking, I heard you mention that you wanted to go to New Zealand for your next vacation, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to tag along.”
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[WP] For years you've found random money in your pockets and drawers that you don't remember having. Now, you've just figured out that you have a monster living under your bed. And he's paying rent.
|
'I never wanted to have kids, but I love you.'
I got her a glass of water. She knew enough not to fight me on this one. As I set it down, I grabbed the ever-present box of tissues and moved it within her reach.
'If I hadn't had you, I could really have done something with my life. Ah, you're a good kid thought. Is this water? Fuck, get me a gin and tonic!'
'Ok, but you have to drink some of the water. Three gulps. You know the rules.'
She rolled her eyes and glugged as I took her glass and rinsed it.
'Sorry darling I don't mean I didn't want you. I just never did anything with my life! Your dad was such a shit.'
I sliced a lime, silently. Behind me, unseen, she shed her usual tears. I heard her snatch a tissue from the box.
I fussed around the kitchen until she blew her nose, then set the rim of the glass against the ice maker. Fresh ice cubes tinkled in.
'I wrote something new today, y'wanna hear it?'
Papers rustled as I uncorked the gin, poured it slowly over the ice, squeezed the lime, and dropped it in.
Opening the fridge, I looked for the tonic water. The couch creaked; she was pulling herself together.
'Take your pill Mom.'
I waited for the rattle of the bottle. When she had set the water glass back on the table, I opened the tonic water. Schhhhwpeeee! She echoed it with a sigh. I filled the glass half way and brought it to her, and she kissed me on the cheek as I bent down.
She took a sip and released a breath of tension as I settled in next to her on the couch. I put on my listening face and pressed 'record' on my phone as she began to spin her story. It was a good one - something based on a reddit writing prompt. I subtly prepped a few social media posts for Urania to work with. When she was ready for another drink, I got up and fixed it for her, and sent the first part of the recording to Calliope, who will type it up for $8 per hour and be done with this in less time than it takes her to tell it.
This story takes five drinks. It's wonderful as always; she rarely gives me a story I can't use.
By the time I'm pulling a blanket over her and turning off the lights, Calliope has the finished transcription for me. I ok it, and send it on to California, to Clio. She adds a little historical context and removes any identifying information then forward it on to Thalia in Germany, who will add the erotic dinosaur scenes. Melpomene in the Ukraine illustrates them, then sends them to Terpsichore in Jamaica, who adds color to Terp's black and white cartoons, then sends it on to Polyhymnia in Greece, who does a creative edit and improves the flow. Then she forwards it to Euterpe in Newcastle, who does the rest of the graphics, and then it goes to Erato in Brooklyn for final proofing. Then it goes to Urania, who has never shared her location with me, but is adept at getting our stories all over social media.
A day later, a new erotic ebook hits the virtual Amazon shelf. Just under six thousand horny people spend almost a dollar on it.
Then I pay the bills, buy some groceries, and hide little surprises around the house for Mnemosyne, who thinks she is my mother. Whenever she wakens, I sit and wait for lightning to strike.
|
"If I only have twenty quids I could have a pizza with extra toppings."
Neil rubbed his rumbling stomach trying to recall where did all of his pocket money had gone.
"Let's see, the new CoD bundle and the preorder for cyberpunk. That's why...." Neil pulled out every drawer and every pocket. "Damn, perhaps I could get some from that annoying monkey's piggy bank."
Neil thought as he sneaked across the room filled with various posters and figurines. Poking his head out, the hallway is pitch black. He withdrew his head. "I can't believe that I chickened out, I promise I will pay her back, that spoiled little...."
Neil's gaze landed on the queen's smiling face, which looked up at him from the floor.
"No freaking way!" Neil dived down and knocked his head hard, he falls and his eyes gazed into a pair of green eyes. They blinked.
A chill runs down Neil's spine, he leaped on top of his bed screaming. The thing is under his bed! Then he bounced on to his gaming chair, which flipped over and throws Neil face-first on the floor.
He struggled up and indeed a pair of green eyes stared back at him from the dark enclosure created by Neil's bunk bed.
"Away demon!" Neil bellowed as fear gripped his heart, with his hands, he created a sign, but the eyes were getting closer, something emerged.
"Ahhhhh......" Neil scrambled back until his head hit his desk.
A tiny voice said indignantly, "I am a fairy, not those smelly double-crossing dumb skulls."
Neil simply sat there, agape.
The fairy approached, Neil's eyes followed its every move, until the small humanoid jumped on his stomach. It's almost weightless. Neil thought as they glanced at each other.
"You are uglier than I thought." the thing said, gesturing with its pigeon-egg-sized hands.
Neil gingerly reached out a finger and tried to touch one of its pointed ears.
"Eeew," the miniature being darted away. "You haven't washed your hands after peeing."
Neil blushed, "Wh...what are you?" He stammered.
"I am a fairy." The creature stuck out its chest, naturally, Neil looked and blushed again.
"Are you a 'She' fairy? And where are your wings?"
She snapped her fingers and a pair of glowing wings lifted her into the air.
"Why don't you stay in stinking Susie's room?"
The fairy landed on Neil's shoulders, and begin to tap dance.
"You are loud," Neil wrinkled his nose.
"Voila, you sleep like a stone, while your darling sister is acute as a hawk."
"Uh...I see..." Neil nodded in a knowing way. "Wait, why are you here? How long have you been here? Have you...." Neil said the lasts words through gritted teeth.
The fairy buzzed in front of Neil's face, her finger pointed at Neil's face. "You failed no nut November miserably."
Neil groaned and buried his face in his hands.
He suddenly looked up and stared at the petite thing. "You are spying on me, you need to...."
His voice trailed off, he turned to the fairy expectantly. "Can I see my friend again?"
The fairy flies further away, her watery eyes bore into Neil's. "He is gone." She said gently, which is surprising for her high-pitched voice.
Neil's face fell. Then he brightened up again. "So...what can you do?"
"That's a secret!" She darted back beneath the bed, there is a distortion of space and time, then she is gone.
Neil rubbed his eyes, then slapped his forehead. "I am mad, that's all." He turned back to his computer, his games are calling out to him.
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[WP] For years you've found random money in your pockets and drawers that you don't remember having. Now, you've just figured out that you have a monster living under your bed. And he's paying rent.
|
I closed the door behind me and dropped my keys down onto a table. Putting my bag down onto the floor, I stepped into my room to find several coins and notes on my bed. I noted it was also made, with the sheets newly put on and the pillows fluffed.
And... was that *lavender?*
I swallowed and knelt on the floor. Clearing my throat, I began to speak.
"Hello?"
"Yes?" A gravelly, over-toned voice blasted back.
"Hey, about the coins on my bed... and, ehrm..."
"Oh, I'm so sorry! I forgot to tell you," the voice resonated from under my bed, its source blanketed by the darkness. "The job hunt's been tough, so I thought I could make up the rest of the rent with chores and stuff."
"...chores?"
"Yes, I sprayed a sweet scent onto your pillow, and made your bed as I have seen you do before."
"Ah, Listen... sorry, what was your name?"
An unintelligible growl and bubbling followed as a reply.
"Okay, well. I'm having second thoughts about this whole... roommates thing. It's kind of freaking me out, to be honest."
"Didn't freak you out before."
"Yeah, that's 'cause I *just* found out last week!"
The monster remained in a sullen silence. A twinge of pity pricked at my sides, even though I realised how weird it was to pity a monster.
"Look, I'm sorry. But I just can't do this anymore," I said firmly.
"...I made you pasta for dinner."
"What?"
"Out in the kitchen. I made you spaghetti bolognese. It's still hot."
I narrowed my eyes and sniffed at the air. The scent of tomato and beef wafted by. God damn, that smelled good.
I closed my eyes for a while, then reopened them. I smiled.
"I hope you added parmesan."
|
"If I only have twenty quids I could have a pizza with extra toppings."
Neil rubbed his rumbling stomach trying to recall where did all of his pocket money had gone.
"Let's see, the new CoD bundle and the preorder for cyberpunk. That's why...." Neil pulled out every drawer and every pocket. "Damn, perhaps I could get some from that annoying monkey's piggy bank."
Neil thought as he sneaked across the room filled with various posters and figurines. Poking his head out, the hallway is pitch black. He withdrew his head. "I can't believe that I chickened out, I promise I will pay her back, that spoiled little...."
Neil's gaze landed on the queen's smiling face, which looked up at him from the floor.
"No freaking way!" Neil dived down and knocked his head hard, he falls and his eyes gazed into a pair of green eyes. They blinked.
A chill runs down Neil's spine, he leaped on top of his bed screaming. The thing is under his bed! Then he bounced on to his gaming chair, which flipped over and throws Neil face-first on the floor.
He struggled up and indeed a pair of green eyes stared back at him from the dark enclosure created by Neil's bunk bed.
"Away demon!" Neil bellowed as fear gripped his heart, with his hands, he created a sign, but the eyes were getting closer, something emerged.
"Ahhhhh......" Neil scrambled back until his head hit his desk.
A tiny voice said indignantly, "I am a fairy, not those smelly double-crossing dumb skulls."
Neil simply sat there, agape.
The fairy approached, Neil's eyes followed its every move, until the small humanoid jumped on his stomach. It's almost weightless. Neil thought as they glanced at each other.
"You are uglier than I thought." the thing said, gesturing with its pigeon-egg-sized hands.
Neil gingerly reached out a finger and tried to touch one of its pointed ears.
"Eeew," the miniature being darted away. "You haven't washed your hands after peeing."
Neil blushed, "Wh...what are you?" He stammered.
"I am a fairy." The creature stuck out its chest, naturally, Neil looked and blushed again.
"Are you a 'She' fairy? And where are your wings?"
She snapped her fingers and a pair of glowing wings lifted her into the air.
"Why don't you stay in stinking Susie's room?"
The fairy landed on Neil's shoulders, and begin to tap dance.
"You are loud," Neil wrinkled his nose.
"Voila, you sleep like a stone, while your darling sister is acute as a hawk."
"Uh...I see..." Neil nodded in a knowing way. "Wait, why are you here? How long have you been here? Have you...." Neil said the lasts words through gritted teeth.
The fairy buzzed in front of Neil's face, her finger pointed at Neil's face. "You failed no nut November miserably."
Neil groaned and buried his face in his hands.
He suddenly looked up and stared at the petite thing. "You are spying on me, you need to...."
His voice trailed off, he turned to the fairy expectantly. "Can I see my friend again?"
The fairy flies further away, her watery eyes bore into Neil's. "He is gone." She said gently, which is surprising for her high-pitched voice.
Neil's face fell. Then he brightened up again. "So...what can you do?"
"That's a secret!" She darted back beneath the bed, there is a distortion of space and time, then she is gone.
Neil rubbed his eyes, then slapped his forehead. "I am mad, that's all." He turned back to his computer, his games are calling out to him.
|
|
[WP] For years you've found random money in your pockets and drawers that you don't remember having. Now, you've just figured out that you have a monster living under your bed. And he's paying rent.
|
My friends love coming out to bars with me, because it seems like I ALWAYS have the right amount money for the bill when it's time to pay. (Don't get me wrong, sometimes they buy, too, but when it's time to settle up, it's like I am blessed, I put my hand in my pocket, and out comes (within a few cents) exactly what I need. Not that I am ever light, either. It's crazy. I joke around with them that yeah, I made a deal with the demon who lived under my bed as a boy that if he didn't impale me in my sleep, he could stay. See, sometimes, the truth is easier than the lie.
My parents had a hard go of it. They worked pretty much dead end jobs for as long as I could remember. When I was 10, they sat me down at the table and told me that to help cover food and to keep the rent paid, they were taking on a couple of borders. They said I should probably never see them, but if I do, don't be scared because the deal they made with them specified that I couldn't be harmed. At 10, that seemed weird. Heck, at 10 a lot of things adults do were weird, so, yeah. What was even stranger, is I didn't see these new housemates of ours. not at first. What I did see was that Mom and Dad started worrying a lot less about money. We could afford real milk, not that powdered crap! We started eating meat a few times a week. I started to gain a little weight and get healthy. Probably 6 months in, I woke up around 1 AM on night to hear something under my bed. Considering we didn't have any pets, I started to freak out.
"Shhhh, Kid, don't be scared. I'm the *roommate* your parents told you about." A voice from below me said. It sounded weird like it was in 2 voices at the same time, high and low, raspy yet powerful. There was a strange glow also coming from underneath the bed, and I saw two large gnarled hands grab the edge of my mattress and press down. "Don't yell kid, I'm coming out." he/it said.
"Who are you?" I asked from underneath my blanket. I didn't want to see all of it, hoping it was all a bad dream.
"I'm Dave, well, Dave is as close to my name in your language. So, folks HERE call me Dave. You can call me Dave too, if you wish."
I heard him stand up, with popping of joints that had been cramped up, I wanted to see, but didn't dare look. I then heard him walk over to my door and pause.
"You should go back to sleep. While I may be a literal *monster under the bed*, I mean you no harm. I just live here. maybe later, when you get older and move out, I can come live with you. I like you. You don't snore like my last kid."
As he finished talking, I fell back asleep pretty hard, and forgot about our meeting that night. Life went on. I went to college, got a degree and a decent job. I was living the bachelor lifestyle, bars, etc.
One night me and some friends shut down a crazy dive bar in a rough section of town, and as I stumbled into the bathroom for what I hoped would be my final trip to a crazy hell hole of a toilet, I saw something in the corner that about made me have a heart attack. In the dark, holding a glass was one of the hands I had seen so many years ago in my youth.
"Dave? " I couldn't believe I remembered the name after all those years. "You were real?"
"Were real, am real, will always be real, until I am not." he said from the shadow that concealed his face. He raised his glass to me. "I'm going through a patch old friend and I wonder if I could rekindle our old arrangement as your, um, room mate? Seems that there's people who don't understand the trust of having a real monster under the bed can provide to a family."
I held up one finger. "First, I'm never drinking Absenth again.", I held up 2 fingers, "Second, I'm going to take a piss.", I held up 3 fingers, "Third, I don't know what your arrangement was with my parents, but I remember that our lives were difficult and then they weren't. So, sure. I'm guessing you don't need a key?" With that, I walked to the toilet and did my business. When I walked out, 'Dave' was gone.
Later that month, I found a hundred dollar bill in the dryer like I had dried it. Then, it became more subtle, and I would find bills here and there around the apartment. Of course, then the times where I would just happen to have enough money in my pockets to pay for things which was cool. Occasionally, I would catch "Dave" out of the corner of my eye crawling out from, or back under my bed. It was Okay. He's horrifying to look at from human beauty standards, and he understands that, but he's well, he's my roommate who does his share. I mean, one Sunday morning after I had made the mistake of letting my apartment be the "After party" spot, i woke up to the place being SPOTLESS. The friends who crashed on the couch and floor all were tucked into little burrito blankets with pillows I never knew I owned.
"Thanks Dave" I said out loud to my awesome monster under the bed.'
"You're welcome, kid." came the reply from under my bed.
|
"If I only have twenty quids I could have a pizza with extra toppings."
Neil rubbed his rumbling stomach trying to recall where did all of his pocket money had gone.
"Let's see, the new CoD bundle and the preorder for cyberpunk. That's why...." Neil pulled out every drawer and every pocket. "Damn, perhaps I could get some from that annoying monkey's piggy bank."
Neil thought as he sneaked across the room filled with various posters and figurines. Poking his head out, the hallway is pitch black. He withdrew his head. "I can't believe that I chickened out, I promise I will pay her back, that spoiled little...."
Neil's gaze landed on the queen's smiling face, which looked up at him from the floor.
"No freaking way!" Neil dived down and knocked his head hard, he falls and his eyes gazed into a pair of green eyes. They blinked.
A chill runs down Neil's spine, he leaped on top of his bed screaming. The thing is under his bed! Then he bounced on to his gaming chair, which flipped over and throws Neil face-first on the floor.
He struggled up and indeed a pair of green eyes stared back at him from the dark enclosure created by Neil's bunk bed.
"Away demon!" Neil bellowed as fear gripped his heart, with his hands, he created a sign, but the eyes were getting closer, something emerged.
"Ahhhhh......" Neil scrambled back until his head hit his desk.
A tiny voice said indignantly, "I am a fairy, not those smelly double-crossing dumb skulls."
Neil simply sat there, agape.
The fairy approached, Neil's eyes followed its every move, until the small humanoid jumped on his stomach. It's almost weightless. Neil thought as they glanced at each other.
"You are uglier than I thought." the thing said, gesturing with its pigeon-egg-sized hands.
Neil gingerly reached out a finger and tried to touch one of its pointed ears.
"Eeew," the miniature being darted away. "You haven't washed your hands after peeing."
Neil blushed, "Wh...what are you?" He stammered.
"I am a fairy." The creature stuck out its chest, naturally, Neil looked and blushed again.
"Are you a 'She' fairy? And where are your wings?"
She snapped her fingers and a pair of glowing wings lifted her into the air.
"Why don't you stay in stinking Susie's room?"
The fairy landed on Neil's shoulders, and begin to tap dance.
"You are loud," Neil wrinkled his nose.
"Voila, you sleep like a stone, while your darling sister is acute as a hawk."
"Uh...I see..." Neil nodded in a knowing way. "Wait, why are you here? How long have you been here? Have you...." Neil said the lasts words through gritted teeth.
The fairy buzzed in front of Neil's face, her finger pointed at Neil's face. "You failed no nut November miserably."
Neil groaned and buried his face in his hands.
He suddenly looked up and stared at the petite thing. "You are spying on me, you need to...."
His voice trailed off, he turned to the fairy expectantly. "Can I see my friend again?"
The fairy flies further away, her watery eyes bore into Neil's. "He is gone." She said gently, which is surprising for her high-pitched voice.
Neil's face fell. Then he brightened up again. "So...what can you do?"
"That's a secret!" She darted back beneath the bed, there is a distortion of space and time, then she is gone.
Neil rubbed his eyes, then slapped his forehead. "I am mad, that's all." He turned back to his computer, his games are calling out to him.
|
|
[WP] For years you've found random money in your pockets and drawers that you don't remember having. Now, you've just figured out that you have a monster living under your bed. And he's paying rent.
|
I hauled the last cardboard box out of the small room, down the three flights of stairs, and into the back of my tiny Fiat Panda. Good job I didn't have much stuff.
I'd lived in that room for two years now. It's the room I got when I started my first proper job. It's the room where I'd flopped onto the bed filled with the fire after having met a girl, who I knew I would love forever, for dinner. It's the room where I'd spent countless evenings hanging out with my very best mate gaming, doing stupid stuff, and discussing nothing until the small hours. It's the room where I learned to code and binged far too many TV series alone. I'd also taught myself to cook in this flat - I've graduated from oven chips and chicken with peas to stews and medleys of roasted chicken thighs with root veg. I'm going up in the world.
It was also where, most strangely, I seemed to keep finding money. I'm not complaining! Who doesn't want to find money when you're living in the city, earning too little, and having to pay out for ridiculous rent rates and commuter prices? But it was a bit odd. I almost never take cash out. It's really inconvenient in the city. You're constantly asked for money by the homeless (I don't mind giving if I get to know them) and having no cash gives me a valid reason not to give to strangers, and fumbling for cash when you're in a London hurry is infuriating for everyone behind you. Card and phone payments are simply easier.
But I kept finding cash in my room. In my jacket pocket, in my sock drawer, on my desk. A couple of quid here, a fiver there. It really started to freak me out after three months. But then it just became normal. Really helpful, in fact. But I never got to the bottom of it. And that irked me. I almost felt like I was stealing. But nobody could've got into the flat beside me and the guy I barely knew in the other room who worked night shifts. He certainly wouldn't be handing me money. And my best mate was as broke as me. And my girl, she was still studying. No money. It’s an unsolved mystery.
I looked back at the old townhouse. Its high ceilings and big windows had given it an air of grandeur that helped me forget that I could fit nothing more than my single bed, a wardrobe, a tiny desk and a pile of washing in there with just enough room for the desk chair to roll back without hitting the bed.
The golden light of the summer evening would be illuminating my little room now. My favourite time of day. I turned to Lucy who had hopped into the passenger seat. I'll be moving in with her today.
"I'll just do one final check before we leave."
I leaped up the stairs two at a time then stopped at the entrance. I slowly opened the flat door, took a good look, walked to my room and quietly pushed the door open as though not to disturb the quietness of the evening sun.
I tripped over as I leapt back in horror.
"Oh sorry! I didn't think you'd be back! Oh no! You saw me! I...I.... \*Gasp!\*" cried the small, furry...monster?...the size and colour of a basketball. It had been standing with its shoulders slumped, its head hung, and its oversized bottom teeth protruding like an anglerfish but it too had tumbled backward in surprise and was holding up its fuzzy paws in apology.
I stared aghast.
It continued, "I didn't mean to scare you. I've tried to stay out of your way. I know I'm different from the usual roommate but I didn't think you minded me being here. I did pay rent! I hope it was enough. I never took anything that was yours. I...I..."
I scrambled backward on my hands and feet. What in all the world?!
It started again, "Sorry, man. No harm meant. I was just looking at the room thinking back over the great couple of years we had together. Who knows who I'll have to room with next. The last guy was an absolute monster. I nearly moved out. Fortunately, the landlord kicked him out after 3 weeks. Then you came. You had the best time. You really loved people. And as a bonus, you were pretty tidy too. I never had to eat one of your socks once. I hate socks. And when you started to learn to cook - properly - after 4 months, the quality of the food waste just rocketed. I ate like a king! I loved being your roommate, man. Gutted you're going. I can only hope the next one is half as good. Gonna miss ya."
I half chuckled through my shock.
"What are you?!"
"Gruff. I'm Gruff. Sorry, should've introduced myself. Rude of me. I'm your friendly food waste disposal monster...and ex-roommate, now."
He shot me a sad smile.
"Wait, so you paid rent? That's where the money kept appearing from? You?"
"Yeah. Was it enough?"
"Yeah...yeah. Absolutely! But where do you get it from - the money? I...you’re...um..."
"Oh, the council has rolled out a new scheme. I'm part of the Monster Munch workforce. We live discreetly in flats across the city and eat the food waste in return for payment so they can cut waste disposal costs. Kinda genius. It's a pretty good deal. Though I wish we'd be bunked with a fellow monster mate. Gets a bit lonely sometimes with not being able to be seen and all."
I couldn't believe it. I was laughing now. This talkative furball was harmlessly munching my food waste and was considerate enough to feel the need to pay rent despite knowing he had to stay hidden.
"You ever thought of moving flats?" I asked.
"Never thought to ask my boss. It’s not too bad here. But I'd just have to go through the faff of address changes if I did. Not that fun."
"But if you moved, you could room with another monster, right?"
"I guess. I just don't know many monsters. We don't have much contact. Too much risk of being caught and that."
I still don’t quite know what was going through my head when I spoke again, but I said, "I don’t know why I think this would be a good idea, but you seem like a cool guy. I know we’ve just met, well...I’ve only just met you...seems like you know me already and...anyway…I was going to say, what would you think of moving with me? Maybe my new flat will have a monster mate?” I hurriedly added, “Lucy can't know, though! Never *ever* show yourself to Lucy! But we could see if it works?"
"Aw, man! You're the best!! Yes! Yes! Does she cook well too? I can't wait! Oh boy! I need to pack. Give me one minute and I'll be back."
He dived beneath a floorboard that had been loose under my bed and emerged with a mini duffel stuffed to the brim. I took off my heavy jacket and bundled him inside.
This could be fun. Or a nightmare. An adventure, at least.
\-------------------
Edit: story flow in the offer of the monster moving with
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"If I only have twenty quids I could have a pizza with extra toppings."
Neil rubbed his rumbling stomach trying to recall where did all of his pocket money had gone.
"Let's see, the new CoD bundle and the preorder for cyberpunk. That's why...." Neil pulled out every drawer and every pocket. "Damn, perhaps I could get some from that annoying monkey's piggy bank."
Neil thought as he sneaked across the room filled with various posters and figurines. Poking his head out, the hallway is pitch black. He withdrew his head. "I can't believe that I chickened out, I promise I will pay her back, that spoiled little...."
Neil's gaze landed on the queen's smiling face, which looked up at him from the floor.
"No freaking way!" Neil dived down and knocked his head hard, he falls and his eyes gazed into a pair of green eyes. They blinked.
A chill runs down Neil's spine, he leaped on top of his bed screaming. The thing is under his bed! Then he bounced on to his gaming chair, which flipped over and throws Neil face-first on the floor.
He struggled up and indeed a pair of green eyes stared back at him from the dark enclosure created by Neil's bunk bed.
"Away demon!" Neil bellowed as fear gripped his heart, with his hands, he created a sign, but the eyes were getting closer, something emerged.
"Ahhhhh......" Neil scrambled back until his head hit his desk.
A tiny voice said indignantly, "I am a fairy, not those smelly double-crossing dumb skulls."
Neil simply sat there, agape.
The fairy approached, Neil's eyes followed its every move, until the small humanoid jumped on his stomach. It's almost weightless. Neil thought as they glanced at each other.
"You are uglier than I thought." the thing said, gesturing with its pigeon-egg-sized hands.
Neil gingerly reached out a finger and tried to touch one of its pointed ears.
"Eeew," the miniature being darted away. "You haven't washed your hands after peeing."
Neil blushed, "Wh...what are you?" He stammered.
"I am a fairy." The creature stuck out its chest, naturally, Neil looked and blushed again.
"Are you a 'She' fairy? And where are your wings?"
She snapped her fingers and a pair of glowing wings lifted her into the air.
"Why don't you stay in stinking Susie's room?"
The fairy landed on Neil's shoulders, and begin to tap dance.
"You are loud," Neil wrinkled his nose.
"Voila, you sleep like a stone, while your darling sister is acute as a hawk."
"Uh...I see..." Neil nodded in a knowing way. "Wait, why are you here? How long have you been here? Have you...." Neil said the lasts words through gritted teeth.
The fairy buzzed in front of Neil's face, her finger pointed at Neil's face. "You failed no nut November miserably."
Neil groaned and buried his face in his hands.
He suddenly looked up and stared at the petite thing. "You are spying on me, you need to...."
His voice trailed off, he turned to the fairy expectantly. "Can I see my friend again?"
The fairy flies further away, her watery eyes bore into Neil's. "He is gone." She said gently, which is surprising for her high-pitched voice.
Neil's face fell. Then he brightened up again. "So...what can you do?"
"That's a secret!" She darted back beneath the bed, there is a distortion of space and time, then she is gone.
Neil rubbed his eyes, then slapped his forehead. "I am mad, that's all." He turned back to his computer, his games are calling out to him.
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[WP] For years you've found random money in your pockets and drawers that you don't remember having. Now, you've just figured out that you have a monster living under your bed. And he's paying rent.
|
My friends love coming out to bars with me, because it seems like I ALWAYS have the right amount money for the bill when it's time to pay. (Don't get me wrong, sometimes they buy, too, but when it's time to settle up, it's like I am blessed, I put my hand in my pocket, and out comes (within a few cents) exactly what I need. Not that I am ever light, either. It's crazy. I joke around with them that yeah, I made a deal with the demon who lived under my bed as a boy that if he didn't impale me in my sleep, he could stay. See, sometimes, the truth is easier than the lie.
My parents had a hard go of it. They worked pretty much dead end jobs for as long as I could remember. When I was 10, they sat me down at the table and told me that to help cover food and to keep the rent paid, they were taking on a couple of borders. They said I should probably never see them, but if I do, don't be scared because the deal they made with them specified that I couldn't be harmed. At 10, that seemed weird. Heck, at 10 a lot of things adults do were weird, so, yeah. What was even stranger, is I didn't see these new housemates of ours. not at first. What I did see was that Mom and Dad started worrying a lot less about money. We could afford real milk, not that powdered crap! We started eating meat a few times a week. I started to gain a little weight and get healthy. Probably 6 months in, I woke up around 1 AM on night to hear something under my bed. Considering we didn't have any pets, I started to freak out.
"Shhhh, Kid, don't be scared. I'm the *roommate* your parents told you about." A voice from below me said. It sounded weird like it was in 2 voices at the same time, high and low, raspy yet powerful. There was a strange glow also coming from underneath the bed, and I saw two large gnarled hands grab the edge of my mattress and press down. "Don't yell kid, I'm coming out." he/it said.
"Who are you?" I asked from underneath my blanket. I didn't want to see all of it, hoping it was all a bad dream.
"I'm Dave, well, Dave is as close to my name in your language. So, folks HERE call me Dave. You can call me Dave too, if you wish."
I heard him stand up, with popping of joints that had been cramped up, I wanted to see, but didn't dare look. I then heard him walk over to my door and pause.
"You should go back to sleep. While I may be a literal *monster under the bed*, I mean you no harm. I just live here. maybe later, when you get older and move out, I can come live with you. I like you. You don't snore like my last kid."
As he finished talking, I fell back asleep pretty hard, and forgot about our meeting that night. Life went on. I went to college, got a degree and a decent job. I was living the bachelor lifestyle, bars, etc.
One night me and some friends shut down a crazy dive bar in a rough section of town, and as I stumbled into the bathroom for what I hoped would be my final trip to a crazy hell hole of a toilet, I saw something in the corner that about made me have a heart attack. In the dark, holding a glass was one of the hands I had seen so many years ago in my youth.
"Dave? " I couldn't believe I remembered the name after all those years. "You were real?"
"Were real, am real, will always be real, until I am not." he said from the shadow that concealed his face. He raised his glass to me. "I'm going through a patch old friend and I wonder if I could rekindle our old arrangement as your, um, room mate? Seems that there's people who don't understand the trust of having a real monster under the bed can provide to a family."
I held up one finger. "First, I'm never drinking Absenth again.", I held up 2 fingers, "Second, I'm going to take a piss.", I held up 3 fingers, "Third, I don't know what your arrangement was with my parents, but I remember that our lives were difficult and then they weren't. So, sure. I'm guessing you don't need a key?" With that, I walked to the toilet and did my business. When I walked out, 'Dave' was gone.
Later that month, I found a hundred dollar bill in the dryer like I had dried it. Then, it became more subtle, and I would find bills here and there around the apartment. Of course, then the times where I would just happen to have enough money in my pockets to pay for things which was cool. Occasionally, I would catch "Dave" out of the corner of my eye crawling out from, or back under my bed. It was Okay. He's horrifying to look at from human beauty standards, and he understands that, but he's well, he's my roommate who does his share. I mean, one Sunday morning after I had made the mistake of letting my apartment be the "After party" spot, i woke up to the place being SPOTLESS. The friends who crashed on the couch and floor all were tucked into little burrito blankets with pillows I never knew I owned.
"Thanks Dave" I said out loud to my awesome monster under the bed.'
"You're welcome, kid." came the reply from under my bed.
|
'I never wanted to have kids, but I love you.'
I got her a glass of water. She knew enough not to fight me on this one. As I set it down, I grabbed the ever-present box of tissues and moved it within her reach.
'If I hadn't had you, I could really have done something with my life. Ah, you're a good kid thought. Is this water? Fuck, get me a gin and tonic!'
'Ok, but you have to drink some of the water. Three gulps. You know the rules.'
She rolled her eyes and glugged as I took her glass and rinsed it.
'Sorry darling I don't mean I didn't want you. I just never did anything with my life! Your dad was such a shit.'
I sliced a lime, silently. Behind me, unseen, she shed her usual tears. I heard her snatch a tissue from the box.
I fussed around the kitchen until she blew her nose, then set the rim of the glass against the ice maker. Fresh ice cubes tinkled in.
'I wrote something new today, y'wanna hear it?'
Papers rustled as I uncorked the gin, poured it slowly over the ice, squeezed the lime, and dropped it in.
Opening the fridge, I looked for the tonic water. The couch creaked; she was pulling herself together.
'Take your pill Mom.'
I waited for the rattle of the bottle. When she had set the water glass back on the table, I opened the tonic water. Schhhhwpeeee! She echoed it with a sigh. I filled the glass half way and brought it to her, and she kissed me on the cheek as I bent down.
She took a sip and released a breath of tension as I settled in next to her on the couch. I put on my listening face and pressed 'record' on my phone as she began to spin her story. It was a good one - something based on a reddit writing prompt. I subtly prepped a few social media posts for Urania to work with. When she was ready for another drink, I got up and fixed it for her, and sent the first part of the recording to Calliope, who will type it up for $8 per hour and be done with this in less time than it takes her to tell it.
This story takes five drinks. It's wonderful as always; she rarely gives me a story I can't use.
By the time I'm pulling a blanket over her and turning off the lights, Calliope has the finished transcription for me. I ok it, and send it on to California, to Clio. She adds a little historical context and removes any identifying information then forward it on to Thalia in Germany, who will add the erotic dinosaur scenes. Melpomene in the Ukraine illustrates them, then sends them to Terpsichore in Jamaica, who adds color to Terp's black and white cartoons, then sends it on to Polyhymnia in Greece, who does a creative edit and improves the flow. Then she forwards it to Euterpe in Newcastle, who does the rest of the graphics, and then it goes to Erato in Brooklyn for final proofing. Then it goes to Urania, who has never shared her location with me, but is adept at getting our stories all over social media.
A day later, a new erotic ebook hits the virtual Amazon shelf. Just under six thousand horny people spend almost a dollar on it.
Then I pay the bills, buy some groceries, and hide little surprises around the house for Mnemosyne, who thinks she is my mother. Whenever she wakens, I sit and wait for lightning to strike.
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[WP] For years you've found random money in your pockets and drawers that you don't remember having. Now, you've just figured out that you have a monster living under your bed. And he's paying rent.
|
My friends love coming out to bars with me, because it seems like I ALWAYS have the right amount money for the bill when it's time to pay. (Don't get me wrong, sometimes they buy, too, but when it's time to settle up, it's like I am blessed, I put my hand in my pocket, and out comes (within a few cents) exactly what I need. Not that I am ever light, either. It's crazy. I joke around with them that yeah, I made a deal with the demon who lived under my bed as a boy that if he didn't impale me in my sleep, he could stay. See, sometimes, the truth is easier than the lie.
My parents had a hard go of it. They worked pretty much dead end jobs for as long as I could remember. When I was 10, they sat me down at the table and told me that to help cover food and to keep the rent paid, they were taking on a couple of borders. They said I should probably never see them, but if I do, don't be scared because the deal they made with them specified that I couldn't be harmed. At 10, that seemed weird. Heck, at 10 a lot of things adults do were weird, so, yeah. What was even stranger, is I didn't see these new housemates of ours. not at first. What I did see was that Mom and Dad started worrying a lot less about money. We could afford real milk, not that powdered crap! We started eating meat a few times a week. I started to gain a little weight and get healthy. Probably 6 months in, I woke up around 1 AM on night to hear something under my bed. Considering we didn't have any pets, I started to freak out.
"Shhhh, Kid, don't be scared. I'm the *roommate* your parents told you about." A voice from below me said. It sounded weird like it was in 2 voices at the same time, high and low, raspy yet powerful. There was a strange glow also coming from underneath the bed, and I saw two large gnarled hands grab the edge of my mattress and press down. "Don't yell kid, I'm coming out." he/it said.
"Who are you?" I asked from underneath my blanket. I didn't want to see all of it, hoping it was all a bad dream.
"I'm Dave, well, Dave is as close to my name in your language. So, folks HERE call me Dave. You can call me Dave too, if you wish."
I heard him stand up, with popping of joints that had been cramped up, I wanted to see, but didn't dare look. I then heard him walk over to my door and pause.
"You should go back to sleep. While I may be a literal *monster under the bed*, I mean you no harm. I just live here. maybe later, when you get older and move out, I can come live with you. I like you. You don't snore like my last kid."
As he finished talking, I fell back asleep pretty hard, and forgot about our meeting that night. Life went on. I went to college, got a degree and a decent job. I was living the bachelor lifestyle, bars, etc.
One night me and some friends shut down a crazy dive bar in a rough section of town, and as I stumbled into the bathroom for what I hoped would be my final trip to a crazy hell hole of a toilet, I saw something in the corner that about made me have a heart attack. In the dark, holding a glass was one of the hands I had seen so many years ago in my youth.
"Dave? " I couldn't believe I remembered the name after all those years. "You were real?"
"Were real, am real, will always be real, until I am not." he said from the shadow that concealed his face. He raised his glass to me. "I'm going through a patch old friend and I wonder if I could rekindle our old arrangement as your, um, room mate? Seems that there's people who don't understand the trust of having a real monster under the bed can provide to a family."
I held up one finger. "First, I'm never drinking Absenth again.", I held up 2 fingers, "Second, I'm going to take a piss.", I held up 3 fingers, "Third, I don't know what your arrangement was with my parents, but I remember that our lives were difficult and then they weren't. So, sure. I'm guessing you don't need a key?" With that, I walked to the toilet and did my business. When I walked out, 'Dave' was gone.
Later that month, I found a hundred dollar bill in the dryer like I had dried it. Then, it became more subtle, and I would find bills here and there around the apartment. Of course, then the times where I would just happen to have enough money in my pockets to pay for things which was cool. Occasionally, I would catch "Dave" out of the corner of my eye crawling out from, or back under my bed. It was Okay. He's horrifying to look at from human beauty standards, and he understands that, but he's well, he's my roommate who does his share. I mean, one Sunday morning after I had made the mistake of letting my apartment be the "After party" spot, i woke up to the place being SPOTLESS. The friends who crashed on the couch and floor all were tucked into little burrito blankets with pillows I never knew I owned.
"Thanks Dave" I said out loud to my awesome monster under the bed.'
"You're welcome, kid." came the reply from under my bed.
|
I closed the door behind me and dropped my keys down onto a table. Putting my bag down onto the floor, I stepped into my room to find several coins and notes on my bed. I noted it was also made, with the sheets newly put on and the pillows fluffed.
And... was that *lavender?*
I swallowed and knelt on the floor. Clearing my throat, I began to speak.
"Hello?"
"Yes?" A gravelly, over-toned voice blasted back.
"Hey, about the coins on my bed... and, ehrm..."
"Oh, I'm so sorry! I forgot to tell you," the voice resonated from under my bed, its source blanketed by the darkness. "The job hunt's been tough, so I thought I could make up the rest of the rent with chores and stuff."
"...chores?"
"Yes, I sprayed a sweet scent onto your pillow, and made your bed as I have seen you do before."
"Ah, Listen... sorry, what was your name?"
An unintelligible growl and bubbling followed as a reply.
"Okay, well. I'm having second thoughts about this whole... roommates thing. It's kind of freaking me out, to be honest."
"Didn't freak you out before."
"Yeah, that's 'cause I *just* found out last week!"
The monster remained in a sullen silence. A twinge of pity pricked at my sides, even though I realised how weird it was to pity a monster.
"Look, I'm sorry. But I just can't do this anymore," I said firmly.
"...I made you pasta for dinner."
"What?"
"Out in the kitchen. I made you spaghetti bolognese. It's still hot."
I narrowed my eyes and sniffed at the air. The scent of tomato and beef wafted by. God damn, that smelled good.
I closed my eyes for a while, then reopened them. I smiled.
"I hope you added parmesan."
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[WP] For years you've found random money in your pockets and drawers that you don't remember having. Now, you've just figured out that you have a monster living under your bed. And he's paying rent.
|
I hauled the last cardboard box out of the small room, down the three flights of stairs, and into the back of my tiny Fiat Panda. Good job I didn't have much stuff.
I'd lived in that room for two years now. It's the room I got when I started my first proper job. It's the room where I'd flopped onto the bed filled with the fire after having met a girl, who I knew I would love forever, for dinner. It's the room where I'd spent countless evenings hanging out with my very best mate gaming, doing stupid stuff, and discussing nothing until the small hours. It's the room where I learned to code and binged far too many TV series alone. I'd also taught myself to cook in this flat - I've graduated from oven chips and chicken with peas to stews and medleys of roasted chicken thighs with root veg. I'm going up in the world.
It was also where, most strangely, I seemed to keep finding money. I'm not complaining! Who doesn't want to find money when you're living in the city, earning too little, and having to pay out for ridiculous rent rates and commuter prices? But it was a bit odd. I almost never take cash out. It's really inconvenient in the city. You're constantly asked for money by the homeless (I don't mind giving if I get to know them) and having no cash gives me a valid reason not to give to strangers, and fumbling for cash when you're in a London hurry is infuriating for everyone behind you. Card and phone payments are simply easier.
But I kept finding cash in my room. In my jacket pocket, in my sock drawer, on my desk. A couple of quid here, a fiver there. It really started to freak me out after three months. But then it just became normal. Really helpful, in fact. But I never got to the bottom of it. And that irked me. I almost felt like I was stealing. But nobody could've got into the flat beside me and the guy I barely knew in the other room who worked night shifts. He certainly wouldn't be handing me money. And my best mate was as broke as me. And my girl, she was still studying. No money. It’s an unsolved mystery.
I looked back at the old townhouse. Its high ceilings and big windows had given it an air of grandeur that helped me forget that I could fit nothing more than my single bed, a wardrobe, a tiny desk and a pile of washing in there with just enough room for the desk chair to roll back without hitting the bed.
The golden light of the summer evening would be illuminating my little room now. My favourite time of day. I turned to Lucy who had hopped into the passenger seat. I'll be moving in with her today.
"I'll just do one final check before we leave."
I leaped up the stairs two at a time then stopped at the entrance. I slowly opened the flat door, took a good look, walked to my room and quietly pushed the door open as though not to disturb the quietness of the evening sun.
I tripped over as I leapt back in horror.
"Oh sorry! I didn't think you'd be back! Oh no! You saw me! I...I.... \*Gasp!\*" cried the small, furry...monster?...the size and colour of a basketball. It had been standing with its shoulders slumped, its head hung, and its oversized bottom teeth protruding like an anglerfish but it too had tumbled backward in surprise and was holding up its fuzzy paws in apology.
I stared aghast.
It continued, "I didn't mean to scare you. I've tried to stay out of your way. I know I'm different from the usual roommate but I didn't think you minded me being here. I did pay rent! I hope it was enough. I never took anything that was yours. I...I..."
I scrambled backward on my hands and feet. What in all the world?!
It started again, "Sorry, man. No harm meant. I was just looking at the room thinking back over the great couple of years we had together. Who knows who I'll have to room with next. The last guy was an absolute monster. I nearly moved out. Fortunately, the landlord kicked him out after 3 weeks. Then you came. You had the best time. You really loved people. And as a bonus, you were pretty tidy too. I never had to eat one of your socks once. I hate socks. And when you started to learn to cook - properly - after 4 months, the quality of the food waste just rocketed. I ate like a king! I loved being your roommate, man. Gutted you're going. I can only hope the next one is half as good. Gonna miss ya."
I half chuckled through my shock.
"What are you?!"
"Gruff. I'm Gruff. Sorry, should've introduced myself. Rude of me. I'm your friendly food waste disposal monster...and ex-roommate, now."
He shot me a sad smile.
"Wait, so you paid rent? That's where the money kept appearing from? You?"
"Yeah. Was it enough?"
"Yeah...yeah. Absolutely! But where do you get it from - the money? I...you’re...um..."
"Oh, the council has rolled out a new scheme. I'm part of the Monster Munch workforce. We live discreetly in flats across the city and eat the food waste in return for payment so they can cut waste disposal costs. Kinda genius. It's a pretty good deal. Though I wish we'd be bunked with a fellow monster mate. Gets a bit lonely sometimes with not being able to be seen and all."
I couldn't believe it. I was laughing now. This talkative furball was harmlessly munching my food waste and was considerate enough to feel the need to pay rent despite knowing he had to stay hidden.
"You ever thought of moving flats?" I asked.
"Never thought to ask my boss. It’s not too bad here. But I'd just have to go through the faff of address changes if I did. Not that fun."
"But if you moved, you could room with another monster, right?"
"I guess. I just don't know many monsters. We don't have much contact. Too much risk of being caught and that."
I still don’t quite know what was going through my head when I spoke again, but I said, "I don’t know why I think this would be a good idea, but you seem like a cool guy. I know we’ve just met, well...I’ve only just met you...seems like you know me already and...anyway…I was going to say, what would you think of moving with me? Maybe my new flat will have a monster mate?” I hurriedly added, “Lucy can't know, though! Never *ever* show yourself to Lucy! But we could see if it works?"
"Aw, man! You're the best!! Yes! Yes! Does she cook well too? I can't wait! Oh boy! I need to pack. Give me one minute and I'll be back."
He dived beneath a floorboard that had been loose under my bed and emerged with a mini duffel stuffed to the brim. I took off my heavy jacket and bundled him inside.
This could be fun. Or a nightmare. An adventure, at least.
\-------------------
Edit: story flow in the offer of the monster moving with
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The monster is tiny and she enjoys hiding in couch cushions. Her name is Martha and she has green fur; you used to see her in your toy box with your stuffed animals, but your parents could never find “the green one.” Must’ve moved to your first apartment with you. Maybe she hid in that oversized box with the linens.
Martha also enjoys turning down the thermostat at night, changing the volume on the TV, and writing extra items on your grocery list when you’re not looking. She unpaused your Xbox during an hour-long boss fight last month. You found a twenty in your coat pocket the next day.
Things aren’t all great for Martha, though. She’s lonely without other tiny monsters to play with, and she wants to find love. At least when you still played with stuffed animals, she had friends. She misses Mr. Panda the most. Apparently he tells some pretty off-color jokes.
It should probably strike you as weird that these toys are alive, but honestly, you’re more bothered by the idea of hearing adult humor from a creature whose natural counterpart has almost no interest in attracting a mate. Aren’t pandas supposed to be famous for that?
They have so little interest in making more pandas that they’ve almost died out... right? Seems far too immodest of Mr. Panda. Never mind that he’s a children’s toy. Or that he’s not supposed to have ever attained sentience. He’s a member of a mostly celibate species.
Does thinking that make you racist? You don’t know. Nothing makes sense anymore. But no matter where you go or what you order at a restaurant, you always have the right amount of cash for the tip.
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[WP] For years you've found random money in your pockets and drawers that you don't remember having. Now, you've just figured out that you have a monster living under your bed. And he's paying rent.
|
For years, I had a fear that I had some form of Alzheimer’s. It was a true crisis I faced on a daily basis and all because of something that most people would consider a blessing. I had cash, and a lot of it. In coat pockets, in my sock drawer, and even in the folds of my clothes, I would find bills that I had no memory of putting there. At first I thought that I had just put the money there for safekeeping or perhaps left some change I got and forgotten it. However, as I kept finding the money, I began to suspect that there was something seriously wrong with me. How was I forgetting something that I apparently did so often? Then there was the question of why I was partaking in such an odd behavior.
I tried to ignore it. Honestly, it wasn’t the worst problem to have. I was able to enjoy spending the money at least. Morning coffee, afternoon beers, the odd toy I wanted. My random ,smalltime desires were all easily indulged in. But, then it got worse. While I could willfully ignore the threat that my forgetfulness could be a serious mental health issue, I could not do the same with the amount of money I was finding. It wasn’t just adding up, the numbers of the bills were increasing as well.
It wasn’t just a small purchase here or there. Hell, it was nearly covering half my mortgage at this point. Just where was this money coming from? It made no sense. Was someone hiding money in my house? There was nobody that I could think of. I didn’t know anyone who would need to hide money and there shouldn’t have been anyone with access to my house even if there was. I decided to set up a security camera to settle this. Either I was so messed up that I would need to stop avoiding it and check myself into a hospital or there was something nefarious going on.
I purchased a flagship security system. It had motion sensors, alarms, HD camera quality, the works. After all, it wasn’t like I couldn’t afford it. Yet, it all seemed to be for naught. Weeks passed and I failed to catch anything. No alarm was triggered during the nights and nothing came even close to my doors or windows. Perhaps, I was going about this all wrong. I could put the cameras in my room and, if I was the culprit all along as I was beginning to suspect more and more, just catch myself in the act.
So with fears of the coming morning, that was exactly what I did. I set up cameras in all four corners of my room and made sure to leave no blindspot. I had the angles to see my closet, my dresser, and my own sleeping form. I had trouble falling asleep. I knew in my heart that I would need to see a doctor the following day and possibly even turn myself in to the police. I had to have been getting this money from somewhere.
Against my wishes, the hours quickly passed, and with 3 beeps, the death knell that was my alarm clock woke me up. Gathering my courage, I went over to my computer and started going through the footage of the previous night. I had gotten through a few hours and all I had gleaned was that I was a restless sleeper. I kept tossing and turning. My arms and legs were put into all sorts of angles and positions throughout the night. No wonder I woke up sore all the time. Just look at my wrist there. It didn’t even look attached to the rest of my arm!
A chill went down my spine. That wasn’t my hand. That hand was reaching up from the floor to grip the edge of my bed. Soon a matching hand crept up next to it, and this one gripped a fifty-dollar bill in it. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even make a sound. The fear that gripped me was all consuming. I wasn’t even forming a thought. All I could do was keep my eyes glued to my screen as I watched a shape pull itself out from under my bed. That, and ignore a matching noise behind me as something lifted itself from the ground.
I turned around to face the same creature I had captured on film. But now, it had captured me. It stood between me and the only exit of the room. An impossibly tall humanoid stood hunched over, leering over me. Its full stature too much for the room’s height and certainly too large to be concealed by the frame of my bed. Many of its features were remarkably human but stretched out beyond natural anatomy, rendering it a grotesque abomination. Worst of all was its mouth, which wrapped around its head to leave a horrifying maw that nearly split its skull two. “I can guess at your thoughts and understand why you would fear me. Perhaps even hate me,” the being said in a clear, baritone voice. Witless coward that I was, I could only gape at it in response.
The monster paused as though waiting for a response. It let out a sigh at my stunned silence. “I mean no harm to you or your home. Strange and fearsome as I know I must look to you, know that I have only respect towards you and would consider you my benefactor.” I flinched as it moved its arm towards me. The creature stopped its motion and dropped a hundred dollar bill in front of me. Then it looked down on me expectantly. Whatever it wanted, it seemed to fail to find it in me as a frown appeared on its face.
“Is this not that which you desire?” it questioned. “I have seen humans find great joy and solace in monetary gain. I don’t quite understand it. This is how you barter and exchange services is it not? I understand you would have reservations in allowing a stranger into your home. I know that I do not look like your kind but I only seek to make an amiable connection.”
It let out a hiss in what I could only hope was frustration. “This is not going as I had envisioned. Why did you need to seek me out? I just needed more time to learn how your people think and this could have gone so much more smoothly! I was going to reveal myself eventually. I was not trying to steal your territory from you. I have even tried to compensate you for sheltering me. Has it not been enough? I do not profess to be an expert of the human monetary system but I thought I had increased the amount enough to be considered as your roofmate. Or is it roommate? Such is my goal.” I could not believe what I was hearing. Perhaps I should have checked myself into that hospital after all.
|
The monster is tiny and she enjoys hiding in couch cushions. Her name is Martha and she has green fur; you used to see her in your toy box with your stuffed animals, but your parents could never find “the green one.” Must’ve moved to your first apartment with you. Maybe she hid in that oversized box with the linens.
Martha also enjoys turning down the thermostat at night, changing the volume on the TV, and writing extra items on your grocery list when you’re not looking. She unpaused your Xbox during an hour-long boss fight last month. You found a twenty in your coat pocket the next day.
Things aren’t all great for Martha, though. She’s lonely without other tiny monsters to play with, and she wants to find love. At least when you still played with stuffed animals, she had friends. She misses Mr. Panda the most. Apparently he tells some pretty off-color jokes.
It should probably strike you as weird that these toys are alive, but honestly, you’re more bothered by the idea of hearing adult humor from a creature whose natural counterpart has almost no interest in attracting a mate. Aren’t pandas supposed to be famous for that?
They have so little interest in making more pandas that they’ve almost died out... right? Seems far too immodest of Mr. Panda. Never mind that he’s a children’s toy. Or that he’s not supposed to have ever attained sentience. He’s a member of a mostly celibate species.
Does thinking that make you racist? You don’t know. Nothing makes sense anymore. But no matter where you go or what you order at a restaurant, you always have the right amount of cash for the tip.
|
|
[WP] For years you've found random money in your pockets and drawers that you don't remember having. Now, you've just figured out that you have a monster living under your bed. And he's paying rent.
|
I was waiting in line for my morning cuppa joe when I noticed it today. The exact change I needed in my pocket. All forty-seven cents.
It might not seem like a big deal to you, but I always seemed to have the exact amount of change needed. Which if logic worked right, would mean I would never be getting change back, making the situation unlikely the next time it occurred.
But there was, a quarter, two dimes, and two pennies. One of them was from the 1950’s and a wheat penny. I cursed my luck - I did like to collect those, but I didn’t happen to have another in my pocket.
\---
That night, I ordered Chinese from the little shop halfway down the street. They always got my food to me within ten minutes. Somehow, I got caught up in the game I was playing and forgot to get my wallet ready.
As I answered the door, I grabbed the cash sitting on the small end table that set next to the door that was the catchall for my pockets when I got home each day. Thirteen dollars were tightly rolled around two quarters and a nickel.
That one weirded me out.
I mean… I did always order the same thing, so my total was always $13.55, but I definitely didn’t remember wrapping it up for the next time I ordered.
\---
Getting into bed the day flashed before my eyes. My room was bright, even with all the lights out. Light from the city outside was reflected inside and I could hear music playing from the club on the corner. This small loft was cheaper than anything else I could find, but it was in an awful location.
The last girl who lived here had complained to me when she subleased it out to me. She had been a student. I was just a desk monkey, working in the cubicle farm of insurance policies. It had been too loud and too bright for her. And she had said that something seemed to go bump in the night.
I had met Arthur a week after moving in - the resident tabby cat who got into our collective garbage. I was pretty sure he was her monster.
But tonight, between the heartburn from the onions in my dinner, the lights, and the noise - sleep just wasn’t happening. But I was exhausted. Getting out of bed would get me nowhere.
So, I just laid there. Eyes shut. Watching the blue light zigzag around inside my eyelids.
It was a clinking of metal that caught my attention. Pulled my eyes open.
Arthur must be at it again.
Tonight, the noise was just too much and I rolled to get out of bed.
Only to freeze when I saw a dark blob slinking across the floor. The sound of metal clinking together was coming from it.
I watched - held in place by a mixture of terror and amazement - as it made its way to my coat rack and shoved something in the pocket. The chiming noise, while muffled let me know exactly what it was - change.
Then the blob slid back down the pole and over to the end table, I couldn’t see what it was doing , but the soft crinkle of paper and a few more tinks of coins hitting one another left me wondering exhaustedly… how it knew how much to leave behind.
Done with its task, the blob seemed to rotate on itself.
And then I saw eyes.
They were unlike anything I had ever seen before, maybe closest to a fly or maybe a spider. Large and faceted, they glittered orange and green in the glowing neon light from the street.
But they saw me see them.
It froze.
I was too tired for this shit. I knew I had to be hallucinating. Maybe tonight’s order of Chinese food was spoiled, and I was sick. I didn’t know, and honestly it didn’t matter.
But for some reason, I asked, “What are you doing?”
And the blob seemed to undulate up and down in indecision before answering in a strange high voice.
“Paying rent.”
I sat up - and the blob flattened itself onto the floor.
“What?”
“Paying my portion of the rent. $172 give or take,” it said, its eyes shifting to the coat rack and end table.
I really just didn’t understand. “Why 172 dollars?”
“Well…. I leave forty-seven cents every morning for your coffee five days a week. And $13.55 twice a week for the nights you order in. that’s roughly 172 dollars. “
“Right….” I said, laying down again and closing my eyes. I was going to sleep dammit. “Tell the dust bunny he needs to pay rent too.”
“He already does! That’s how you get your remotes back every night!” The voice twittered, and then was silent.
Horns honking out into the street were my companions into sleep.
\---
The following morning, head busting, I rolled out of bed. A quick shower and I was grabbing my coat as I left out the door.
Stopping for coffee… I found my forty-seven cents in the right-hand pocket, waiting just like every morning.
​
\---
For more by me and others, check out r/redditserials
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The monster is tiny and she enjoys hiding in couch cushions. Her name is Martha and she has green fur; you used to see her in your toy box with your stuffed animals, but your parents could never find “the green one.” Must’ve moved to your first apartment with you. Maybe she hid in that oversized box with the linens.
Martha also enjoys turning down the thermostat at night, changing the volume on the TV, and writing extra items on your grocery list when you’re not looking. She unpaused your Xbox during an hour-long boss fight last month. You found a twenty in your coat pocket the next day.
Things aren’t all great for Martha, though. She’s lonely without other tiny monsters to play with, and she wants to find love. At least when you still played with stuffed animals, she had friends. She misses Mr. Panda the most. Apparently he tells some pretty off-color jokes.
It should probably strike you as weird that these toys are alive, but honestly, you’re more bothered by the idea of hearing adult humor from a creature whose natural counterpart has almost no interest in attracting a mate. Aren’t pandas supposed to be famous for that?
They have so little interest in making more pandas that they’ve almost died out... right? Seems far too immodest of Mr. Panda. Never mind that he’s a children’s toy. Or that he’s not supposed to have ever attained sentience. He’s a member of a mostly celibate species.
Does thinking that make you racist? You don’t know. Nothing makes sense anymore. But no matter where you go or what you order at a restaurant, you always have the right amount of cash for the tip.
|
|
[WP] You’ve just died, and The Grim Reaper appears to escort you to the afterlife. At first you’re afraid of him, but you soon realize there are scarier things, and he carries the scythe to protect you from them.
|
[POEM]
HIGHWAY TO HELL
Yes my dear,
This is death,
Do not fear,
But can you hear?
Darkness rises,
Far beyond, far behind.
We gotta win the race,
Or we will be domed beforehand.
Dying is a feat,
So, do not cry, do not yell,
They will hear you wail,
And soon will sail?
Who knows? Who can tell?
This is not the end,
So, take my hand, be my friend.
The way forward,
Is plagued by many fiends.
Come dow and bouckle up,
Time is pressing, still passing,
Man the canons and the machingun,
Crack the bullets and beat them to a pulp.
Kill them left, kill them right,
Do not let anyone pass us by,
We will endure, we will prevail,
We have no other avail.
For this is the one,
Highway to hell.
|
All was a blur of motion. In a near dreamlike state, I found myself forgetting my own mortality. Forgetting my state of being.
I was here, lost in the abyss with this stranger. This cloaked, forlorn, stranger. For some reason hellbent on my safety.
From what, I did not immediately ascertain.
But slowly, as the shadows took in menacing form. As the darkness lept from within itself, I knew.
Death was a gatekeeper.
Between whatever this life had been, and whatever these demons would be, stood resolutely, his ashen form. The dark guardian of my sinking self.
What was left was unknown. But for this moment. This unknowable, endless moment. They were there. With each deafening cleave of the scythe, I knew danger grew near. But I could not see it. Only as sounds could I conceive of the threat.
The maddening approach of chaos, embodied in dull moans and skewed screams. Though forms managed to escape my sight, I could feel the encroaching malice. I could feel the otherworldly hatred, born across the talons in the dark.
But dare not acknowledge the danger, does my escort. This detached, yet focused ranger of the deep. Steadfast in his defence. I felt, notwithstanding the abyssal surroundings, a surreal calm.
I knew my soul was safe. On whatever passage it now found itself. The boatman knew his path. For whatever dangers come our way, what mercy they would not enjoy at the end of this pale scythe.
What awaits me at the end of this, I do not know.
But I am certain, no greater guardian could a soul employ...
|
|
[WP] You’ve just died, and The Grim Reaper appears to escort you to the afterlife. At first you’re afraid of him, but you soon realize there are scarier things, and he carries the scythe to protect you from them.
|
"Who are you?" I asked. As I gazed at the tall looming figure of a person, hunched slightly over to look at me, shrouded in a cloak so black it seemed to be made of darkness itself .
A ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ǫᴜᴇsᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ᴘᴇʀʜᴀᴘs, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀᴍ I? Dᴇᴀʀ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ.
"Alright then Mr stranger, what are you?" I replied, a bit directly but not I think, too impolitely as I pointedly stared trying to make out the shadowy yet not entirely coverer visage below the hood.
Yᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ sᴀʏ I ᴀᴍ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴛʜɪɴɢs, ᴀɴ ᴀɴɢᴇʟ, ᴀ ɢᴜᴀʀᴅɪᴀɴ, ᴀ ɢᴜɪᴅᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴍᴇ ʙᴇsᴛ ᴀs ɪs Dᴇᴀᴛʜ.
"Oh shit" I whispered as it dawned on me, fuck, I was dead. "Oh damn" I muttered again as the memory started coming back to me, it was strange as an event in itself almost as much as it was remembering right now, I thought I was so young, only 22 and I'd just gone to sleep after a normal day and then **blip**. Now here I was.
I looked down for the first time since the figure had come into view, and yep, sure as life, there lay my dead sleeping body, lying peacefully on my bed as I floated inches above it.
"Okay, Okay, okay" I mumbled as I got myself back together, I looked back at the tall shadowy figure who's face I could still not really make out even though it didn't seem to be obscured.
"So what do we do now?"
Wᴇ ᴡᴀʟᴋ
And with that the figure facing me stood upright, looming over me and yet, I was surprised that he didn't seem to actually be all that tall, when I looked close he seemed to stand only a few inches, at most, above me. And yet when he came close I suddenly felt so small, so tiny, like a child standing before a grown up.
He reached a hand out of the smothering shroud of inky night covering him, a hand that was rather like the rest of him, almost human-like, with a long slender arm and long delicate fingers like a pianists, almost impercetibly different, but shrouded in a thin yet completely covering layer of black as if it was wearing long dark gloves that went all the way up his arm.
Without resistance he took my hand and slowly started walking. Tentatively I followed behind him, not sure if I wanted to protest, not sure if I could, or there'd be any point in trying.
"Where are we going" I asked resolutely.
Yᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ sᴇᴇ
He said concisedly and unperturbedly. I started to feel a bit upset and irritated but for some reason I couldn't seem to show it, as we kept on stepping forward. In the brief moment I'd turned my attention to talk to him the world had changed.
Suddenly I felt myself wriggling, it was like a cold sensation passed through my body as if someone had dumped a bowl of ice down the back of my shirt on a warm day, but rather than starting from one side of my body and passing through to the other, it was like it'd started from every single particle of my body, and passed throught them. The sharp sensation passed as quickly and abruptly as it came.
"What was that?" I softly cried out in shock.
Wᴇ ʟᴇғᴛ
He said still said, vaguely and unperturbedly.
I snapped my head around ready to ask him to explain exactly what he meant by that and then snapped right back. My eyes stretched wide open as I looked at my surroundings, everything had disappeared, all of the daylight streaming through the window and the numerous noisy cars and houses had all just vanished. Not replaced, gone.
There was just nothing there, I squinted my eyes as they almost started to hurt, I couldn't focus. There was no black, no white, no nothing. Fucksakes, what the fuck is this, hell dammnit how does this even work, I thought to myself dizzy, as a wave of nausea flowed across my mind, even in a vacuum it was supposed to be black, darkness!
This was nothing.
Death quietly gazed at me, my hand still firmly grasped in his, evidently waiting for my shock to end. An eternity passed, or maybe a few seconds, I wasn't sure, surely enough however, slowly my head adjusted and my eyes opened and I looked around, or perhaps it was better to say I just turned my head around, there wasn't much 'looking' when there wasn't anything to see.
"Where are we?" I slowly and forcedly spat out, turning my head to Death as it stood still.
It ignored me as it looked straight ahead and drew it's other arm out from it's cloak of inky black, the cloak, whatever it was, felt oddly reassuring to look at, it was *real* , it existed and it felt good to my mentally added brain that it did for some reason.
As his hand reached out this time pointing "forward" , I say though I'm not sure "forward" still existed, it drew with it a small black metal pole with a beautiful, and yet terrifying curved crescent blade attached to the end of it.
There was something about the blade that made me feel weird in my very soul, though I guess that was all I was now, a discomfort so strange and agonising, almost like physical pain but also like the emotional discomfort that comes with an immense feeling of guilt, as if I touched it ever so slightly I'd be damning my entire existence without the blade being at any fault of it's own.
The blade tipped pole, a scythe, I realise it's called, slowly enlarged from the length of it's arm, gradually growing longer until it rivalled Death in it's height reaching from the "ground" to parallel with it's head.
Death nodded his head slightly towards me, leaning confidentally, almost with a gesture of... satisfaction?
Iᴛ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ғɪɢᴜʀᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ, ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴇɴɪᴇɴᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ, ᴍᴜᴄʜ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴄᴀʀʀʏɪɴɢ ɪᴛ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴏᴘᴇɴʟʏ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ
I was a little shocked, it was the most he'd spoke in the eternity, or perhaps just a few minutes, that'd passed since we'd started, and there was something human-like in the way he spoke just now. A trace of ... almost, pride?
"Do what?" I asked dumbly.
Cʜᴀɴɢᴇ, Mɪᴋᴀɪʟ's ɪᴅᴇᴀ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ғʟᴀᴍɪɴɢ sᴡᴏʀᴅ ʜᴇ ᴋᴇᴇᴘs ᴀs ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀ ᴅᴀɢɢᴇʀ ᴀᴛ ʜɪs ʙᴇʟᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴘʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ɪɴғʟᴜᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴀ ᴠᴇsᴛɪɢᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴏɴᴇ
"Oh" I said blankly, bewildered that I hadn't a trace of understanding, "that's nice" I said trying to be appreciative.
He turned his back abruptly, my hand still in his loose but iron steady grasp as he began to walk forward into the nothingness. With nothing else to do I walked along with him silently.
But as what seemed to be hours, or maybe years passed on I only felt more questions rising up.
"Where are we" I asked again.
This time it seemed to hear me and without breaking it's stride, it took a small pause to think.
Tʀᴀᴠᴇʟʟɪɴɢ
It said, blankly.
"Yes but where is this place, or whatever it thay we are in now while we are travelling?" I asked insistently, now determinedly curious.
It looked at me as it continued walking, pausing slightly at my face, with the slightest, almost disapproving shake of it's head and then glanced around before resuming his gaze forward, as if to say "look around and see for yourself" yet without saying a word.
I focused my eyes once more, having stopped really using them to look as I walked, and again rather than seeing anything I only felt the same vaguely sickening feeling of lacking, emptiness.
I stopped talking and thought for a few moments.
"We're nowhere then, aren't we?" I finally retorted, half randomly, half searchingly.
Cʟᴏsᴇ, ᴘᴇʀʜᴀᴘs, ᴀʟᴍᴏsᴛ ᴇxᴀᴄᴛʟʏ. Iɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʀᴀᴠᴇʟʟɪɴɢ.
|
All was a blur of motion. In a near dreamlike state, I found myself forgetting my own mortality. Forgetting my state of being.
I was here, lost in the abyss with this stranger. This cloaked, forlorn, stranger. For some reason hellbent on my safety.
From what, I did not immediately ascertain.
But slowly, as the shadows took in menacing form. As the darkness lept from within itself, I knew.
Death was a gatekeeper.
Between whatever this life had been, and whatever these demons would be, stood resolutely, his ashen form. The dark guardian of my sinking self.
What was left was unknown. But for this moment. This unknowable, endless moment. They were there. With each deafening cleave of the scythe, I knew danger grew near. But I could not see it. Only as sounds could I conceive of the threat.
The maddening approach of chaos, embodied in dull moans and skewed screams. Though forms managed to escape my sight, I could feel the encroaching malice. I could feel the otherworldly hatred, born across the talons in the dark.
But dare not acknowledge the danger, does my escort. This detached, yet focused ranger of the deep. Steadfast in his defence. I felt, notwithstanding the abyssal surroundings, a surreal calm.
I knew my soul was safe. On whatever passage it now found itself. The boatman knew his path. For whatever dangers come our way, what mercy they would not enjoy at the end of this pale scythe.
What awaits me at the end of this, I do not know.
But I am certain, no greater guardian could a soul employ...
|
|
[WP] You’ve just died, and The Grim Reaper appears to escort you to the afterlife. At first you’re afraid of him, but you soon realize there are scarier things, and he carries the scythe to protect you from them.
|
Well, I had just died, at least that's what this thing told me
It wasn't anything unusual in terms of statistics really, long day at work, left just a tad bit too late, and strayed too far onto the oncoming traffic while sleepy. This being said it's best that I not look at my corpse, as barely anything was left of it.
Well that was at least how I got here, purgatory, not a very dark and grim place as I have read in some religious texts. Rather, it looked more like just a really thick forest really. We were both standing in the middle of a small clearing near a well. The air was like what you'd expect in that setting, slightly chilly, smells fresh.
"Alright, now that you've told me where we are and why I'm here, who or what the hell are you?" I asked
"Well, I am what your culture calls the grim reaper. Also congratulations on taking your death really well by the way"
Looking a bit closely, I can see that it looked rather similar to what I had imagined it to look like; long flowing black robe, ghastly, carries a giant scythe.
"I can't believe that the grim reaper apparently follows the american culture very closely"
"Not really, everyone sees me differently. Anyways, we don't have much time, we must make haste"
The creature showed me a path cut into the forest with a small trail. From there I could see the long winded path that stretches to infinity.
As we closed in on the start of the trail, I could see on the the first tree was carved in the words
"enter these woods without a companion, and the others shall accompany you"
"Firstly, before we enter these woods, I need to remind, or rather warn you of something" the Reaper told me.
"Does it have something to do with these "others" written over there?"
"Yes, you're a rather perceptive and calm one, this is why I chose you to protect"
"What? You don't guide everyone to the afterlife? What happens to the rest?"
"No, no, I am but only one being. The rest of the population, well, you'll see later"
"So what were you about to tell me?"
"Well, let's say that these woods have their own...denizens. If one approaches you, stay calm, be respectful, and most importantly, do NOT talk or look at them in the face, I will deal with them shortly"
The Reaper begun walking and I followed suit. As we went deeper and deeper into the woods, the small clearing was soon obscured. The sky was eternally dark, however the path was lit dimly by fireflies and the occasional weakly burning oil lamp on the side.
The further we went, the denser the woods got, it was getting a bit boring really, until out of the blue, a softly crying voice spoke behind me
**sob** "Please help me" **sob** "I'm lost"
I was about to turn my head when the Reaper immediately held my head in place tightly
"Do NOT move, they have started to notice us it seemed" the Reaper whispered "Keep going"
The Reaper ushered me to walk forwards and to hasten my pace, as we have apparently entered the "danger zone"
By now, the woods had twisted itself into unnatural shapes, trees as tall as mountains that were as thin as a stick, and other trees that bent itself into the shape of dancing people. Now we started to encounter more writings on the trees.
"Please help me someone, I'm lost"
"Beware of the others"
"The others will accompany you if you're alone"
"day 498, I think I might be losing my sanity"
I was getting quite unnerved, and broke the silence between us
"You haven't really told me about the rest of the people that didn't get to have you as company, my experience so far hasn't really indicated or cleared it up one bit"
"This forest...slowly eats them, to say the least"
"Eats them?"
As I was about to continue my question, the Reaper hushed me, and stopped me in my tracks again as I felt the familiar presence of another of "the others" behind me again
"Fresh....meaaat...."
The Reaper quietly told me to stay as still as possible
It seemed that the creature behind me lost interest as I felt it's presence move away. Just as it moved forward of us, in the distance, amongst the giant trees, I could make out the shape of a very tall leg moving swiftly.
"Well as I was saying, the forest slowly drains the souls of those unfortunate enough to be trapped here"
"And what of them then?"
"They...either gets devoured by someone, or slowly turns into one of the others"
"What about me then? What made me special enough for you to accompany?"
"That...you'll have to prove yourself"
The reaper raised its scythe and handed it to me
"Unfortunately, this is as far as I can accompany you. But this is much further than most people get on their own"
"What? How do I know where to find the exit then?"
The reaper flashed me a sly grin before turning away
"This is only the beginning of the journey for you little friend"
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All was a blur of motion. In a near dreamlike state, I found myself forgetting my own mortality. Forgetting my state of being.
I was here, lost in the abyss with this stranger. This cloaked, forlorn, stranger. For some reason hellbent on my safety.
From what, I did not immediately ascertain.
But slowly, as the shadows took in menacing form. As the darkness lept from within itself, I knew.
Death was a gatekeeper.
Between whatever this life had been, and whatever these demons would be, stood resolutely, his ashen form. The dark guardian of my sinking self.
What was left was unknown. But for this moment. This unknowable, endless moment. They were there. With each deafening cleave of the scythe, I knew danger grew near. But I could not see it. Only as sounds could I conceive of the threat.
The maddening approach of chaos, embodied in dull moans and skewed screams. Though forms managed to escape my sight, I could feel the encroaching malice. I could feel the otherworldly hatred, born across the talons in the dark.
But dare not acknowledge the danger, does my escort. This detached, yet focused ranger of the deep. Steadfast in his defence. I felt, notwithstanding the abyssal surroundings, a surreal calm.
I knew my soul was safe. On whatever passage it now found itself. The boatman knew his path. For whatever dangers come our way, what mercy they would not enjoy at the end of this pale scythe.
What awaits me at the end of this, I do not know.
But I am certain, no greater guardian could a soul employ...
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[WP] You have spent 12 years of your life writing a series of books, each building upon a world you are more than proud of and telling the story you hope to be remembered for. Today, you have received an email containing the script for the movie adaptation. It is the worst script you’ve ever read.
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Viktor Shcharansky was a tolerant man.
He'd put up with a BUNCH of shit in his life.
Including his sister, his siblings, learning the shitshow that was English, etc.
But this.....this he would not stand for.
Anon and the Thousand Eyes was his creation.
That he poured his soul into.
Every character, every setting, every little bit in the world he shaped was as much a part of him as his arm or leg.
It had helped him through some dark times, times where he really felt he'd lost all hope.
Where he was blind.
With only darkness surrounding him.
And to see it turned into a soulless YA movie adaptation was more then he could take.
"NYET!" He yelled, nearly continuing in Russian before he corrected himself. "Syika is NOT Anon's girlfriend! I made it very clear in the book that she is only his platonic friend!"
"Well, you see," the smarmy director said, his tone full of sanctimonious corporate bullshit. "The demographic that bought your books are interested in romance, and since that's what sells, we put it in."
"It throws off Syika's entire character arc!" Viktor retaliated, his hand balling into a fist. "She's focused on becoming a good fighter, to avenge her Hive! That's what her society is built around, the importance of the Hive! Throughout the story, she learns that the destruction of her Hive was an accident and her quest is for nothing! And so she retreats into herself to cope! If Anon is her boyfriend, he'll be a pillar of support she can't have or else she won't turn to the Thousand Eyes!"
"No, no, we can still have that!" The director said, spiking his words with soothing undertones that Viktor knew all too well. "See, when she defaults to the Thousand Eyes, Anon will go into depression, be more motivated to get her back, and then rescues her at the climax!"
"YOU'VE TURNED SYIKA INTO A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS?!" Viktor roared into the phone, then stopped.
Nice deep breaths, nice deep breaths. Screaming at them won't help, nice deep breaths.
"Look." Viktor said through grit teeth. If they were going by demographics, fine. He'd give them demographics. "The thing best received with my readers was the setting. The world. You've turned it into a generic fantasy setting with.."he paused, trying to wrap his tongue over the next words. "elves instead of Lizers. Random Native humans instead of Mole Moes. No Mount Muikal, no Rolling Plain of Greal, no--" Viktor stopped, letting his anger simmer down, get his words in order.
His accent always got thicker when he was upset and people always misunderstood him. And now wasn't the time to be misunderstood. "But if you put some more work into the setting--"
"There's not enough budget for that." The director cut in, slick and silky, catching Viktor off guard. "We had to cut Moles and Lids to make room. And not enough money to fly everyone out to Australia or someplace for those plains. Sorry about that."
*They are called Lizers and Mole Moes*, Viktor thought, in disbelief. *And the Rolling Plain was based off of Kansas, not Australia.*
"But you put in Elves." he said, trying to comprehend what he was hearing. *Fucking ELVES.*
"Yeah, we just thought we could spice it up a bit by adding them." The director said.
"You cut out Lizers and Mole Moes," Viktor said his voice high and unbelieving. "But put in Elves to quote 'spice things up'?"
"Yes that's what we did."
There was almost an audible snap in the room as Viktor lost it.
"Okay listen here you corporate hack." Russian accent be damned, Viktor hunched over his desk, clutching the phone. "Let me spell this out for you. Anon and the Thousand Eyes is not a Young Adult novel. It is not another Tolkien knockoff. It doesn't contain *elves*. It is not your plaything, made to be painted and bastardized into what the focus groups THINK people want. And if you think you can sit there and turn my story into something that will make YOU and all your other suited up morons money, I want my rights back right fucking now. And if you make this movie anyway, I can tell you, you will NEVER get my business again. I will NEVER accept any other movie deal or sign over ANY of my rights to ANY of my other projects. Think that's covered in the contract, oh no, this is just for Anon. And I care too much about him and any of my other characters to see them turned into puppets."
"Okay," the director said, clearly taken aback, and for a split second, Viktor thought he won. "I think you can't accept criticism. Now, if you let me expla--"
Viktor pitched his phone across the room and against the wall. The snap the screen made was oh so satisfying. Then he threw his chair after it.
Fuck these corporate hacks.
Fuck them all.
He sighed, going across to retrieve his chair. They were all corrupt, only cared about money.
Almost like the Queens in Lizer society.
But Queens were groomed from birth to become something like that, it really wasn't their fault.
But Lizers could become Queens..........
And Queen Ukrinka never did really have a backstory, despite playing such a pivotal role as an antagonist........
Hmmm..........
Viktor Shcharansky was a tolerant man.
He'd put up with a BUNCH of shit in his life.
But through the shit, he learned that maybe good things could come of it.
And as he sat cross legged in the middle of the floor, hunched over his favorite composition book, scribbling down his latest concept--
He learned that lesson once again.
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First time attempting
​
I slam the glass doors behind with enough force causing them to crack and shatter as I storm out of the building. I don't remember getting in the taxi or that I was even in a taxi until i was asked to pay. My mind was still on the meeting I left and also the money I left behind. "Sir your fare is $18,560" The cabbie said nonchalantly. I blink twice bringing myself back to reality "Wha..." I begin to say when I realise instead of downtown LA i was now in Las Vegas. "You said drive you somewhere you can cool off, So I thought Las Vegas sounded nice" The cabbie replied not even pausing. I look over into the front seat and see the reader only says $10,000. The cabbie noticing my eyes "The rest is my return fare I have to get back to LA". He unlocks the meter to the standing fare and then asks "So what was on your mind for the entire trip you didn't even talk?"
"Have you heard of the books of BoB?" I asked trying to hide my smile. "Oh Yeah there's like 10 of them, I have read a couple great books" , "actually i reply there are now 12 and I am writing the 13th" THe cabbie spins around while opening his glovebox and proceeds to thrust a 1st edition of my first book into my chest and I look up he has already taken a selfie of us and then casually throws a pen at me. "Can you sign this for me the names Charles" I pause wondering what is with this weird cabbie. He proceeds with "I heard there making of movie of this going to make my signed book worth more".
That was the final straw after everything else that has happened today I lost it and the cabby took the burnt of my anger and disgust.
"THERE WILL NOT BE A F\*\*KING MOVIE I TOOK BACK MY RITES" The cabbie just looked at me throw his mirror and sighed
"When I got in this cab back in LA in front of Disney I had just left a meeting discussing the script for the movie of my life's work" I punched the back of the seat out of frustration not noticing the cabbie playing with the meter again!
"They are freaking brain dead pandering stupid morons, They wanted to ruin my books, BoB was going to be played by a 14 year old Asian that is popular in China so that it can do better over there" The cabbie asked "Isn't BoB a almost 8 foot samoan detective living in South Africa?"
I punched the roof of the cab as hard as I could out of anger
"That's not the worst of it. He is now North Korean after having crossed the DMZ on his hoverboard scooter thing and his partner is an animated half dog half girl science experiment he escaped with!" I vented this time slamming my hands into the seats either side of me. The Cabbie laughed and goes "So much for the Afghanistan princess trying to get her throne back then" I screamed in anger it all hitting me as I hit and struck this damn cab
"Bob isn't a detective trying to solve the most baffling of crimes he is a white hat hacker trying to find his dad, The sidekick is now a monstrosity that is going to be animated instead of a strong genius women trying to rebuild and reclaim her life. There is no great diamond disappearance instead a Bitcoin hub in digitally raided with only a picture of a business card of his father left here" I started to calm down. "Wow that sounds awesome to me" The cabbie said as I looked over the seat again the meter now reads over $15,000, I slump back. "Now that the tirade and hissy fit it over your total is $25,000 including my return fare" He smiles, Reality once again dawning on me
I hand the Cabbie my bank card and enter my pin as I say it say approved I felt even worse. I get out of the car closing the door as gently as possible in case he wants to charge me for more damages
At least I know my next book will be about the murderer of the cabbies, Hmmm I might even let this bad guy escape.
​
​
I was trying to make the Cabbie the bad guy in this story deliberately trying to annoy to frustrate the author so that he can charge for extras like damage and harassment. I hope it comes across right
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[WP] You are a retired supervillain who decided to become the gadget provider for many minor heroes. You've made everything possible to remain low to the point of no one knowing you even exist; however, your skills are required again — this time to help a bullied heroine not to fall into evil.
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3
Bodies scattered across the field, Hermès stood a battle axe ready his leather boots covered in blood of his allies.
So many had fallen, so many had failed.
Luna had torn the flesh gone their bodies, one hero who had managed to hurt her with laser vision had his eyes torn from their sockets.
Another hero who had the power of speed had tried to swift kick her and ended up splitting in half like a tree, his body had spun in the air like a frisbee spraying blood in circles.
Hermès stood with the last few, a teenager who made portals, a soccer mom with a midlife crisis, who could deconstruct her body into water molecules. A super strong hero, and a stage magician.
“Luna please, don’t make this any harder than it has to be. Please, talk to me. Tell me there is still hope.”
Luna tilted her head and lunged forward slamming into the teenager sending her through several building until she smashed into a blob of blood guys and mashed bones.
Next was the soccer mom, who anytime Luna got near would turn into water and pool away, Luna dove into the water glowing her bright white glow, as the water began to bubble and evaporate into steam until it vanished.
The stage magician stared mouth agape and eyes wide.
“Nope”
He said and threw a smoke bomb as he vanished into thin air, Hermès looked around when the man vanished while the sound of stone slamming into concrete echoed.
Newton was the last one to willing stand up to her, the blue sedan suddenly dropped from the guy smashing down as blood began to see from the trunk of the vehicle.
“Newton, you’re the last.”
The super hero nodded and then shot up into the air coming face to face with the harpy who was trying to burn the world.
“Come on Luna, we both no how this is going to end.”
He said her gray eyes stared flatly, she had become tired of this charade and a blue glow began to form around them. It began to grow smaller as it wrapped around her body and floated around him.
Newton began punching swinging, his nails touching the light as warm energy caressed his fingers, he began gasping holding his throat and choking on nothing, his face becoming more purple in color.
Newton began to sink when he dropped down as gravity pulled his heavy body to the earth.
Hermès sighed he had taught her everything he knew. She was amazing, in al his life he had never met someone with such promise, such skill.
He had given her everything he knew, everything except one thing.
Luna stared at him and let out a sigh. She stood staring at the man before her.
“I don’t suppose talking you out of this will work will I?”
Luna said nothing as she waited for him to deliver his attack.
“You know I haven’t used this, not in a couple thousand years. Last time.”
He gulped and have a sigh
“Last time, I used it, the blast divided the Red Sea.”
She said nothing and he sighed it all came to this moment.
He had to save her, he had to stop her, time seemed to stand still as he moved. The weapon pierced into her abdomen.
Hermès watched as she took in a breath, her eyes filled with relief, they watered and she took in a breath. Her full lips sighed as she sighed
“Finally.”
She breathed and closed her eyes
“Freedom.”
She whispered Hermès ripped his blade from her torso, the sharp teeth serrated the flesh as he withdrew it.
Her eyes opened the grey orbs glowing white. She smiled a warm peaceful smile. As her hands burst inside his chest cavity ripped out his lungs and heart.
The two dropped to their knees as their catastrophic injuries bleed into one another. She coughed out blood and turned that soft peaceful smile boring into him.
“I’m so sorry I failed you Luna.”
She gasped in and smiled her eyes dropping.
“I’ll follow you into the dark, it’s alright, you can rest now... you can rest.”
He said as her body became limp and heavy. Hermès took in a breath as large gray tipped black wings erupted from his shoulder blades and wrapped around the beautiful corpse.
He cradled her body close and sighed closing his eyes. He should have tried harder. He should have taught her the one thing he had learned on all his days in this world.
It wasn’t magic that he used to Elvis items, it wasn’t the new inventive ideas he gave humans to use for their curiosities.
All the things he had learned on earth, all the dark and all the light he had witnessed.
He had forgotten the one things he should have used.
The one thing he learned in all his time on earth.
Love.
It infected humans in ways he had never understood, he knew it as a powerful tool used to persuade the simple minds.
He knew of it, yet he never understood.
Not truly, not until his blade destroyed her soul.
He understood then why he was here, he understood it after all these years
Love.
He should have loved her.
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1
It was warm the way the blood sprayed across her chest, the mutilated men naked, their faces turned in anguish and horror, their bodies broken, one man a stout Armenian with thick gray hair, a black mustache with several white strands rested on his upper lip.
His wife blue eyes watched in horror at what lay before him.
The woman, a warrior of the night, the savior of those helpless, hungry and misunderstood.
Luna, her long curled hair was frazzled steaks of blood had entered it, casting dark red tinges.
A hero for good, someone with an impeccable sense of right and wrong. Black and white, she was good they were bad.
The leaders of countries dedicated to helping young women and children escape persecution.
They were here, hidden in this mansion of pleasure for powerful men to inflict their deepest depravities with.
Luna had been so conflicted, her mentor trying to explain what was good and what was bad.
The doors burst open as a deep choking gasp filled the room.
Hermès froze in horror at the bloodied massacre around him, young women naked and drugged up, some curled in the corners watching and hiding in fear at the super hero.
“Luna.”
Hermès whispered, in all his time trying to atone for his dark and evil deeds he found nothing more revitalizing then helping wayward hero’s.
Those who had a hard time with being super. His evil ways were slowly becoming undone with every hero Hermès guided.
When he found Luna he didn’t have to worry, bad guys were bad, good guys were good. She had an unwavering view of the world, something he had been trying to slowly disengage from her.
A gargling gasp came from the bleeding man,
“P-pplease! Don’t.”
Luna stood over the man and pulled him by his throat.
“Luna, dont, there’s still time, you don’t have to do this.”
“Lies and corruption seep from his soul,”
“He’s a prime minister with the international union. He can’t be hurt.”
Her hand moved up her nails sharpened, as she moved her hand slowly into his chest, he began screaming the veins in his face protruding as he screamed
“Luna stop!”
Her hand stopped and the naked man gasped and panted tryigg by to swallow.
“He’s a bad man.”
“I know, he’s a bad man, a very bad man, but he needs to face what he’s done, he needs to be tried by the council.”
“Half the council is here now.”
Hermès looked around at the men, most of not all the members were currently scattered about, one over a pool table, and one with his skull crushed like a tomato.
“This isn’t the way, we’re not here to judge, we’re here to help.”
She tore her hand through the back of his chest the mans heart she pulled it forward showing it to him.
“Dark hearts and dark minds have one thing in common.”
She said a dropping the dead man to the ground Luna stared, her mind had fractured seeing the crying girl she saved from religious hate, watching that small girl looking dead, while two men raped her body as she was tied down.
“Their treaties, their policies, the way they police us into doing what they want, civil servants to fight their wars, enslave their people and ravage them behind closed doors claiming to be saints.”
Hermès watched as the young woman he had trained changed before his eyes,
“They monitor us, limit our powers to their agenda. Control us with fear, blaming the monstrosities of the world on others while they hide their sins behind locked doors.”
“They are human, humans have flaws, some are dark, some are cruel, we can still fix this, change the world for the better.”
Luna’s gray eyes were no longer filled with turmoil, worry she wasn’t a good enough hero was gone.
Her face was void of all emotion, the usual twinkle of mischief was replaced by a flat empty stare.
Hermès felt anxious, a sick stomach came over him as he recognized that same empty look, it was an expression that haunted him for years.
“Don’t do this Luna, you wont come back from this, your actions here will follow you, define you as a villain, it will make you worse then them.”
Luna stared at her friend, the tension melted from her shoulders at this man, this wonderful man who had trained her to never quit. Never surrender.
She loved him, not in any romantic way, he was a piece of her. A reason she had decided to manifest her powers.
“Hermès.”
She whispered his name as he approached her, he needed to get her away from here. He needed to protect her.
Grey eyes stared at the immortal, at her friend.
Luna took in a breath as her hand plunged into his chest her fist covered in blood.
“They’ve never seen anything like me.”
The small girls screaming is all that filled the air as Hermès dropped down, her loose pants and halter top covered in blood as she floated into the air.
“Luna.”
He gasped as she rose higher and higher becoming smaller, his hand reached forward as she melted into nothing and vanished from his grasp.
A new smell of ash and wood, sounds of screams as the walls burst into flame around him. The wound in his chest slowly filled and reattached bone and organ as his body began to heal the physical wound.
Hermès ran into a wall leading towards for forest and led as many conscious women and children out as he could.
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[WP] You are a retired supervillain who decided to become the gadget provider for many minor heroes. You've made everything possible to remain low to the point of no one knowing you even exist; however, your skills are required again — this time to help a bullied heroine not to fall into evil.
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Cynthia loved inventions and coming up with new gadgets and the like. It's truly fulfilling. Her current job doesn’t leave her much time for personal projects but at least its relevant to her interests. Of course, it isn’t perfect, but nothing really is. She's always grinding away from dusk ‘til dawn constantly playing catchup with her workload. And she's repairing her sometimes unnecessarily complicated (she seriously doesn't know why that was added there it does nothing to increase the efficacy!) gadgets that those clumsy upstarts feel the need to DESTROY for the UMPTEENTH TIME!-
She coughs.
But that is neither here nor there...truly.
Building is something she's loved all her life. Creating things beyond imagination. In the old days, that was all she lived for and she'd disregarded everything else...
She hears a creak behind her.
She ignores it, continuing with her repair work.
Again, she hears a slight shuffle, and she can feel the way air is displaced.
'Stop it...I already know you're there'. It was aggravating! How can she expected to get anything done with this kid always showing up!
But it was a little odd...usually the little brat doesn't try to sneak around like this.
There's no response.
'Echo?' She sighs annoyed. ‘For the love of god, stop wasting my time!'
Cynthia spins her chair around and glances around the room. 'Echo in the room' She taunts. 'come out, come out wherever you are!'
'...Don't call me that' Says a quiet voice to her left. Cynthia smirks, hook, line and sinker.
Echo reveals herself. She's a short almost mousy looking young woman, all big eyes and not much else. She looks much more haggard than usual, with sallow skin and prominent dark circles.
'You know I hate it when you of all people call me that'. Echo's grey eyes look both teary and cold. If anyone else was looking at her, they'd probably be unsettled.
''You of all people'' Cynthia says uninterested, turning her back.
'You know that's what they call me!' Echo says sharply.
'And… so what? Does it bother you? That sounds like a personal problem' Cynthia sneers.
''And so what'. Of course! Of couse! I'm not sure what I was expecting!'. Echo starts pacing back and forth, faster and faster.
'Of course!' Cynthia agrees with a cheery smile. 'Don't let the door hit you on the way out!'
At this, Echo pauses abruptly. Her eyes, glowing like search lights lock onto Cynthia's face. Her eyes aren't teary anymore...they're just dead. Cynthia feels a hint of unease.
'Don't you ever get tired?' Echo asks quietly.
'Tired of what?'
'Of this world.'
Cynthia raises an eyebrow, intrigued in spite of herself.
'Why would I be tired of the world?'
'Because its filthy, filthy, filthy. Its dirty, nothing works as it should. The people who should be paragons of justice are corrupt, and violent. Politicians, The justice system, Heroes...they're all shit!'
'Even If I try to do my best, I stopped at very corner. I'm a laughingstock! I've seen top hero's shake hands with devils, and look the other way with greased palms while innocents suffer.'
Echo pauses, looking pained. 'There's no one out there who believes in me. In the court of public opinion, I'm the girl who cried wolf looking to get any kind of publicity. A little echo in the room repeating blatant lies about 'honest hardworking people'!' She slams her fist against the wall, rattling the tools on the shelf.
'As I am now...I'll never be able to do anything about it. I'm a minor hero, and a non-combatant on top of that,' She smiles ruefully. 'If I didn't have the power to turn invisible, if they didn’t decide that I was useful to them, there's no doubt that I wouldn't have realized any this.'
Cynthia chuckles. And starts to laugh loudly, the sound of genuine amusement transforming into an eerily mad cackle that nearly shakes her out of her seat.
'Of course! So that's what you've been doing all these months!' She states shrewdly, roughly pushing back the long blond strands that had fallen into her face.
'Running reconnaissance on me then?' She asks rhetorically. 'So, that means you know who I am.'
'You were one of the biggest out there, Chrysalis. Ten years wasn’t enough to dull the fear your name still brings in people’s hearts' Echo says persuasively. 'You can't tell me that you don't miss it, creating amazing inventions and crushing people under your heel.'
'Hmm...You're not wrong.' Cythnia admits calmly. 'But you’d be a fool to think that someone of my caliber would ever retire willingly…And you’d would be a fool to think that this dump isn’t covered in bugs’ She sighs with faux sadness while her glasses gleam ominously. ‘I do wonder how long it will take for someone to come silence you for good’
Contrary to Cynthia’s expectations, Echo looks both unsurprised and unperturbed.
‘Please give me some credit, I know you’ve already disabled them’ Echo coolly glancing around the cramped lab. ‘500 audio taps, cameras and sensors placed within every wall and tool, surveillance on your computers, they really went all out.’
‘After stealing all my research, destroying all my work, and giving me these pretty things,’ Cynthia, subtly put-out by Echo’s non-reaction, gestures plainly to a pair of discrete looking silver bangles on her ankles, ’That alert them to my biometrics and location at all times, I’m really not in the position to be building a new world order. It’s a little stifling at times and boring, but…at least I’m not dead.’ Cynthia says distantly.
‘Seriously kid…crime doesn’t pay,’ Cynthia says drily. ’Sure, I had my laughs, but the end result wasn’t worth it. I realize now that I was naive. Villans are commonplace, being a supervillain just means you’re the most popular one out there.’
‘You’re the same. You’re naïve. The world has always been trash. But taking down the system won’t do anything to stop that, when the real problem is us, humanity. There will always be the rich, the greedy, and the ignorant,’ She smiles cruelly looking at Echo is disdain,’ And the poor little sheep, so innocent and stupid that get led to slaughter’
‘This is how the world works, its not fair and its not nice. Justice is just a fairytale that kids like you use to lull yourselves to sleep. Even if you were capable of taking over like that, you’d simply become the very thing you despised.’
Echo considers her for a long moment. ‘…Who cares if I can’t take over the world?’ Echo looks at her hands, clenching and releasing them again and again. ’I can’t let it go on like this’
‘So, don’t,’ Cythnia shrugs, now bored. ’Go do what you’ve always done. But don’t expect anyone to thank you for it.’
‘I can’t do what they do, and I can’t like you. But as I am right now, I can’t do anything.’
Cynthia turns her back and gets busy repairing another broken tool. ‘Then stop doing the same things, stop ruining your credibility, look into contacting heroes and organizations who can actually help you. The fact that you wasted months investigating a retired supervillain while thinking I’d be able to help you doesn’t speak well to your planning skills. But…you’re not entirely incompetent I suppose. There are likely many organizations that could use someone like you. Aren’t you heroes supposed to be all for teamwork?’
‘I’ve never had to work in a team before. Invisibility is better for individual work.’ Echo says slowly, ’But I guess I can always try.’
‘Good,’ says Cynthia ‘Now get out.’
Echo smiles slightly and with a more familiar mischievous air says, ‘See you next week!’ before disappearing. The irritated sigh that followers her out gives her an extra spring to her step.
Cynthia also smiles to herself. That dumb kid has been hassling her for months. Question after question, mainly dumb but sometimes insightful, constantly asking for interesting upgrades on her weird equipment. Cynthia didn’t hate her. She couldn’t. Not while seeing in real-time how she turned from a young upstart to a jaded minor hero. This confrontation was a long time coming. But the real question is…what will it lead to?
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1
It was warm the way the blood sprayed across her chest, the mutilated men naked, their faces turned in anguish and horror, their bodies broken, one man a stout Armenian with thick gray hair, a black mustache with several white strands rested on his upper lip.
His wife blue eyes watched in horror at what lay before him.
The woman, a warrior of the night, the savior of those helpless, hungry and misunderstood.
Luna, her long curled hair was frazzled steaks of blood had entered it, casting dark red tinges.
A hero for good, someone with an impeccable sense of right and wrong. Black and white, she was good they were bad.
The leaders of countries dedicated to helping young women and children escape persecution.
They were here, hidden in this mansion of pleasure for powerful men to inflict their deepest depravities with.
Luna had been so conflicted, her mentor trying to explain what was good and what was bad.
The doors burst open as a deep choking gasp filled the room.
Hermès froze in horror at the bloodied massacre around him, young women naked and drugged up, some curled in the corners watching and hiding in fear at the super hero.
“Luna.”
Hermès whispered, in all his time trying to atone for his dark and evil deeds he found nothing more revitalizing then helping wayward hero’s.
Those who had a hard time with being super. His evil ways were slowly becoming undone with every hero Hermès guided.
When he found Luna he didn’t have to worry, bad guys were bad, good guys were good. She had an unwavering view of the world, something he had been trying to slowly disengage from her.
A gargling gasp came from the bleeding man,
“P-pplease! Don’t.”
Luna stood over the man and pulled him by his throat.
“Luna, dont, there’s still time, you don’t have to do this.”
“Lies and corruption seep from his soul,”
“He’s a prime minister with the international union. He can’t be hurt.”
Her hand moved up her nails sharpened, as she moved her hand slowly into his chest, he began screaming the veins in his face protruding as he screamed
“Luna stop!”
Her hand stopped and the naked man gasped and panted tryigg by to swallow.
“He’s a bad man.”
“I know, he’s a bad man, a very bad man, but he needs to face what he’s done, he needs to be tried by the council.”
“Half the council is here now.”
Hermès looked around at the men, most of not all the members were currently scattered about, one over a pool table, and one with his skull crushed like a tomato.
“This isn’t the way, we’re not here to judge, we’re here to help.”
She tore her hand through the back of his chest the mans heart she pulled it forward showing it to him.
“Dark hearts and dark minds have one thing in common.”
She said a dropping the dead man to the ground Luna stared, her mind had fractured seeing the crying girl she saved from religious hate, watching that small girl looking dead, while two men raped her body as she was tied down.
“Their treaties, their policies, the way they police us into doing what they want, civil servants to fight their wars, enslave their people and ravage them behind closed doors claiming to be saints.”
Hermès watched as the young woman he had trained changed before his eyes,
“They monitor us, limit our powers to their agenda. Control us with fear, blaming the monstrosities of the world on others while they hide their sins behind locked doors.”
“They are human, humans have flaws, some are dark, some are cruel, we can still fix this, change the world for the better.”
Luna’s gray eyes were no longer filled with turmoil, worry she wasn’t a good enough hero was gone.
Her face was void of all emotion, the usual twinkle of mischief was replaced by a flat empty stare.
Hermès felt anxious, a sick stomach came over him as he recognized that same empty look, it was an expression that haunted him for years.
“Don’t do this Luna, you wont come back from this, your actions here will follow you, define you as a villain, it will make you worse then them.”
Luna stared at her friend, the tension melted from her shoulders at this man, this wonderful man who had trained her to never quit. Never surrender.
She loved him, not in any romantic way, he was a piece of her. A reason she had decided to manifest her powers.
“Hermès.”
She whispered his name as he approached her, he needed to get her away from here. He needed to protect her.
Grey eyes stared at the immortal, at her friend.
Luna took in a breath as her hand plunged into his chest her fist covered in blood.
“They’ve never seen anything like me.”
The small girls screaming is all that filled the air as Hermès dropped down, her loose pants and halter top covered in blood as she floated into the air.
“Luna.”
He gasped as she rose higher and higher becoming smaller, his hand reached forward as she melted into nothing and vanished from his grasp.
A new smell of ash and wood, sounds of screams as the walls burst into flame around him. The wound in his chest slowly filled and reattached bone and organ as his body began to heal the physical wound.
Hermès ran into a wall leading towards for forest and led as many conscious women and children out as he could.
|
|
[WP] You are a retired supervillain who decided to become the gadget provider for many minor heroes. You've made everything possible to remain low to the point of no one knowing you even exist; however, your skills are required again — this time to help a bullied heroine not to fall into evil.
|
3
Bodies scattered across the field, Hermès stood a battle axe ready his leather boots covered in blood of his allies.
So many had fallen, so many had failed.
Luna had torn the flesh gone their bodies, one hero who had managed to hurt her with laser vision had his eyes torn from their sockets.
Another hero who had the power of speed had tried to swift kick her and ended up splitting in half like a tree, his body had spun in the air like a frisbee spraying blood in circles.
Hermès stood with the last few, a teenager who made portals, a soccer mom with a midlife crisis, who could deconstruct her body into water molecules. A super strong hero, and a stage magician.
“Luna please, don’t make this any harder than it has to be. Please, talk to me. Tell me there is still hope.”
Luna tilted her head and lunged forward slamming into the teenager sending her through several building until she smashed into a blob of blood guys and mashed bones.
Next was the soccer mom, who anytime Luna got near would turn into water and pool away, Luna dove into the water glowing her bright white glow, as the water began to bubble and evaporate into steam until it vanished.
The stage magician stared mouth agape and eyes wide.
“Nope”
He said and threw a smoke bomb as he vanished into thin air, Hermès looked around when the man vanished while the sound of stone slamming into concrete echoed.
Newton was the last one to willing stand up to her, the blue sedan suddenly dropped from the guy smashing down as blood began to see from the trunk of the vehicle.
“Newton, you’re the last.”
The super hero nodded and then shot up into the air coming face to face with the harpy who was trying to burn the world.
“Come on Luna, we both no how this is going to end.”
He said her gray eyes stared flatly, she had become tired of this charade and a blue glow began to form around them. It began to grow smaller as it wrapped around her body and floated around him.
Newton began punching swinging, his nails touching the light as warm energy caressed his fingers, he began gasping holding his throat and choking on nothing, his face becoming more purple in color.
Newton began to sink when he dropped down as gravity pulled his heavy body to the earth.
Hermès sighed he had taught her everything he knew. She was amazing, in al his life he had never met someone with such promise, such skill.
He had given her everything he knew, everything except one thing.
Luna stared at him and let out a sigh. She stood staring at the man before her.
“I don’t suppose talking you out of this will work will I?”
Luna said nothing as she waited for him to deliver his attack.
“You know I haven’t used this, not in a couple thousand years. Last time.”
He gulped and have a sigh
“Last time, I used it, the blast divided the Red Sea.”
She said nothing and he sighed it all came to this moment.
He had to save her, he had to stop her, time seemed to stand still as he moved. The weapon pierced into her abdomen.
Hermès watched as she took in a breath, her eyes filled with relief, they watered and she took in a breath. Her full lips sighed as she sighed
“Finally.”
She breathed and closed her eyes
“Freedom.”
She whispered Hermès ripped his blade from her torso, the sharp teeth serrated the flesh as he withdrew it.
Her eyes opened the grey orbs glowing white. She smiled a warm peaceful smile. As her hands burst inside his chest cavity ripped out his lungs and heart.
The two dropped to their knees as their catastrophic injuries bleed into one another. She coughed out blood and turned that soft peaceful smile boring into him.
“I’m so sorry I failed you Luna.”
She gasped in and smiled her eyes dropping.
“I’ll follow you into the dark, it’s alright, you can rest now... you can rest.”
He said as her body became limp and heavy. Hermès took in a breath as large gray tipped black wings erupted from his shoulder blades and wrapped around the beautiful corpse.
He cradled her body close and sighed closing his eyes. He should have tried harder. He should have taught her the one thing he had learned on all his days in this world.
It wasn’t magic that he used to Elvis items, it wasn’t the new inventive ideas he gave humans to use for their curiosities.
All the things he had learned on earth, all the dark and all the light he had witnessed.
He had forgotten the one things he should have used.
The one thing he learned in all his time on earth.
Love.
It infected humans in ways he had never understood, he knew it as a powerful tool used to persuade the simple minds.
He knew of it, yet he never understood.
Not truly, not until his blade destroyed her soul.
He understood then why he was here, he understood it after all these years
Love.
He should have loved her.
|
2
It was slower than Hermès expected, by the time news outlets caught on that someone was kidnapping and dropping bodies from the sky Luna had eliminated every member of the International Union.
Then it was dead supers, the panic that filled the streets was something no one expected.
Luna wasn’t asking anyone to join her, she wasn’t fighting for a cause like before. She wasn’t sending out speeches, organizing rally’s, garnishing attention on social media.
Luna had snapped, she had broken in half the very essence that made her human, the good in her was gone.
So many people began speculating and broadcasting their suspicions, a new terrorist group? A supervillain?
What was happening?
“This just in breaking news, Representatives from all over the world are now converging at a conference to form a super hero task group to investigate the recent attacks on public officials. Jon Ramses with more information.”
“Hello Diana breaking news we are here in Italy, with several thousand representatives from all across the globe to discuss what Amari Nubadi calls a systematic genocide of public safety.
So many are gathered here in this great hall along with the pope and several of his bishops, Several prominent religious leaders,
And a handful of the best supers of their counties.”
Hermès watched as the camera panned around the room while reporters cameras and political world leaders stood around making statements.
This wasn’t good, Luna didn’t care who she killed. She didn’t care who stood in her way. He grabbed his back pack when the sound of an explosion erupted from the television.
He eyes stared in devastation as Luna floated in the room, cameras panned over her and and flashes erupted. She stared at the pope, a few scattered bodies lay around the room as there was no where to go.
Luna didn’t speak as she hovered over the crowd.
“My child, what have you done? The devastation, the meaningless death, The lord weeps for those souls lost, he weeps for your lost soul. Bow before the lord, beg his forgiveness, beg for mercy.”
She said nothing as his excellency stood holding up his beads of prayer.
Luna gazed upon this old man, full of hope and delusion, he believed an invisible man in the clouds controlled his fate.
“You need only look upon my face to know your god has forsaken you.”
No one spoke as her soft monotone voice spoke, her expression didn’t change, she gave no emotion away.
“Your god is fallible, he abandoned you long ago, leaving you with nothing, no hope, no peace, he left you with nothing but your sin,”
“Only god can judge us.”
“God is dead,”
Luna said as her body began to glow bright as a blast of inferno erupted out of her in a 360 degree tailspin barbecuing all of the holy men. Reporters, delegates and witnesses.
Screams and yells as the cameras scramble trying to escape the onslaught of mayhem administered by the world renowned hero.
One brave man rushed towards her camera in hand.
“Why, why are you doing this?”
The man asked as the camera zoomed in on the woman’s cold features. Her eyes stared at the camera man. She said nothing, when the camera panned to the sexy hero.
His Adonis figure and chiseled features oozed with confidence as he stood in this white skin tight outfit.
“That’s enough of that Luna, you’re hurting people and endangering lives, It’s my duty in li-.”
His words stopped mid sentence awhile the sudden burst of organs exploded from his torso, Luna wrapped his small intestine from his throat and hung him from the raptors, the screams erupted again.
|
|
[WP] You are a retired supervillain who decided to become the gadget provider for many minor heroes. You've made everything possible to remain low to the point of no one knowing you even exist; however, your skills are required again — this time to help a bullied heroine not to fall into evil.
|
Cynthia loved inventions and coming up with new gadgets and the like. It's truly fulfilling. Her current job doesn’t leave her much time for personal projects but at least its relevant to her interests. Of course, it isn’t perfect, but nothing really is. She's always grinding away from dusk ‘til dawn constantly playing catchup with her workload. And she's repairing her sometimes unnecessarily complicated (she seriously doesn't know why that was added there it does nothing to increase the efficacy!) gadgets that those clumsy upstarts feel the need to DESTROY for the UMPTEENTH TIME!-
She coughs.
But that is neither here nor there...truly.
Building is something she's loved all her life. Creating things beyond imagination. In the old days, that was all she lived for and she'd disregarded everything else...
She hears a creak behind her.
She ignores it, continuing with her repair work.
Again, she hears a slight shuffle, and she can feel the way air is displaced.
'Stop it...I already know you're there'. It was aggravating! How can she expected to get anything done with this kid always showing up!
But it was a little odd...usually the little brat doesn't try to sneak around like this.
There's no response.
'Echo?' She sighs annoyed. ‘For the love of god, stop wasting my time!'
Cynthia spins her chair around and glances around the room. 'Echo in the room' She taunts. 'come out, come out wherever you are!'
'...Don't call me that' Says a quiet voice to her left. Cynthia smirks, hook, line and sinker.
Echo reveals herself. She's a short almost mousy looking young woman, all big eyes and not much else. She looks much more haggard than usual, with sallow skin and prominent dark circles.
'You know I hate it when you of all people call me that'. Echo's grey eyes look both teary and cold. If anyone else was looking at her, they'd probably be unsettled.
''You of all people'' Cynthia says uninterested, turning her back.
'You know that's what they call me!' Echo says sharply.
'And… so what? Does it bother you? That sounds like a personal problem' Cynthia sneers.
''And so what'. Of course! Of couse! I'm not sure what I was expecting!'. Echo starts pacing back and forth, faster and faster.
'Of course!' Cynthia agrees with a cheery smile. 'Don't let the door hit you on the way out!'
At this, Echo pauses abruptly. Her eyes, glowing like search lights lock onto Cynthia's face. Her eyes aren't teary anymore...they're just dead. Cynthia feels a hint of unease.
'Don't you ever get tired?' Echo asks quietly.
'Tired of what?'
'Of this world.'
Cynthia raises an eyebrow, intrigued in spite of herself.
'Why would I be tired of the world?'
'Because its filthy, filthy, filthy. Its dirty, nothing works as it should. The people who should be paragons of justice are corrupt, and violent. Politicians, The justice system, Heroes...they're all shit!'
'Even If I try to do my best, I stopped at very corner. I'm a laughingstock! I've seen top hero's shake hands with devils, and look the other way with greased palms while innocents suffer.'
Echo pauses, looking pained. 'There's no one out there who believes in me. In the court of public opinion, I'm the girl who cried wolf looking to get any kind of publicity. A little echo in the room repeating blatant lies about 'honest hardworking people'!' She slams her fist against the wall, rattling the tools on the shelf.
'As I am now...I'll never be able to do anything about it. I'm a minor hero, and a non-combatant on top of that,' She smiles ruefully. 'If I didn't have the power to turn invisible, if they didn’t decide that I was useful to them, there's no doubt that I wouldn't have realized any this.'
Cynthia chuckles. And starts to laugh loudly, the sound of genuine amusement transforming into an eerily mad cackle that nearly shakes her out of her seat.
'Of course! So that's what you've been doing all these months!' She states shrewdly, roughly pushing back the long blond strands that had fallen into her face.
'Running reconnaissance on me then?' She asks rhetorically. 'So, that means you know who I am.'
'You were one of the biggest out there, Chrysalis. Ten years wasn’t enough to dull the fear your name still brings in people’s hearts' Echo says persuasively. 'You can't tell me that you don't miss it, creating amazing inventions and crushing people under your heel.'
'Hmm...You're not wrong.' Cythnia admits calmly. 'But you’d be a fool to think that someone of my caliber would ever retire willingly…And you’d would be a fool to think that this dump isn’t covered in bugs’ She sighs with faux sadness while her glasses gleam ominously. ‘I do wonder how long it will take for someone to come silence you for good’
Contrary to Cynthia’s expectations, Echo looks both unsurprised and unperturbed.
‘Please give me some credit, I know you’ve already disabled them’ Echo coolly glancing around the cramped lab. ‘500 audio taps, cameras and sensors placed within every wall and tool, surveillance on your computers, they really went all out.’
‘After stealing all my research, destroying all my work, and giving me these pretty things,’ Cynthia, subtly put-out by Echo’s non-reaction, gestures plainly to a pair of discrete looking silver bangles on her ankles, ’That alert them to my biometrics and location at all times, I’m really not in the position to be building a new world order. It’s a little stifling at times and boring, but…at least I’m not dead.’ Cynthia says distantly.
‘Seriously kid…crime doesn’t pay,’ Cynthia says drily. ’Sure, I had my laughs, but the end result wasn’t worth it. I realize now that I was naive. Villans are commonplace, being a supervillain just means you’re the most popular one out there.’
‘You’re the same. You’re naïve. The world has always been trash. But taking down the system won’t do anything to stop that, when the real problem is us, humanity. There will always be the rich, the greedy, and the ignorant,’ She smiles cruelly looking at Echo is disdain,’ And the poor little sheep, so innocent and stupid that get led to slaughter’
‘This is how the world works, its not fair and its not nice. Justice is just a fairytale that kids like you use to lull yourselves to sleep. Even if you were capable of taking over like that, you’d simply become the very thing you despised.’
Echo considers her for a long moment. ‘…Who cares if I can’t take over the world?’ Echo looks at her hands, clenching and releasing them again and again. ’I can’t let it go on like this’
‘So, don’t,’ Cythnia shrugs, now bored. ’Go do what you’ve always done. But don’t expect anyone to thank you for it.’
‘I can’t do what they do, and I can’t like you. But as I am right now, I can’t do anything.’
Cynthia turns her back and gets busy repairing another broken tool. ‘Then stop doing the same things, stop ruining your credibility, look into contacting heroes and organizations who can actually help you. The fact that you wasted months investigating a retired supervillain while thinking I’d be able to help you doesn’t speak well to your planning skills. But…you’re not entirely incompetent I suppose. There are likely many organizations that could use someone like you. Aren’t you heroes supposed to be all for teamwork?’
‘I’ve never had to work in a team before. Invisibility is better for individual work.’ Echo says slowly, ’But I guess I can always try.’
‘Good,’ says Cynthia ‘Now get out.’
Echo smiles slightly and with a more familiar mischievous air says, ‘See you next week!’ before disappearing. The irritated sigh that followers her out gives her an extra spring to her step.
Cynthia also smiles to herself. That dumb kid has been hassling her for months. Question after question, mainly dumb but sometimes insightful, constantly asking for interesting upgrades on her weird equipment. Cynthia didn’t hate her. She couldn’t. Not while seeing in real-time how she turned from a young upstart to a jaded minor hero. This confrontation was a long time coming. But the real question is…what will it lead to?
|
2
It was slower than Hermès expected, by the time news outlets caught on that someone was kidnapping and dropping bodies from the sky Luna had eliminated every member of the International Union.
Then it was dead supers, the panic that filled the streets was something no one expected.
Luna wasn’t asking anyone to join her, she wasn’t fighting for a cause like before. She wasn’t sending out speeches, organizing rally’s, garnishing attention on social media.
Luna had snapped, she had broken in half the very essence that made her human, the good in her was gone.
So many people began speculating and broadcasting their suspicions, a new terrorist group? A supervillain?
What was happening?
“This just in breaking news, Representatives from all over the world are now converging at a conference to form a super hero task group to investigate the recent attacks on public officials. Jon Ramses with more information.”
“Hello Diana breaking news we are here in Italy, with several thousand representatives from all across the globe to discuss what Amari Nubadi calls a systematic genocide of public safety.
So many are gathered here in this great hall along with the pope and several of his bishops, Several prominent religious leaders,
And a handful of the best supers of their counties.”
Hermès watched as the camera panned around the room while reporters cameras and political world leaders stood around making statements.
This wasn’t good, Luna didn’t care who she killed. She didn’t care who stood in her way. He grabbed his back pack when the sound of an explosion erupted from the television.
He eyes stared in devastation as Luna floated in the room, cameras panned over her and and flashes erupted. She stared at the pope, a few scattered bodies lay around the room as there was no where to go.
Luna didn’t speak as she hovered over the crowd.
“My child, what have you done? The devastation, the meaningless death, The lord weeps for those souls lost, he weeps for your lost soul. Bow before the lord, beg his forgiveness, beg for mercy.”
She said nothing as his excellency stood holding up his beads of prayer.
Luna gazed upon this old man, full of hope and delusion, he believed an invisible man in the clouds controlled his fate.
“You need only look upon my face to know your god has forsaken you.”
No one spoke as her soft monotone voice spoke, her expression didn’t change, she gave no emotion away.
“Your god is fallible, he abandoned you long ago, leaving you with nothing, no hope, no peace, he left you with nothing but your sin,”
“Only god can judge us.”
“God is dead,”
Luna said as her body began to glow bright as a blast of inferno erupted out of her in a 360 degree tailspin barbecuing all of the holy men. Reporters, delegates and witnesses.
Screams and yells as the cameras scramble trying to escape the onslaught of mayhem administered by the world renowned hero.
One brave man rushed towards her camera in hand.
“Why, why are you doing this?”
The man asked as the camera zoomed in on the woman’s cold features. Her eyes stared at the camera man. She said nothing, when the camera panned to the sexy hero.
His Adonis figure and chiseled features oozed with confidence as he stood in this white skin tight outfit.
“That’s enough of that Luna, you’re hurting people and endangering lives, It’s my duty in li-.”
His words stopped mid sentence awhile the sudden burst of organs exploded from his torso, Luna wrapped his small intestine from his throat and hung him from the raptors, the screams erupted again.
|
|
[WP] You are a retired supervillain who decided to become the gadget provider for many minor heroes. You've made everything possible to remain low to the point of no one knowing you even exist; however, your skills are required again — this time to help a bullied heroine not to fall into evil.
|
Here's the thing no one tells you when you become a villain: *it's not worth it.*
Oh sure, the power, the money, the feeling of subjugating every powerless loser and wannabe hero in your way... It's great, alright. Ecstatic, even.
You may occasionally lose and get sent to prison. That is to be expected. And in the time it takes you to bribe your way to freedom or plan your grandiose escape, you can just quietly plot your vengeance against the unfortunate soul that put you there, write down some monologue that's just chock-full of gloating, ponder whether you left the stove on, and so on.
But eventually, after all the killing and stealing is done, there's nothing else left. Nothing but the next scheme. Fast-forward a few years, you end up alone with nothing to your name but a fake identity, a secret bank account and a set of skills you have no clue what to do with. You've run out of steam.
And even if, by some slim chance, you manage to conquer the world and rule like the tyrannical, iron-fisted despot you always dreamed to be, *actually ruling the planet* takes too much damn work. Nowhere near as enjoyable as it seemed when it started.
Of course, some villains have lower standards and content themselves with giving in to their innate misanthropy, or spreading mayhem for shits and giggles. They get to have fun because their plan is not having a plan.
Those guys tend to die younger. And not always at the hands of a hero. Believe me, I know.
Anyway, my point is that eventually, for those of us who retain their sanity, it gets boring. Being evil becomes a *chore.*
In retrospective, I could've focused all my time and effort into improving things for the rest of the world, no matter how underhanded my methods. Crossing the line was remarkably easy, after all, and at the very least I would know that my actions *mattered.* In fact, I do remember that I started my career by hacking an insurance company into bankruptcy for rejecting a claim after my parents died in a car accident and driving the CEO to suicide after murdering his entire family. I was young and brash back then, and my future was full of possibilities.
By the end of my career, however, things like holding City Hall hostage while threatening to blow up a bank or a hospital across the city had become routine. My single greatest achievement was faking my own death to the rest of the world. It was in the front page of every newspaper and magazine for months.
Now, a couple of decades later, I'm living off a carefully calculated retirement plan, and the world has practically forgotten that I ever existed. Just as planned.
These days my work is much simpler. I fabricate customized gadgets for other heroes. My years in engineering school were not my best, but they have paid off in their own way. There is fulfillment in creating things. I only wish I had been able to see it sooner.
None of the big names come to visit me, obviously. Mostly I get to take orders from C-listers; the kind of heroes you hear about once a month, and only because nothing else happened that day.
Today, however, I saw a new face. Fresh, young...
*Angry.*
"Excuse me, are you the one they call the Engineer?" she asked.
"That depends. Who's asking?" I answered. I wasn't really expecting trouble, not after all this time. But I have not lived this long for being careless. If she was a government agent or someone looking for trouble, I had to make sure.
"Someone who's got money and is desperate."
She was holding back tears, I could tell. I pretended not to notice as I tried to pry further.
"What is it you need?" I continued.
"A poison needle. Something I can conceal under my sleeves. Something that doesn't leave a trace."
She knew exactly what she wanted. But something about her order was troubling me.
"To paralyze, correct? You're the type who prowls in the dark to catch her enemies by surprise."
"No. Not to paralyze: to kill."
She clenched her fists as she spoke. I started to think. A real hero would not resort to killing unless they absolutely had to, and even if they did they would certainly not be this angry about it before committing the deed. Perhaps some villain had humiliated her and she wanted revenge. If that was the case, it must've been something pretty messed up to drive her to murder. Or maybe she was always prone to killing.
As I thought up more questions I really had no business making, I realized that I didn't know who she was. There was a reasonably good chance she wasn't even a hero. If word got out I was making gadgets for any who asked, there was no telling just who would come for me.
"I'm sorry, how exactly did you find me?"
"Alpha Ray told me you designed a suit to help him harness his radiation, once."
I remembered that job. Poor guy was a walking meltdown when he got stressed. He practically begged me to help him.
"Right. What's your name?"
"Oh, I... don't have one yet" she responded as her eyes turned away.
"You're new?" I prodded.
"Well, yes, I haven't done much, other that stopping purse snatchers."
"Really? What can you do?" She had picked my curiosity.
"I can stretch my limbs a few meters."
*An elastic type, haven't seen one of those in a while.*
"So why would you need a poison needle, then?"
Her face turned red as she realized she had dug herself into a hole.
"Does it matter? I have the money, isn't that all you need?"
"Don't insult me, girl. Do I look like a mercenary? Who are you trying to kill?"
As she began to tremble, she reminded me of an old classmate from back in high school. It was then that it hit me:
"...You're being bullied at school, aren't you?"
Tears began to run down her face. In that moment, I was able to read her: she probably tried very hard to keep her power a secret, and in doing so she stood out as a quiet type at school. This, in turn, made her a target for bullies, who'd mercilessly prey on her to revel in her suffering and boost their own ego. All for no good reason.
Hmph. And they used to call *me* a villain.
I was able to glimpse her future, next: she'd kill her tormentors, gain a taste for killing, and grow up to become a supervillain. Or worse, a psycopath.
I examined my options. I could fulfill her request and leave things to fate. I could kick her out and potentially lose clients; assuming she didn't report me to the police or something.
And yet, something inside pushed me to pick a third option:
"Alright, come on in."
"...What?"
"You're here for my help. But I'm not gonna give you the help you want: I'm giving you the help you *need*."
"B-but..." she stuttered in disbelief.
"I'm making tea. Would you like some?"
~~-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------~~
Looking back, I guess the reason I decided to help her was because I saw a bit of myself in her.
And I hated it.
The years I've lived have given me perspective. And I was all too eager to share.
Besides, it's not every day you find a kindred spirit.
Maybe I'm just sick of being alone.
|
It was a quiet night on the snowy streets of the city. The lamp posts are decorated with festive lights to set the mood for the upcoming holiday season. Alex, A.K.A. The (former)Mad Miss Malevolent, takes a walk down the street after a long day's work at the research facility. She accidentally bumps into a young girl wearing a large scarf. Alex shamefully apologizes to the girl for not paying attention, but then she notices the tear marks on her face.
"Oh dear," she says in concern, "What happened honey? What's wrong?". The girl did nothing but continue crying. Alex felt a strange feeling she had never felt before, something she couldn't quite tell. She felt that she should help the poor thing. "Now, now, it's okay" she tries to comfort her, "Hey, what if I buy you some hot chocolate? If I buy you some, can you promise me to tell me what's happening?". The girl stopped crying and sniffed as she nodded to Alex.
One trip to the convenience store later, the two of them sit on a bench on the sidewalk. Alex, with a bitter expression, comments on the girl's story. "Your parents are the worst. No wonder you left them". The girl looks down on the floor and says "Yeah, I guess. Sometimes I just think that I should kill them". Alex nearly jumps in surprise. "What?! No! Kid that's too far". The girl looks angrily at Alex. "Why? They're jerks! Besides, I can do it really easy" The girl says before whispering "I have superpowers, but don't tell anyone."
Alex finally understood why she wanted to help the little girl, it was because she could see herself in the girl. She could remember how her villainy started. Alex puts her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Look kid, right now things really hard and a lot of people are jerks, but everything gets better eventually". The girl looks in disbelief. "You don't know that". "Yes I do. Believe it or not, my mom was really mean to me too when I was a kid. But look at me now, I'm all grown up, I graduated college, my life got better, and trust me, your life's gonna get better too". The girl's eyes started to tear up. "You think so?" she asks, trying not to cry again. Alex tenderly says "Yes, yes I do" before giving the child a warm hug.
Giving the girl back to her parents might be the best option for her, but she knew they could just make her suffer for the rest of her childhood. At that moment, Alex wonders if her torture devices are still in the attic and if they still work.
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[WP] You are a retired supervillain who decided to become the gadget provider for many minor heroes. You've made everything possible to remain low to the point of no one knowing you even exist; however, your skills are required again — this time to help a bullied heroine not to fall into evil.
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Though Donovan’s past was never tragic, it was his own intellect that made him covet power.
His drive made him build the first components of Maniacal, a fairly mid-tier villain who specialised in integrating technology with his own. Well, mid-tier up until he managed to cripple one of Los Angeles’ foremost heroically aligned team and kill several other prominent villains in a widely publicised battle which propelled him to Number One.
As in, Number One on the United State’s Supervillain Threat Index. Donovan weren’t sure if that was some sort of miscalculation or a calculated ploy to get rid of him quickly, but all he knew is that suddenly every headhunter, vigilante and even other villains were showing up in Los Angeles. This would be their mistake.
His specific specialisation was *integration* of other technology. He could pick up the pieces of CyberPirate or Upsurge and build them into his own gear, and then eventually reproduce them.j It was the catalyst for his exponential growth in power and infamy. It was the catalyst for his retirement.
Donovan didn’t know when super villainy became boring. Maybe it was between crushing the local hero team *yet* again, or perhaps when dealing with a foreign invasion. But suddenly ruling LA’s underground didn’t seem as tempting as it once did. So, Maniacal retired.
It wasn’t an easy decision. He could have simply let the old guise die off and take a new identity using only a specific set of technology, but starting from zero just seemed stupid, as if it would spit on all his accomplishments. So, he walked up to the Los Angeles’ Protectorate headquarters, left the idiot heroes in tatters once again, and announced his retirement to the world when a newscaster drone came close enough. Maniacal then disappeared, never to be seen again.
In Maniacal’s place, a man with no identity was left. Oh, yes, Donovan knew he who he was. Once. But now, with no super villain identity to keep fidelity to, Donovan was left drifting. But Maniacal didn’t become famous for being an idiot. Maniacal became famous because he was *brilliant*, and Donovan realised he had a world of opportunity before him. A Fresh Start. Derided by both villains and heroes, but often the only path forward. Donovan reinvented himself into a small, no-name retailer who sold small goods in a corner store. For most, anyways.
All it needed for his name to spread in the small-time hero scene was waving one over and offering them gear to supplement their powers. Laserdream was leery at first, but testing and practice made her confident. Laserdream’s solo win against a medium-sized villain group gave Donovan the credibility he needed, but still allowed him to remain mostly anonymous. Who paid attention to the small-time heroes anyway?
Donovan’s clientele slowly grew, and slowly he felt secure. He was contributing relatively little to the superhero community as a whole, but he could still say that if push came to shove, then he could have people protecting him without having to blow his cover identity. Slowly, Donovan began to relax. Until one of his clients started asking for.. troubling weapons.
A technological augment which would greatly empower her beam and allow her to pierce shields, armour that could withstand hulking blows, or a combat prediction system which could predict a teleporter and a speedster. All capable of countering a local hero team.
Donovan didn’t know why Lux wanted these gadgets, but if she did kill the hero team then people would start asking where she got her technology, which would lead people to him.
This was why the heroine was standing before him in his shop as he gently asked, “Lux, why are you asking me to build weapons the can kill the Vanguard?”
The masked woman froze, but refused to meet Donovan’s eyes. Donovan realised that she really was going to kill them. He didn’t know why a prospective villain would work as a hero to gain access to technology that literally any other villain tinkerer could build, but Donovan wasn’t going to risk his anonymity. “Lux, please. If you’re going to kill these heroes, then I can’t build these. Please, tell me why.”
Lux began to shake, and Donovan was initially worried she would try to attack him. His automatic defences would prevent the attack, of course, but he didn’t want to dispose of her body. There was a long pause as she tried to choke something up, but stopped herself every time. Eventually, Donovan moved forward and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Lux, please. Tell me what’s wrong.”
This broke Lux’s self-imposed silence. She sobbed, “They *aren’t* heroes. They don’t deserve to be called anything like that. I know you’re holed up here in this shop but those *fuckers* harass every single independent hero they come across. They’ve.. they’ve been coming after me the most. I want-no, I *need* to kill them.”
Donovan was shocked by this revelation. None of his clients had mentioned anything of the sort, though from Lux’s expression he could quickly discern she was telling the truth. He pulled Lux in for a hug and rubbed her back. Of course. Heroes abusing their powers was nothing new, but he was surprised that such arrogance would be expressed by a low-tier hero group. Lux continued to sob, but began to pull herself together. “I.. I need to make them pay. For Skitter.”
Oh-Skitter. One of.. the more recent hero deaths in the past few months. He recalled she was killed during a raid on a mid-tier villain, someone who’s name eluded him but could remember had *something* to do with extreme gravity control, though no further details were given. A tragic event, but he didn’t know what the Vanguard had to do with it. “What does the Vanguard have to do with Skitter?”
Lux spat and said, “They fucking *watched* as Omega ripped Skitter apart, and laughed that they should have joined them when she had the chance. They didn’t notice me, but I swore I’ll take revenge. They fucking killed my partner.”
Partner? As far as he knew both Skitter and Lux were adamantly solo, and would refuse to talk with any group that approached them. Oh-his stomach fell as he realised what sort of partnership Lux meant. Fuck. They had killed her lover. That… that explained Lux’s gradual self-destruction.
Donovan held Lux’s shoulder, and gave a mental command to a protocol he never thought he would need again. Her eyes were drawn to the mechanical clanking behind him, and widened as she realised what it was, and who was holding her.
Lux had frozen stiff, too terrified to move, but Donovan gave her one last reassuring squeeze. He wouldn’t let her ruin her heroic career.
“Let me handle this.”
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It was a quiet night on the snowy streets of the city. The lamp posts are decorated with festive lights to set the mood for the upcoming holiday season. Alex, A.K.A. The (former)Mad Miss Malevolent, takes a walk down the street after a long day's work at the research facility. She accidentally bumps into a young girl wearing a large scarf. Alex shamefully apologizes to the girl for not paying attention, but then she notices the tear marks on her face.
"Oh dear," she says in concern, "What happened honey? What's wrong?". The girl did nothing but continue crying. Alex felt a strange feeling she had never felt before, something she couldn't quite tell. She felt that she should help the poor thing. "Now, now, it's okay" she tries to comfort her, "Hey, what if I buy you some hot chocolate? If I buy you some, can you promise me to tell me what's happening?". The girl stopped crying and sniffed as she nodded to Alex.
One trip to the convenience store later, the two of them sit on a bench on the sidewalk. Alex, with a bitter expression, comments on the girl's story. "Your parents are the worst. No wonder you left them". The girl looks down on the floor and says "Yeah, I guess. Sometimes I just think that I should kill them". Alex nearly jumps in surprise. "What?! No! Kid that's too far". The girl looks angrily at Alex. "Why? They're jerks! Besides, I can do it really easy" The girl says before whispering "I have superpowers, but don't tell anyone."
Alex finally understood why she wanted to help the little girl, it was because she could see herself in the girl. She could remember how her villainy started. Alex puts her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Look kid, right now things really hard and a lot of people are jerks, but everything gets better eventually". The girl looks in disbelief. "You don't know that". "Yes I do. Believe it or not, my mom was really mean to me too when I was a kid. But look at me now, I'm all grown up, I graduated college, my life got better, and trust me, your life's gonna get better too". The girl's eyes started to tear up. "You think so?" she asks, trying not to cry again. Alex tenderly says "Yes, yes I do" before giving the child a warm hug.
Giving the girl back to her parents might be the best option for her, but she knew they could just make her suffer for the rest of her childhood. At that moment, Alex wonders if her torture devices are still in the attic and if they still work.
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[WP] You are a retired supervillain who decided to become the gadget provider for many minor heroes. You've made everything possible to remain low to the point of no one knowing you even exist; however, your skills are required again — this time to help a bullied heroine not to fall into evil.
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Here's the thing no one tells you when you become a villain: *it's not worth it.*
Oh sure, the power, the money, the feeling of subjugating every powerless loser and wannabe hero in your way... It's great, alright. Ecstatic, even.
You may occasionally lose and get sent to prison. That is to be expected. And in the time it takes you to bribe your way to freedom or plan your grandiose escape, you can just quietly plot your vengeance against the unfortunate soul that put you there, write down some monologue that's just chock-full of gloating, ponder whether you left the stove on, and so on.
But eventually, after all the killing and stealing is done, there's nothing else left. Nothing but the next scheme. Fast-forward a few years, you end up alone with nothing to your name but a fake identity, a secret bank account and a set of skills you have no clue what to do with. You've run out of steam.
And even if, by some slim chance, you manage to conquer the world and rule like the tyrannical, iron-fisted despot you always dreamed to be, *actually ruling the planet* takes too much damn work. Nowhere near as enjoyable as it seemed when it started.
Of course, some villains have lower standards and content themselves with giving in to their innate misanthropy, or spreading mayhem for shits and giggles. They get to have fun because their plan is not having a plan.
Those guys tend to die younger. And not always at the hands of a hero. Believe me, I know.
Anyway, my point is that eventually, for those of us who retain their sanity, it gets boring. Being evil becomes a *chore.*
In retrospective, I could've focused all my time and effort into improving things for the rest of the world, no matter how underhanded my methods. Crossing the line was remarkably easy, after all, and at the very least I would know that my actions *mattered.* In fact, I do remember that I started my career by hacking an insurance company into bankruptcy for rejecting a claim after my parents died in a car accident and driving the CEO to suicide after murdering his entire family. I was young and brash back then, and my future was full of possibilities.
By the end of my career, however, things like holding City Hall hostage while threatening to blow up a bank or a hospital across the city had become routine. My single greatest achievement was faking my own death to the rest of the world. It was in the front page of every newspaper and magazine for months.
Now, a couple of decades later, I'm living off a carefully calculated retirement plan, and the world has practically forgotten that I ever existed. Just as planned.
These days my work is much simpler. I fabricate customized gadgets for other heroes. My years in engineering school were not my best, but they have paid off in their own way. There is fulfillment in creating things. I only wish I had been able to see it sooner.
None of the big names come to visit me, obviously. Mostly I get to take orders from C-listers; the kind of heroes you hear about once a month, and only because nothing else happened that day.
Today, however, I saw a new face. Fresh, young...
*Angry.*
"Excuse me, are you the one they call the Engineer?" she asked.
"That depends. Who's asking?" I answered. I wasn't really expecting trouble, not after all this time. But I have not lived this long for being careless. If she was a government agent or someone looking for trouble, I had to make sure.
"Someone who's got money and is desperate."
She was holding back tears, I could tell. I pretended not to notice as I tried to pry further.
"What is it you need?" I continued.
"A poison needle. Something I can conceal under my sleeves. Something that doesn't leave a trace."
She knew exactly what she wanted. But something about her order was troubling me.
"To paralyze, correct? You're the type who prowls in the dark to catch her enemies by surprise."
"No. Not to paralyze: to kill."
She clenched her fists as she spoke. I started to think. A real hero would not resort to killing unless they absolutely had to, and even if they did they would certainly not be this angry about it before committing the deed. Perhaps some villain had humiliated her and she wanted revenge. If that was the case, it must've been something pretty messed up to drive her to murder. Or maybe she was always prone to killing.
As I thought up more questions I really had no business making, I realized that I didn't know who she was. There was a reasonably good chance she wasn't even a hero. If word got out I was making gadgets for any who asked, there was no telling just who would come for me.
"I'm sorry, how exactly did you find me?"
"Alpha Ray told me you designed a suit to help him harness his radiation, once."
I remembered that job. Poor guy was a walking meltdown when he got stressed. He practically begged me to help him.
"Right. What's your name?"
"Oh, I... don't have one yet" she responded as her eyes turned away.
"You're new?" I prodded.
"Well, yes, I haven't done much, other that stopping purse snatchers."
"Really? What can you do?" She had picked my curiosity.
"I can stretch my limbs a few meters."
*An elastic type, haven't seen one of those in a while.*
"So why would you need a poison needle, then?"
Her face turned red as she realized she had dug herself into a hole.
"Does it matter? I have the money, isn't that all you need?"
"Don't insult me, girl. Do I look like a mercenary? Who are you trying to kill?"
As she began to tremble, she reminded me of an old classmate from back in high school. It was then that it hit me:
"...You're being bullied at school, aren't you?"
Tears began to run down her face. In that moment, I was able to read her: she probably tried very hard to keep her power a secret, and in doing so she stood out as a quiet type at school. This, in turn, made her a target for bullies, who'd mercilessly prey on her to revel in her suffering and boost their own ego. All for no good reason.
Hmph. And they used to call *me* a villain.
I was able to glimpse her future, next: she'd kill her tormentors, gain a taste for killing, and grow up to become a supervillain. Or worse, a psycopath.
I examined my options. I could fulfill her request and leave things to fate. I could kick her out and potentially lose clients; assuming she didn't report me to the police or something.
And yet, something inside pushed me to pick a third option:
"Alright, come on in."
"...What?"
"You're here for my help. But I'm not gonna give you the help you want: I'm giving you the help you *need*."
"B-but..." she stuttered in disbelief.
"I'm making tea. Would you like some?"
~~-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------~~
Looking back, I guess the reason I decided to help her was because I saw a bit of myself in her.
And I hated it.
The years I've lived have given me perspective. And I was all too eager to share.
Besides, it's not every day you find a kindred spirit.
Maybe I'm just sick of being alone.
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**A Return From the Shadows**
Years ago when he was a young man he had been a villain in his own right, he had killed, robbed, and committed all manner of crimes. But when he had reached his peak he had gotten his arm torn off by a powerful hero crippling him for a long time. In the process of building himself a new prosthetic, he met a young girl who was missing her hand. For a modest fee from her parents, he built her a new hand. This hand was a step beyond what they were able to do in modern hospitals and as such he ended up getting quite the renown for his act without anyone knowing who he had once been. Even some of his old enemies ended up coming to him for him to make them gadgets and new pieces of technology, he began to realize all the wrong he had done as a young man.
This began his very lucrative career as the tech man behind a number of local heroes who worked within his community, as he worked with them he began to get to know them all very well and as they got better and stronger he got to know there sidekicks and assistants as they began to think they were too good to do their own chores. One, in particular, was a young man from a rich family known by his hero name Ludicrous. Even before he was a hero he thought he was better than everyone else but now he was worse than ever, his sidekick was a young girl named Clara. She was a tech-based hero who had studied and taught herself everything that she needed to know in order to stand side by side with all of the powered heroes. But a hero like Ludicrous wouldn’t know the blessing he had if it punched him in the taint. He looked down on her and treated her like trash because she didn’t have a power like him. More than once she had come into the shop with red puffy eyes as if she had been crying before she arrived and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on and he decided it was time to break out some old skills to teach this kid a lesson.
Ludicrous was a hero who wielded the elemental power of lightning and as such he got to work putting together some gadgets that would allow him to absorb lighting and use it to charge his own technology. As he built this it began obvious to anyone that would be watching what his own power was, *Integration*, was what he called his ability and it allowed him to combine any two pieces of technology together. He smiled as he dawned the large metal gauntlets onto this own hands and set out. He was going to make Ludicrous fear the power of technology.
Ludicrous was hunting down a villain known as the Planar King, an old friend who he had asked a favor of when he slammed into Ludicrous launching him across the street flying through the window of a coffee shop. He landed in the middle of the street with a smile on his face “How dare a fool like you call yourself a hero!” Ludicrous stood up from where he had landed in a heap and launched a lightning bolt from his palms towards the villain, he smirked as he put a palm forward and absorbed the bolt “Is that all you’ve got Ludicrous? Maybe that sidekick of yours will put up a better fight.” he said before firing a blast of energy from his finger piercing right through the heroes’ shoulder. Before he could speak another word a woman in tight black armor appeared behind him and slammed a knife-hand into his solar plexus causing the villain to drop to his knees, she then placed a pistol against the back of his kneck “You have the right to remain silent villain.” she said as she shot an evil look at Ludicrous collapsed on the ground in front of her.
In the days that were to come after that event, he stopped seeing Clara in his shop for a little bit but when she returned she seemed much better as if a light was radiating from her. It turned out that after that she had left her boss behind and exposed him for who he was, the media tore him apart and she stepped up as her own type of hero Vexor.
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[WP] You are a retired supervillain who decided to become the gadget provider for many minor heroes. You've made everything possible to remain low to the point of no one knowing you even exist; however, your skills are required again — this time to help a bullied heroine not to fall into evil.
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Though Donovan’s past was never tragic, it was his own intellect that made him covet power.
His drive made him build the first components of Maniacal, a fairly mid-tier villain who specialised in integrating technology with his own. Well, mid-tier up until he managed to cripple one of Los Angeles’ foremost heroically aligned team and kill several other prominent villains in a widely publicised battle which propelled him to Number One.
As in, Number One on the United State’s Supervillain Threat Index. Donovan weren’t sure if that was some sort of miscalculation or a calculated ploy to get rid of him quickly, but all he knew is that suddenly every headhunter, vigilante and even other villains were showing up in Los Angeles. This would be their mistake.
His specific specialisation was *integration* of other technology. He could pick up the pieces of CyberPirate or Upsurge and build them into his own gear, and then eventually reproduce them.j It was the catalyst for his exponential growth in power and infamy. It was the catalyst for his retirement.
Donovan didn’t know when super villainy became boring. Maybe it was between crushing the local hero team *yet* again, or perhaps when dealing with a foreign invasion. But suddenly ruling LA’s underground didn’t seem as tempting as it once did. So, Maniacal retired.
It wasn’t an easy decision. He could have simply let the old guise die off and take a new identity using only a specific set of technology, but starting from zero just seemed stupid, as if it would spit on all his accomplishments. So, he walked up to the Los Angeles’ Protectorate headquarters, left the idiot heroes in tatters once again, and announced his retirement to the world when a newscaster drone came close enough. Maniacal then disappeared, never to be seen again.
In Maniacal’s place, a man with no identity was left. Oh, yes, Donovan knew he who he was. Once. But now, with no super villain identity to keep fidelity to, Donovan was left drifting. But Maniacal didn’t become famous for being an idiot. Maniacal became famous because he was *brilliant*, and Donovan realised he had a world of opportunity before him. A Fresh Start. Derided by both villains and heroes, but often the only path forward. Donovan reinvented himself into a small, no-name retailer who sold small goods in a corner store. For most, anyways.
All it needed for his name to spread in the small-time hero scene was waving one over and offering them gear to supplement their powers. Laserdream was leery at first, but testing and practice made her confident. Laserdream’s solo win against a medium-sized villain group gave Donovan the credibility he needed, but still allowed him to remain mostly anonymous. Who paid attention to the small-time heroes anyway?
Donovan’s clientele slowly grew, and slowly he felt secure. He was contributing relatively little to the superhero community as a whole, but he could still say that if push came to shove, then he could have people protecting him without having to blow his cover identity. Slowly, Donovan began to relax. Until one of his clients started asking for.. troubling weapons.
A technological augment which would greatly empower her beam and allow her to pierce shields, armour that could withstand hulking blows, or a combat prediction system which could predict a teleporter and a speedster. All capable of countering a local hero team.
Donovan didn’t know why Lux wanted these gadgets, but if she did kill the hero team then people would start asking where she got her technology, which would lead people to him.
This was why the heroine was standing before him in his shop as he gently asked, “Lux, why are you asking me to build weapons the can kill the Vanguard?”
The masked woman froze, but refused to meet Donovan’s eyes. Donovan realised that she really was going to kill them. He didn’t know why a prospective villain would work as a hero to gain access to technology that literally any other villain tinkerer could build, but Donovan wasn’t going to risk his anonymity. “Lux, please. If you’re going to kill these heroes, then I can’t build these. Please, tell me why.”
Lux began to shake, and Donovan was initially worried she would try to attack him. His automatic defences would prevent the attack, of course, but he didn’t want to dispose of her body. There was a long pause as she tried to choke something up, but stopped herself every time. Eventually, Donovan moved forward and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Lux, please. Tell me what’s wrong.”
This broke Lux’s self-imposed silence. She sobbed, “They *aren’t* heroes. They don’t deserve to be called anything like that. I know you’re holed up here in this shop but those *fuckers* harass every single independent hero they come across. They’ve.. they’ve been coming after me the most. I want-no, I *need* to kill them.”
Donovan was shocked by this revelation. None of his clients had mentioned anything of the sort, though from Lux’s expression he could quickly discern she was telling the truth. He pulled Lux in for a hug and rubbed her back. Of course. Heroes abusing their powers was nothing new, but he was surprised that such arrogance would be expressed by a low-tier hero group. Lux continued to sob, but began to pull herself together. “I.. I need to make them pay. For Skitter.”
Oh-Skitter. One of.. the more recent hero deaths in the past few months. He recalled she was killed during a raid on a mid-tier villain, someone who’s name eluded him but could remember had *something* to do with extreme gravity control, though no further details were given. A tragic event, but he didn’t know what the Vanguard had to do with it. “What does the Vanguard have to do with Skitter?”
Lux spat and said, “They fucking *watched* as Omega ripped Skitter apart, and laughed that they should have joined them when she had the chance. They didn’t notice me, but I swore I’ll take revenge. They fucking killed my partner.”
Partner? As far as he knew both Skitter and Lux were adamantly solo, and would refuse to talk with any group that approached them. Oh-his stomach fell as he realised what sort of partnership Lux meant. Fuck. They had killed her lover. That… that explained Lux’s gradual self-destruction.
Donovan held Lux’s shoulder, and gave a mental command to a protocol he never thought he would need again. Her eyes were drawn to the mechanical clanking behind him, and widened as she realised what it was, and who was holding her.
Lux had frozen stiff, too terrified to move, but Donovan gave her one last reassuring squeeze. He wouldn’t let her ruin her heroic career.
“Let me handle this.”
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**A Return From the Shadows**
Years ago when he was a young man he had been a villain in his own right, he had killed, robbed, and committed all manner of crimes. But when he had reached his peak he had gotten his arm torn off by a powerful hero crippling him for a long time. In the process of building himself a new prosthetic, he met a young girl who was missing her hand. For a modest fee from her parents, he built her a new hand. This hand was a step beyond what they were able to do in modern hospitals and as such he ended up getting quite the renown for his act without anyone knowing who he had once been. Even some of his old enemies ended up coming to him for him to make them gadgets and new pieces of technology, he began to realize all the wrong he had done as a young man.
This began his very lucrative career as the tech man behind a number of local heroes who worked within his community, as he worked with them he began to get to know them all very well and as they got better and stronger he got to know there sidekicks and assistants as they began to think they were too good to do their own chores. One, in particular, was a young man from a rich family known by his hero name Ludicrous. Even before he was a hero he thought he was better than everyone else but now he was worse than ever, his sidekick was a young girl named Clara. She was a tech-based hero who had studied and taught herself everything that she needed to know in order to stand side by side with all of the powered heroes. But a hero like Ludicrous wouldn’t know the blessing he had if it punched him in the taint. He looked down on her and treated her like trash because she didn’t have a power like him. More than once she had come into the shop with red puffy eyes as if she had been crying before she arrived and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on and he decided it was time to break out some old skills to teach this kid a lesson.
Ludicrous was a hero who wielded the elemental power of lightning and as such he got to work putting together some gadgets that would allow him to absorb lighting and use it to charge his own technology. As he built this it began obvious to anyone that would be watching what his own power was, *Integration*, was what he called his ability and it allowed him to combine any two pieces of technology together. He smiled as he dawned the large metal gauntlets onto this own hands and set out. He was going to make Ludicrous fear the power of technology.
Ludicrous was hunting down a villain known as the Planar King, an old friend who he had asked a favor of when he slammed into Ludicrous launching him across the street flying through the window of a coffee shop. He landed in the middle of the street with a smile on his face “How dare a fool like you call yourself a hero!” Ludicrous stood up from where he had landed in a heap and launched a lightning bolt from his palms towards the villain, he smirked as he put a palm forward and absorbed the bolt “Is that all you’ve got Ludicrous? Maybe that sidekick of yours will put up a better fight.” he said before firing a blast of energy from his finger piercing right through the heroes’ shoulder. Before he could speak another word a woman in tight black armor appeared behind him and slammed a knife-hand into his solar plexus causing the villain to drop to his knees, she then placed a pistol against the back of his kneck “You have the right to remain silent villain.” she said as she shot an evil look at Ludicrous collapsed on the ground in front of her.
In the days that were to come after that event, he stopped seeing Clara in his shop for a little bit but when she returned she seemed much better as if a light was radiating from her. It turned out that after that she had left her boss behind and exposed him for who he was, the media tore him apart and she stepped up as her own type of hero Vexor.
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[WP] You are a retired supervillain who decided to become the gadget provider for many minor heroes. You've made everything possible to remain low to the point of no one knowing you even exist; however, your skills are required again — this time to help a bullied heroine not to fall into evil.
|
Though Donovan’s past was never tragic, it was his own intellect that made him covet power.
His drive made him build the first components of Maniacal, a fairly mid-tier villain who specialised in integrating technology with his own. Well, mid-tier up until he managed to cripple one of Los Angeles’ foremost heroically aligned team and kill several other prominent villains in a widely publicised battle which propelled him to Number One.
As in, Number One on the United State’s Supervillain Threat Index. Donovan weren’t sure if that was some sort of miscalculation or a calculated ploy to get rid of him quickly, but all he knew is that suddenly every headhunter, vigilante and even other villains were showing up in Los Angeles. This would be their mistake.
His specific specialisation was *integration* of other technology. He could pick up the pieces of CyberPirate or Upsurge and build them into his own gear, and then eventually reproduce them.j It was the catalyst for his exponential growth in power and infamy. It was the catalyst for his retirement.
Donovan didn’t know when super villainy became boring. Maybe it was between crushing the local hero team *yet* again, or perhaps when dealing with a foreign invasion. But suddenly ruling LA’s underground didn’t seem as tempting as it once did. So, Maniacal retired.
It wasn’t an easy decision. He could have simply let the old guise die off and take a new identity using only a specific set of technology, but starting from zero just seemed stupid, as if it would spit on all his accomplishments. So, he walked up to the Los Angeles’ Protectorate headquarters, left the idiot heroes in tatters once again, and announced his retirement to the world when a newscaster drone came close enough. Maniacal then disappeared, never to be seen again.
In Maniacal’s place, a man with no identity was left. Oh, yes, Donovan knew he who he was. Once. But now, with no super villain identity to keep fidelity to, Donovan was left drifting. But Maniacal didn’t become famous for being an idiot. Maniacal became famous because he was *brilliant*, and Donovan realised he had a world of opportunity before him. A Fresh Start. Derided by both villains and heroes, but often the only path forward. Donovan reinvented himself into a small, no-name retailer who sold small goods in a corner store. For most, anyways.
All it needed for his name to spread in the small-time hero scene was waving one over and offering them gear to supplement their powers. Laserdream was leery at first, but testing and practice made her confident. Laserdream’s solo win against a medium-sized villain group gave Donovan the credibility he needed, but still allowed him to remain mostly anonymous. Who paid attention to the small-time heroes anyway?
Donovan’s clientele slowly grew, and slowly he felt secure. He was contributing relatively little to the superhero community as a whole, but he could still say that if push came to shove, then he could have people protecting him without having to blow his cover identity. Slowly, Donovan began to relax. Until one of his clients started asking for.. troubling weapons.
A technological augment which would greatly empower her beam and allow her to pierce shields, armour that could withstand hulking blows, or a combat prediction system which could predict a teleporter and a speedster. All capable of countering a local hero team.
Donovan didn’t know why Lux wanted these gadgets, but if she did kill the hero team then people would start asking where she got her technology, which would lead people to him.
This was why the heroine was standing before him in his shop as he gently asked, “Lux, why are you asking me to build weapons the can kill the Vanguard?”
The masked woman froze, but refused to meet Donovan’s eyes. Donovan realised that she really was going to kill them. He didn’t know why a prospective villain would work as a hero to gain access to technology that literally any other villain tinkerer could build, but Donovan wasn’t going to risk his anonymity. “Lux, please. If you’re going to kill these heroes, then I can’t build these. Please, tell me why.”
Lux began to shake, and Donovan was initially worried she would try to attack him. His automatic defences would prevent the attack, of course, but he didn’t want to dispose of her body. There was a long pause as she tried to choke something up, but stopped herself every time. Eventually, Donovan moved forward and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Lux, please. Tell me what’s wrong.”
This broke Lux’s self-imposed silence. She sobbed, “They *aren’t* heroes. They don’t deserve to be called anything like that. I know you’re holed up here in this shop but those *fuckers* harass every single independent hero they come across. They’ve.. they’ve been coming after me the most. I want-no, I *need* to kill them.”
Donovan was shocked by this revelation. None of his clients had mentioned anything of the sort, though from Lux’s expression he could quickly discern she was telling the truth. He pulled Lux in for a hug and rubbed her back. Of course. Heroes abusing their powers was nothing new, but he was surprised that such arrogance would be expressed by a low-tier hero group. Lux continued to sob, but began to pull herself together. “I.. I need to make them pay. For Skitter.”
Oh-Skitter. One of.. the more recent hero deaths in the past few months. He recalled she was killed during a raid on a mid-tier villain, someone who’s name eluded him but could remember had *something* to do with extreme gravity control, though no further details were given. A tragic event, but he didn’t know what the Vanguard had to do with it. “What does the Vanguard have to do with Skitter?”
Lux spat and said, “They fucking *watched* as Omega ripped Skitter apart, and laughed that they should have joined them when she had the chance. They didn’t notice me, but I swore I’ll take revenge. They fucking killed my partner.”
Partner? As far as he knew both Skitter and Lux were adamantly solo, and would refuse to talk with any group that approached them. Oh-his stomach fell as he realised what sort of partnership Lux meant. Fuck. They had killed her lover. That… that explained Lux’s gradual self-destruction.
Donovan held Lux’s shoulder, and gave a mental command to a protocol he never thought he would need again. Her eyes were drawn to the mechanical clanking behind him, and widened as she realised what it was, and who was holding her.
Lux had frozen stiff, too terrified to move, but Donovan gave her one last reassuring squeeze. He wouldn’t let her ruin her heroic career.
“Let me handle this.”
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The sound of crying wakes me up from my nap. I had fallen asleep at the front desk, a small pool of drool forming where my head was. My wife had left a few hours to go take care of the baby, but I had to stay to let a few late pick ups in.
I stand up and walk to the front door, wiping any drool away. The crying got louder and louder.
When I open the door, a teenager is sitting at my doorstep, bawling her eyes out. The door opening must have startled her, since she jumped up, her long black hair rising into the air to form a tendril with a sharp spike at the end. "Woah woah woah." I raise my hands in the air. "I come in peace?"
The girl diverts her eyes from me, her hair flowing back down. "I-im sorry sir.... I thought the shop was closed. Where is Mrs. Diane?"
"Taking care of our son. I'm her husband. Why don't you come in and pick up your order, and if you want I could probably get you something to drink and talk if you want"
The girl nods and walks in past me. I hold back a sigh. Teenagers these days. So open about their problems to strangers, why can't she be like my old self who'd bottle everything up so I wouldn't have to deal with it.
I walked her into the backroom, going to the kitchen area. While I made the tea, I got a better look at her. I'd been so focused on not being stabbed by her hair, I hadn't noticed her eyes, one was brown while the other was blue. She also seems a bit tall for her age, looking almost six foot
"So. You got a name?" I ask her, pouring the tea into two cups.
"Bethany...." she says timidly. "But my friend calls me Beth.
"So Bethany.... want to talk about the freak out you had on the shop sidewalk?" I put the tea down next to her.
She sniffles and takes the tea, brushing part of her hair to cover her blue eye. "I'm sorry. I just had a rough day and I was suppose to pick up my order, but I got so busy, and I thought you closed, and so many things just caught up to me. I just had to let it out."
"Yeah we've all been there." I take a sip of my tea, leaning back in my chair. "Just let it out in a healthy way and deal with it"
The girl gets a mean look in her eye and sets the tea down. "How am I supposed to deal with it!." She almost yells at me, her hair rising again. "Those bitches at school rip into me for my eyes and being an orphan and I'm just so useless as a hero that all the others dont treat me seriously! I always get the crap duties and even when I get a chance to show my abilities I blow it!"
I take another sip of tea, regretting asking. Diane was better at faking empathy than I am. "You just have to try, there's nothing you can do about it, other than ignoring the brats at school, and trying harder at your job." I smile to myself. Maybe I had a bit of guidance councilor in me after all. My future employment options were quickly crushed by the spikes of hair now at my throat
"Shut up!" She was full on screaming at me now. "You're treating me like I'm some stupid child! I'm not!"
I slowly start to let my jacket fall off my shoulders, I guess it was a good thing I dont wear it zipped in shop. "Yes you are. No adult threatens someone for disagreeing with the.... never mind that is exactly what adults do. Still you could be better"
The spike pokes at my neck, piercing enough for a drop of blood. "I'll force you to take me seriously. I-i'll kill them. Yeah. I'll kill them all. I'll go my school and butcher those girls, than I'll butcher my team mates. But first will be you.
"Shit kid" I let my jacket fall off of me, four shadow tendrils spring from my back. One wraps around her hair, right before she stabs into me. The other three wrap around her, restraining her. I made sure to keep the spikes at the tips away from her. "You're starting to remind me of a younger me, who also happens to be a girl." I release her, after backing away to a safe distance. My tendrils raised in the air to protect me.
"Its not fair" she mutters to herself. "I'm g-gonna do it. Watch me! She takes off, running to the front door.
"Do it. Kill anyone who bothers you." I call out to her sitting back in my chair. "Its what I did, and I fucking loved it."
The girl stops right at the exit, slowly looking back at me "h-huh?"
"Their screams were lovely. The blood flowing down my tendrils was gorgeous. Hell I'm sure you'll love the blood in your hair."
The girl starts to slowly walk back to the table, her hair spike still rising in the air. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because it's the truth. But, it also changed nothing. Before I killed someone, I was a lonely loser with anger problems and after I killed someone, I was the exact same thing. Killing everyone changes nothing"
The girl sits down. Slowly lowering her hair, covering her eye again. "Than what do I do?"
I look over the girl. Her power was sorta similar to mine. And with her personality, she could be a mass murderer like I was, and she doesn't deserve that. "If you need someone to bitch to, than come by after school. Diane or I will be here and we'll listen. And on the weekend, show up and I'll train you a bit. Our powers are kinda similar so I can show you a few, less murdery moves I used."
"Why?" She asks. "I just threatened to kill you less than a minute ago. Why train me?"
I smile at her, a genuine one that I normally reserve for Diane and my liitle Alec. "Because, being lonely sucks. Being a lonely mass murder sucks more. And if all it takes to steer someone away from my old path is a shoulder to cry on? Than it's the least I can do."
The girl sniffles again and leans in hugging me. I grimace and try to lean back. "Not much of a hugger kid...." she ignores me as she starts crying into my chest. I sigh and use a tendril to grab my tea, holding it up to me to take a sip. "Just. Hurry up than, alright Beth?"
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[WP] You died and because you’re an atheist your whole life, the Grim Reaper told you that where you die matters, because you will be sent to the version of the afterlife which corresponds to that nation’s major religion.
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(First time posting!)
"It just had to be space, didn't it?"
I don't say anything as I watch the hooded figure pacing the ground in front of me. Its scythe dangles loosely in its grasp. I'm not even sure whether I can speak in this place. My mouth feels dry, my skin is cold, my muscles are tense. I'm wearing some little white dress that I don't own, which matches nearly everything else in this place. The ground is white, the sky is white, the rock I'm sitting on is white. Only the figure's black cloak is different, and I shudder to imagine what lies beneath it.
The figure turns again and continues pacing. "It was bound to happen eventually," it says, shaking its head. "Atheist dies in space. What am I supposed to do with that?"
"What do you mean?" I finally ask. My voice breaks and I'm suddenly aware of my sore throat. A lump rises within it, and I feel tears come to my eyes. "What's going on?"
The figure stops walking and sits on the ground in front of me, its scythe laid across its lap. "I guess you've figured out that I'm the Grim Reaper," it says.
I nod.
"Well here's how this works. When you believe in an afterlife, you get to go there. Nice and simple. But you're an atheist, which means that when you died, you were supposed to be sent to the afterlife which corresponds to the major religion of the nation where you died. Again, usually nice and simple. Even sailors typically aren't a big deal. Closest country wins, right?
"But then you had to go and start floating off into space! You died alone, drifting into space as your oxygen ran out, essentially the same distance from every human nation. Your body is still floating. Eventually, you'll be closer to alien civilizations than your own. Do you know how confusing it is for me to try to pick an afterlife for you?"
I feel the tears escape my eyes and drift down my cheeks. *You died alone*. Memories come flooding back of my crewmates, my family, and the final choking feeling of running out of air while spinning away from my home.
The figure sighs and stands up. "I'm sorry," it says. "I know this sucks. Listen, maybe we can work something out. Do you have ideas? Anywhere, in particular, you would like to go? You don't even have to say anything. Just think it and I'll make it happen."
Something suddenly comes to mind as I look down at my bare feet. It's a sick and twisted thought, but it's the only one that comes up, and it feels perfect in that moment. It certainly feels better than going to the afterlife of some god or spirit who I’ve never known.
"Huh."
I look up at the hooded figure, who is suddenly holding up a second black robe and has a second scythe in his hand.
"Okay, sure. I guess that works."
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Well, this should be interesting. The grim reaper said and I quote, "Since you seem to have trouble deciding, your afterlife will be the same of those your body lay besiding."
Two things, this sounds way creeper, coming out of a skull in black hodded robe where the sound is almost hooty like an owls. And two, I died in america, so I should get a christian heaven right?
Wrong.
My body was buried in a graveyard. So I must clearly go to whoever's religion I am buried next to? I mean that would be the case if there was not so many other bugs in the ground. So here I am, in beetle heaven.
beetle heaven....
Now this may seem weird, but I low key do not totally mind. First off, languages and intelligence, us humans have it all wrong. These beetles have built like skyscrapers, underground tunnels. It is literally like what humans imagine the future is like in movies. I was completely shocked. Second, I am pretty sure I am in heaven. As far as I can tell beetles do not have a hell, however, people keep talking about the draft. I will get to that later.
The last important note is that for some reason, beetles can take whatever form they want. While there are many people crawling on the ground as giant beetles. There seem to be just as many in other forms. There are dog beetles, bird beetles, people beetles, you name it, there is a beetle variation of that form. I personally have kept a human like appearance. However I do now have mandibles and a black shelled body that allows me to fly around.
But back to the draft. Apparently in beetle heaven there is a draft where beetles here train to become warriors and then head into "the battlefield." I do not know much about it, other than if the people we send do well, we get benefits. Like, the sky becomes clearer, and overall stuff just seems to be a better quality. There is a sign up, and basically everyone does, at least if they haven't gone yet, because if you come back, you get promoted to the next level of living. While the basic level is fine, it is definitely not what i would call heaven. It is a minimalist approach to heaven.
Now to begin my story. My name is Bert. I know, a really cool name, trust me I was only made of constantly for it. However, that doesn't matter here. After I had the talk with Mr. Reaper, I was worried life would get worse for me, because I was definitely not the most righteous person. However, after I arrived here, I was quickly shown the way by those around me.
Making friends was surprisingly easy, I met my boy Ronald. He was a Hercules beetle in life and it showed. He was so smart, got you didn't I, literally one of the smartest dudes I've met. He is built like a truck, but he is so good at chemistry, it is scary. Then there was Karen, now she doesn't get this, but she was a dung beetle, and I think that is hilarious. Jokes aside, she is incredibly talented with her hands. She has more stability then a surgeon combined with the sheer strength of a pro athlete. Do not mess with her, or maybe that is just a motto for anyone (beetle?) I run into. Then there is Greg. Greg was a June bug, he carried his bright shimmering coat with him, and definitely lets everyone see his personality. He talks fast, and thinks faster. He surely would have made a good con artist if he were a human.
That's the crew though, we hang out, eat stuff, and goof off together whenever we can. We all signed up for "the battleground" and if we are lucky we will all get to go together. This could be a fun adventure. We don't really know anything about it, but we will get tested when we get called in. For now, it is just a waiting game.
2 weeks later
I woke up to banging on my door. It's the crew, we were drafted and training starts in 2 days. It's time....
(gonna continue but got IRL stuff to do)
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[WP] An elder god wakes to find itself emaciated after millennia of slumber. It had fallen asleep gluttoning itself on the souls of countless humans sacrificed to it in worship. Now the elder god finds that not only are no humans worshiping it, but they’ve never even heard of it!
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It twitched in fitful slumber. A short pang disturbed its sleep. It put it out of its mind, slumbering on and on. The troubled sleep faded, and it fell once more into dreams within dreams, mad worlds within realms too horrible to consider.
It twitched again, worried. Twice, so soon? And what is that feeling? Being watched? Pay it no mind, no mind. Once more to sleep, satisfied still from the feast it received.
A third time, as they say, is the charm. A third time, it twitched and jerked and was awake. It was aware, aware for the first time in eons. It felt, for the first time in ages. It felt rested. It felt satisfied.
It felt hungry.
It felt... worried? Worry is not a feeling familiar to it. Worried, why? It awoke, awoke. It forced consciousness upon itself for the first time in a long, long time. It Awoke. And it felt. And it saw.
"Awake at last, are we?" A voice jeered at it. "You know, my grandfather visited you once before, as did his grandfather." It looked around, hearing the voice but not understanding. How did it get here? "We have been visiting you for a long time. How utterly unimpressive." The mocking tone was blatant and insulting, and it felt annoyed that it could not find the source. It was The Hungerer, and it was unused to dealing with petty mockery. It was unused to dealing with anything but food.
A word rang through the void. "Hungry?" It was loud. Much louder than it had any right to be. The sound of it brought memories, feelings, awareness flooding in. Big as it was, it took time for everything to report. Hunger, that was nothing new, of course it was hungry. It was more than hungry, though, far more than it ought to have been, far more than it had felt in a long time. It was absolutely ravenous.
"Ah, and comprehension begins. I, we, imagine you had plenty of sustenance before your slumber. That made it a relatively easy hunt, perhaps a little unsatisfying in the middle, but still worth the effort in the end." The hunt? It sought the source of the voice, the voice, the maddeningly derisive voice. Where? Why couldn't it feel? Why couldn't it see? And why the *pain.* Where is the power? The sacrifices, they were gone!
"Are you mute? Have you lost so much that you cannot even speak? Or do you still think yourself above me?" It rankled at the continued insolence. It was awake, it was aware, it would demand obeisance.
###*"Hᴏᴡ ᴅᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ! Dᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ᴡʜᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜ sᴘᴇᴀᴋ?"*
"Ah, I see you have found your voice! But, uh, ah," The voice trailed off into laughter. It was clearly not going to answer the question. Very well, then, the voice shall be smote by its mighty form. A gargantuan arm reaches back, across the endless wastes of the void. It swings ponderously around, ready to wipe clean all the land upon which the invisible jester could stand. Effortlessly, it swung its arm, an arm that had crossed the vast gulf of space, with a hand that had cradled the planets and stars of creation. After an eternity, the arm finished its impossible arc, smashing into the nothingness in front of It.
"Oh, well-done! I almost felt that." Confusion. Its arm had stopped, how? It should have reduced the land to dust, obliterated the speaker entirely. It fumed. It seethed. It raged. It roared.
###"Wʜᴀᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ? *Wʜᴇʀᴇ* ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ? I ᴅᴇᴍᴀɴᴅ ᴏʙᴇᴅɪᴇɴᴄᴇ! Yᴏᴜ *ᴡɪʟʟ* ᴏʙᴇʏ!"
There was a silence, and then, a response. "Look up, little one." It paused, its rage interrupted by unfamiliar emotions. It felt panic, confusion.
It obeyed.
It looked up, and up, and still further up. And it looked into the face of a man, towering above it. The endlessly reaching arm had smashed clean into the side of his boot. The Devourer of Worlds, The Endless Glutton, The Hungerer, It was left feeling a pathetically wretched creature before the hunter. It struggled to find meaning, to understand what was happening.
"Allow me to obey, O Mighty One." The hunter grinned as he knelt closer to the god. "I have answered where I am, now I shall answer who I am. I am a hunter. I, my family before me, and a number of other very talented folks besides. We hunt the shadows. The dark things. The unimaginable, the immaterial. We hunted *you.*" He paused to let the fullness of the statement sink in.
It visibly wilted. Who could have been so powerful? How could it face someone so mighty as to undo that which it had wrought?
"Across the ages, we hunted you. Slowly, methodically. We found your followers, we dispatched your missionaries. We tracked, we stalked, we snared your very name and erased it from existence. Now, all that is left is you." A malevolent glint danced in the eye of the hunter. He was relishing putting the Hungerer in its place, the utter helplessness, the total despair it now felt was plain to see, even were it not almost literally radiating from it.
"I am here to watch you die, fallen god. Foul, wretched thing, you shall darken reality no longer. But, I suppose there is still one question unanswered." The hunter lowered himself farther, until he was as close to the fallen god as he dared. He whispered, "Do I know who you are?" He paused.
The Hungerer writhed in agony at his words, afraid of what was to come. It curled in on itself, willing this to be a non-truth, refusing to acknowledge the reality it faced.
"No. Nobody does, not any longer." The Hungerer shriveled further, unable to cope, unable to feel, unable to think.
The Hunter stood. The Hungerer hungered, and in desperation, devoured what little essence it had left.
The Hunter left. The Hungerer was no more.
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Mavrakas, as he was once known, stirred awake inside the ceaseless void that he called home. The first thing he experienced upon awakening was a deep abiding hunger. Before his sleep he had been a glutton, nourished by the most brutal and enthusiastic worshippers that he had seen in the multiverse. Humanity, barely birthed, had needed only to see shadows of his true form before they began sending souls to him in earnest. Their crude rituals, and the suffering that they entailed, delighted him. Precious few of the species that Mavrakas had pressed into his service were willing to sacrifice their own kind in his name. Of course they would burn precious food or necessary livestock but not often would they kill kin for a chance at his favor. Humans were altogether different though. They were willing to offer their sons and daughters so that they may have good fortune before waging a war *in his name.* They were the most bloodthirsty and cruel mortals he had yet to encounter.
With servants such as those, how could it be possible that he now hungered?
Perhaps, Mavrakas wondered, they had died out over the millennia. It would not surprise him given their seeming innate fondness for violence. He peered out through the infinite shards of existence until he found the planet that had housed his favored acolytes. He was surprised to see that not only had they survived, they had flourished. How could there be so many more of them and yet no souls tithed for his consumption in such a very long time. He realized that he had become a victim of their blink of an eye life span. So many generations had risen and fallen that the great fears of old were replaced by the minutiae of everyday life. As he observed them more closely he realized that humans were no longer scared of those things greater than themselves. They could cross oceans and built settlements capable of surviving any disaster their world could throw at them. They even found a way to leave the confines of their own planet.
But humanity’s hubris had led them to forget that their lives are a small oasis surrounded by an unimaginably vast darkness. They didn’t realize that beyond their meager understanding something sinister lurks that needs to be placated. These mortals had no idea that there were horrors much worse than the end of their paltry lives. Mavrakas was going to show them exactly how insignificant they were.
And soon, he would be full again.
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[WP] You're a vigilante with no supernatural powers, just lots of time spent at the gym. One day, while recovering from a particularly sore legs day, your services are required.
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“Help!” The strangled voice called out as I trod down the street in agony. My legs were burning, and I didn’t want to run, but someone needed help, apparently.
I hated every excruciating step, but I got to the mouth of the alley just as I pulled up the mask around my face. It would do. I saw a pair of men who had cornered a young boy, no older than sixteen. One has the boy at knife point, the other rummage through a bag.
I really didn’t want to fight them properly so I didn’t. I pulled my trusty handgun from where it was concealed at the small of my back under my jacket and shouted, “let the kid go and return his stuff. I am not in the mood to chase or fight you so if you run you’ll probably get away, if you stand to fight...” I trailed off and brandished the gun at them.
They looked at each other and then back at me and as one they booked it, dropping the bag in the process. Its contents spilled out and scattered across the ground. I lumbered over and crouched down, taking a sharp, hissing intake of breath as my legs protested this normally easy and mundane motion.
“Are you okay?” The boy asked me.
“I feel like I souls be asking that question of you,” I replied.
“Yeah, but when you went down to help me pick up my stuff, or sounded like you were hurt.”
As I looked at the kid, I noticed the basketball jersey under his jacket, one of the local high schools. “Leg day,” I said, winking conspiratorially, “always the worst.”
He got a chuckle then he noticed the mask. “Taxiarchis?” He asked.
“The one and only,” I replied as I heaved myself to a full standing position.
“Since when do you carry a gun?” He asked bewildered.
“I’ve always carried it,” I reply calmly, “i’ve just never been pressed to brandish it before now, let alone use it.” He looked dumbfounded so I pressed on, “let’s get you home.”
I handed the bag back to him and let him lead the way. It was maybe a five minute walk, but I made sure that he got into the building alright. As I began to turn towards my own home, the two guys from earlier reappeared, and not they had a few friends. I counted two guns among the six of them. I hated it when people packed heat, it made my job harder. I clasped my hands behind my back, or at least I made it look like I had. Really, I was fishing for my pistol.
“You’re Taxiarchis, right?” One of the guys with a gun said.
“I am.” I replied calmly and evenly, watching the other gun more carefully.
“You’ve been making it tough for us for a while now, and not my boys are telling me that you have the audacity to pull a gun on them?”
“If I’m being honest, I wouldn’t have called it audacity, so much as laziness. It was leg day earlier, and I‘m not in the mood for a fight. I’m really not in the mood for a gunfight.”
“Sic him boys.” The five guys surged past the apparent leader, and I whip out my handgun. I double tap the gun who had rushed me, and I dumped another pair into the other gun, the apparent leader. Then I feel an impact in my abdomen. I was pretty sure that my body armor had stopped an attack. One of them was pretty quick. He had jabbed a knife at me. I brought my pistol across his face, hard, and blood began to fountain from the guy’s probably broken nose. I put a round in him and gun in the remaining three, and two ran. The third hadn’t noticed that his friends were either running away or bleeding out. He got double tapped before he could get within arms reach. I found a cell phone in one of their pockets and made an emergency call to 911 to get EMTs on the scene. I began walking back to my house. It was only a few blocks, but those blocks sucked. This was sloppy of me. I had pushed myself too hard earlier and then I had been too lazy. Maybe I should have more leg day, but lower the intensity. Something to think about in the future.
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*Why? Why is the elevator always out at the worst times?* I trudged up the stairs, legs quivering at every step. *And why can't crime ever happen on the ground floor?* I really didn't want to be here, but it's hard to say no to a good cry for help. Plus rent was coming up due and I really needed the buffer of the finder's fee, but that doesn't sound as heroic.
I made my way as far as I could but there was only so much I could do. I was having to clutch as hard as I could to the hand rail just to keep my balance, and each step brought its own flavor of agony that took a lot of processing. *Help. They need your help. You're capable. You're smart. You're buff as hell. C'mon, keep going!*
The worst part was the bystanders simply watching. I didn't blame them for not answering the cry that came from above, but I really could have done without their comments. "You can do it, Bill the Buff Baddy Bouncer!" they would say.
*I've never called myself that! Bill isn't even my name! It's Greg, you little shit!*
I kept my mouth shut and simply gave a smiling thumbs up. Telling a kid he's stupid will, surprisingly, *not* help a burgeoning career in crime fighting.
I could now hear the cries for help just a floor above me. It sounded like a simple burglary, though obviously a bit rougher given how far the cries traveled. But my legs were still acting as gatekeepers, and I could only move so fast. And with one flight to go, they gave out completely, and I fell on my face. My face now bloodied before the fight, I found my second wind. My legs still didn't work, but my upper body strength was off the charts, and I found I could hoist myself up the stairs with my arms fairly quickly.
I now found myself just outside the door where the crime was taking place. Though still floor-bound, I was able to burst the door open with just my arms, while crying out "Stop! Help has arrived!"
The masked goons turned to look but didn't see me at first, as they were expecting someone, uh, taller. "I'm down here," I finally had to say. They laughed as me and charged, but with my trained strength and the boost of adrenaline I found I could dispatch them with ease. A pile of black clad bodies soon sat moaning in pain in the corner of the room, almost like something out of a cartoon.
"Oh, thank you, Bill the Buff Baddy Bouncer!" the owner of the apartment exclaimed as I hauled myself onto a chair.
"That's not my fuc- I mean, just answering the call, sir, as anyone should. Now, do you have any banana's, per chance?"
I sat for a while as my body readily absorbed the potassium, while I occasionally gave the defeated baddies a solid thump to keep them down until I could leave and authorities could come. About an hour later I found I could walk once more, and thanked my temporary host for their hospitality while I made my way out the door. I headed toward the stairs, but heard a voice from behind me call out. "The elevator works, you know!"
"...what."
"You ignored the sign downstairs, right?" my former host asked. "It's been fixed for about a week, maintenance is just lazy. Hope you didn't take the stairs all the way up here! Goodnight!"
*I hate fighting crime.*
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r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested.
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[WP] Last week the scientific community presented incontrovertible evidence that the universe is a simulation. Today the gaming community presented the first glitch guide.
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It was a while back that reality was finally proven to be a simulation. To those of us literate in the world of technology, this meant reality was fabricated...and thus, had the potential for holes.
What many forgot, however, is that it didn't change our situation. Simulation or not, we gained no further control over it than we already had. All we gained was a better understanding. We could not truly fix the holes. Not yet...but the more twisted of us could experiment enough to pin down what was intended and what was glitched, and upon their arrest for unethical experiments, their studies would be added to records. Now, we had a better understanding of what was "real", and what wasn't supposed to be. The problem was making it happen. Finding a way to break the barrier of godly coding in a manner that didn't also break those of us that tried. Glitching a game could break functions or even wipe the entire game's code if you're unlucky. Imagine what would happen if you glitched a code made by a god, one that had failsafes in place to prevent the explotation of unexpected code exploitation or breakage. If the failsafes and general rules didnt kill you...something far worse could occur.
For now, nobody has successfully broken the laws of reality on purpose in any way that was credible, unless you count turning to religion. Since we have yet to prove which religion is the one that made the code, miracles potentially caused by religion are immediately discounted. For all we know, the gods just executed a console command.
That said, there have been people who broke the code by ACCIDENT, even before we knew it to be a true glitch. As a tech enthusiast, I have my theories on these.
The first is apparent timeline shifts. Multiverse theory states that every decision ever made creates a split in time and space, with each new path following a different decision made in that moment. Alongside this, we have what is called the Mandela Effect, where a large group of people remember something as being very different. Well, these WERE theories...but now, with life proven to be nothing more than complex code in an unknown coding language, they are more likely to be truth. If the multiverse theory is real, and life is a simulation, then I imagine this simulation runs on countless servers and systems. If they are so strongly linked and intertwined, would it not make sense for some codes and pathways to get confused and drop specific smaller codes, like human beings, into the wrong place, like a map glitch in a video game during a speedrun? This would explain the girl who remembered the United States as having multicolored dollar bills instead of green, or the woman who awoke one day to discover she was still dating her ex, her latest boyfriend seemingly never existed, and she had never changed jobs. It would also explain the Man from Taured, and by a somewhat sideways extension, all the potential evidence of time travel.
The second probable glitch is the black holes. The best we can guess about black holes is that the explosion of stars was accidentally, or perhaps purposefully, designed to have such power that the system this simulation runs on is unable to properly code the result. Instead, the creators coded around the glitch that followed, giving it boundaries so that it would only erase certain things from the code it effected instead of breaking the entire system at once. It's sort of like the quarantine of a virus, but the quarantine works within the code itself rather than taking the virus elsewhere.
The third is ghosts. Though we have tried, humanity has never been able to bring psychology down to a science 100%. One can never predict a person's actions and emotions with 100% accuracy. That has the potential to mean that it is a rogue element in the code, much like a controlled RNG (random number generator). Everyone is coded with a different RNG system tied to their emotions. I theorize that ghosts are the result of this RNG system going out of whack; for some reason, some people upon death are feeling such strong emotions about something that a part of their code gets missed in deletion, and instead gets stuck in a loop. Those who manage to encounter this rare broken piece of code may get the impression that it is alive, a human being stuck in limbo. In truth, it is just an emotional RNG system tied to its image of who it belonged to, trying and often failing to do what it was originally meant to do during or after an interaction, since at this point, it technically shouldnt exist. Imagine a computer with broken pathways in a code. You repeatedly give it a query or command, and when it finally connects and responds as it should, you give it another command, only for the 1-10 dice roll to give you a four-digit output on account of a busted RNG code executing improperly.
A fourth, much simpler example is false injury. We've all heard the tales of people who should have died, but didn't. This could also be tied to the possibility of emotional RNG...or maybe that guy who fell three stories and lived just happened to hit the ground at the right time or in the right way to cancel fall damage. Maybe that woman awoke from her coma because the lost code for her motor functions was finally re-discovered by the looping request for movement.
All of these are more likely fact than fiction with all of this new knowledge. Nobody yet knows how to exploit them, but folks have been trying. The death toll has gone up considerably since the Simulation Discovery, both from suicides and from glitch-finders experimenting carelessly and getting their bodies mangled.
I do not consider myself a glitch-finder. I am a theorist. I do not experiment, but instead help provide the questions that the experiments are based on. However, I have recently invented a theory that just might change that.
It starts with defibrillation. The returning of a living creature back to life from death. For millions of years, death has been permanent, but with recent medical developments, we somehow figured out how to bring people back from the dead if their death was very recent. How? Why? Why would the simulation allow this? The answer lies in the function of electricity. I believe it's not that it just electrifies the body...but that it tricks the code. During death, it is possible that the body goes through a state where the code slowly moves the "files" of the individual's existence to another location, possibly into Heaven. However, it cannot do it all at once, and must take several real-world seconds to make it happen. Since electricity is more like the code that tells our body to move, perhaps defibrillation tricks the reality code into thinking the body SHOULD be moving, causing it to bring all of that code back out of the "Heaven folder" in order to complete the command...and then promptly forget it was supposed to move it in the first place. It's almost like defibrillation is actually injecting the codes for movement into the body all over again and allowing the reality code to complete the process.
With this theory in mind, I believe I can test the third glitch theory: the existence of Ghosts. If I can die during a major emotional moment, then be brought back to life very far away, perhaps I or they can create a ghost...and survive the process.
The publishers are going to love this.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wrote this very late at night, and based it on my own theories of simulated reality (which I firmly believe in). Thus, I apologize if it is a somewhat incoherent story. I am aware it sounds a lot like a passage from a textbook or something. XD
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Hmm...a glitch, an anomaly, a chance which gives us the chance to try things over and over again. Multiple lives...different strengths and weakness...Jumanji suddenly doesn't seem like a fantasy movie but rather a portrayal of the things that help up make sense of the world around us.
How do these beginners end up doing so well...it's not beginner's luck, it's their simulated strength. Some people are just better than others in everything no matter how much they try. They have their strengths pre-decided...we are living in a biased world. Sherlock is always going to be the best detective no matter how we look at it. We are in a world where people always talk of destiny but now it suddenly makes sense. It's all a simulation.
Philosophers like Socrates mentioned that its all perception, maybe he was more than just drinking and saying things. Maybe, he realised the glitch before everyone else. The love of literature might just have been the breakpoint for the guide. It makes sense considering the amount of the books with the same basic storyline...philosophy might push simulation towards the limit revealing the state of the world.
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[WP] Last week the scientific community presented incontrovertible evidence that the universe is a simulation. Today the gaming community presented the first glitch guide.
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The world was reeling. A simulation. What about religion? What's the meaning of life? Then the Glitch Guide was released. All of the glitches were useless. They explained the Mandela effect, and Deja Vu. But other stuff that would make bad magic tricks, being able to skip forward, and occasionally duplicate a small object there was nothing useful. Also, they all took hundreds of hours of practice to get good at.
The world didn't really change. Some people chose not to believe it was a simulation. And other than a few dedicated users, no one exploited any glitches. There were rumors that companies used the glitches, or had better glitches. Duplicating diamonds or precious stones and metals. There were rumors of stat increases money cheats, immortality. But no proof.
You've been obsessed with glitches since the conference. It's been a decade. The first two years you manipulated other objects. Then you worked on yourself. Then you tried to do both. You can glitch through walls, or up to ten feet in any direction. Pass other obects through each other. Duplicate them, or glitch their location.
Deja Vu is described as when the simulation skips ahead and corrects so you feel like you experienced it before. You haven't found an exploit for it. You keep trying in your free time to put yourself of the mindset you had the last time you had Deja Vu.
You jumped an object and yourself the first time swapping places two years ago. And right before you did it, it felt like you did it before. You visualize that moment, again, and again. For the next sux months, you relive that moment. Then it clicks. And you're there again. You just jumped you and the chair. You look around, you're really back. 2.5 years ago. You spend the whole day focused on the moment. Then the next day you do it again. You just swapped with the chair again. You just broke the Deja Vu glitch.
You keep going back. Finding old memories you can recreate. But now you have a half work around for aging. Also, you kind of know the future. But what if someone else goes back? You don't want to lose your work. So you go back further and further. Then you see an article, Scientists begin working to understand if the universe is a simulation. You're gonna ensure that they can't find proof.
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Hmm...a glitch, an anomaly, a chance which gives us the chance to try things over and over again. Multiple lives...different strengths and weakness...Jumanji suddenly doesn't seem like a fantasy movie but rather a portrayal of the things that help up make sense of the world around us.
How do these beginners end up doing so well...it's not beginner's luck, it's their simulated strength. Some people are just better than others in everything no matter how much they try. They have their strengths pre-decided...we are living in a biased world. Sherlock is always going to be the best detective no matter how we look at it. We are in a world where people always talk of destiny but now it suddenly makes sense. It's all a simulation.
Philosophers like Socrates mentioned that its all perception, maybe he was more than just drinking and saying things. Maybe, he realised the glitch before everyone else. The love of literature might just have been the breakpoint for the guide. It makes sense considering the amount of the books with the same basic storyline...philosophy might push simulation towards the limit revealing the state of the world.
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[WP] Last week the scientific community presented incontrovertible evidence that the universe is a simulation. Today the gaming community presented the first glitch guide.
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[NO STOCK MARKET GLITCH] 0y0m2d4h22m16.04s (100%) Real Life speedrun + explanation
What's up guys, EZGames here, and today we're going to take a look at a new speedrunning technique that's changed the face of real life runs!
Ever since user GatezPlays discovered the Stock Market glitch, where getting a frame-perfect B button press on the load screen when you buy a continuous compounding interest stock portfolio actually allows you to actually sell your own company's stocks while raising the interest rate for immediate returns without the capital gains penalty, we knew that the inflation adjusted wealth stat would reset back to zero after hitting $100,000,000,000USD in a single account, tricking the game into unlocking all your stats for a NewGame+ playthrough without resetting your progress, which rocked the Any% world. But the community has thought that hitting the $100B mark without the Stock Market Glitch is basically impossible, making the strategy useless in 100% runs... Until today.
In this run from streamer xXChode_PontifeXx, we see how chosing the Cleric starting class unlocks the tithe perk way earlier on than the Baron class. We've known for a while that the Holy See glitch lets you clip through the walls into the Vatican by spamming the sprint button and rolling when you're standing next to the Papal Railway walls in the Rome instance. But here's where things get interesting: Now, Cleric was considered a D tier choice for a while now, ever since of the Reformation nerfs, but when you spend your skill points to unlock the tithe perk and stack the bonus with the buffs you get from Clerical Robes II, your Charisma stat is high enough that, once you load into the Vatican instance without going through the door opening animation, the game actually sets your character level to Pope, skipping the XP grind that high level Cardinals have to do and shaving decades off the run time. This let Chode Pontifex start the Rapture endgame scenario, and the economic collapse with runaway inflation sent his savings account value well over $100B without using the stock market at all! Once he used the Valkyrie technique to noclip onto an angel and fly directly to heaven with a full stat bar, he got a full game completion end screen, and his run was solidified as one of the all time greats in the community so far.
Now, this run and strategy hasn't been verified by the UNISRC, but if it's replicable, it'll be a real game changer.
Thanks for watching, make sure to vaporize that like button, subscribe, and hit the bell to be notified when I post another video because the next few days are going to be in-sane.
EZ, out!
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"Ladies and Gentlemen, the Gaming Community is pleased to announce the completion of its official Glitch Guide, presented after due deliberation. The Gaming community also takes this wonderful opportunity to thank the Scientific Community wholeheartedly for its crucial role in the sudden upturn in the fortunes of the Nerds. Children around the world will now add stats points to intelligence and Perception, instead of trying to max out trashy attributes like Strength, Charisma or Luck.
The Official Glitch Guide begins promptly thus, laying emphasis on the first 3 key points –
1) When moving from one room to another, a character may accidentally freeze in the hallway and forget why they left their first room in the first place. This glitch is fixed by pausing, proceeding to the fridge or the toilet and returning to the middle of the hallway. This should fix the glitch in most cases.
2) Maxing out any of the attributes – Strength, Intelligence, Agility, Perception, Endurance, Luck – may not guarantee 100% successful in a side quest called "Where Will I Find Love?" More often than not, players may find their perceived soulmate character initiating conversations with other players. This is not a glitch; it is part of the head developer's intended game design to convey that in some quests (like Love) a player gets to be the main character. in others, they will only get to be an NPC.
3) There have been many complaints about the unrealistic difficulty of the simulation we find ourselves in. Unfortunately, there is no way to adjust the difficulty setting. No patch to fix this is expected in the foreseeable future. The Glitch Guide advises that instead of waiting for cheat codes or console commands, the player spend considerable time in practicing, observing, learning and adapting themselves to handle this simulation adeptly.
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Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider browsing through my other writing at r/whiteshadowthebook :)
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[WP] Last week the scientific community presented incontrovertible evidence that the universe is a simulation. Today the gaming community presented the first glitch guide.
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We met a Pokemon convention, protesting Game Freak's boneheaded decision to remove all Kanto Pokemon from the latest game.
She had wavy, pink hair that I couldn't stop looking at. Normally when someone passes me with colorful hair, I immediately assume they are my enemy. But her? I had to ask her to get a coffee just so I could look at it some more.
"Ugh," she says, sitting down. “It's horrible, isn't it?"
"What's horrible?" I ask absentmindedly, staring at her hair still.
She snaps her fingers in my face. "God, I'm not like some Pokemon. And I ignored the fact you've been staring at my hair for twenty minutes because I thought you were cute rather than creepy. Was I wrong?"
I shake my head. "Sorry. It's just...my life is the same, day after day, and I see the same things and the same people, day after day. So your hair, it's like..."
"A glitch?" she asks.
"Yeah. A glitch, or maybe it's a sign." I catch her slightly confused face.
"Sorry, I have this thing where I think the universe is a giant video game."
She cocks her head. "So am I not real then? Am I an NPC?"
I shake my head, harder this time. "No. It's a huge MMO, and we can all win."
"That sounds nice," she says with a smile. Seeing that smile, I realize her hair was never the main attraction.
\-
Her hair is long gone, but the smile is still there. Lying in her hospital bed, I try only to focus on the smile.
"I have to log out soon," she whispers into my ear. "I can feel it."
I force myself to look in her eyes, to smile. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't find a way."
"You weren't supposed to. It's cancer, dumbass. And you were just supposed to be with me, and that was enough. More than enough."
I have nothing to say.
"Was I enough?" she asks.
"Of course. When I was with you, I felt like a winner. And when you leave, I'll go back to being a loser."
She pulls me close, and kisses my ear. "What do you do when it's game over? You just quit?"
"No."
"What do you do?"
\-
*Start over.*
Her last words echo in my brain all the time. But now it's two years later, and I'm still lost. I've tried a new city, a new job, some new girls. Let my mom talk me into trying the "straight path" a few times, went on some dates with guys who were nice enough. And maybe I am bisexual, or even straight. But I know it doesn't matter.
Everyone isn't her. And that's all I need to know I won't fall in love again, not like I did.
The news of the simulation a few months ago didn't make me particularly sad, or happy. Just a little regret she never found out our little theory was true.
But now? Now they say there's ways to...change the game.
My apartment smells like what's cooking. Two pints of mud, one tablespoon of pig's blood...whoever wrote the code for this loved their witch's potions.
A grayish-brown drink is the result. I pour a glass.
They said on the dark web this code can break other binaries in the game, and potentially cause disruptions in space-time.
But I don't care. I take a-
"Wow," she says. "You were really going to drink that?"
And there she is, standing in front of me. I drop the glass, and nasty mud-smoothie gets all over my legs. But I don’t care. Because she is here.
I don't go up to her, for fear of touching her and finding only air and the cruelty of my delusions.
Then she walks up to me, and touches my cheek, like she is scared I will break.
"You know, when I was gone," she says. "I talked to the creator."
"The creator? Of...all this?"
"You know what he told me? He said the real glitches aren't what the government published. The real glitches are the ones with risk. The ones that...might not work, or might break things, or might only help you in a side quest."
"Why?"
"Because players who use them...." she leans down and kisses me, and it's like no time at all has passed.
"They know the glitches and cheats are what makes a game special."
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347)
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Finally, a prompt I can work with!
**Setting:** Tenobel, Unreality, 11 Days Post-Revelation
It's been 11 days since the so-called "Fatal Study." The most controversial report that everyone knew was true.
Some went on with their lives as normal. Some tried to screw things up on purpose, because they aren't real, it doesn't matter.
For me, and the other 63 Exploitationists, it was an opportunity. We grew up on video games to to the point it couldn't be considered healthy, but now that we've discovered it's all just another game, we've been breaking it down just like any other. And today, the fruits of our labor - all 64 of us working on 3 hours of sleep and copious amounts of caffeine - will be released for others like us: *The Exploitationist's Guide to Breaking the Game*.
But I worried. Could some of these glitches be *too* gamebreaking? Might they affect the good of everyone around us, real or not? Psycrow's work in particular came to mind. The duplication glitch might seem harmless, and even potentially helpful - you could help plenty of people get back on their feet! - but nobody had tried duplicating a living thing yet. While yes, we are just technically code, this universe still has *fundamental laws*. And duplicating living creatures I feel would definitely have to break one of them.
And what about the so-called Black Hole glitch? Theoretically, one could edit the code however they wanted. But I doubted many outside our inner circle would know what t do with it.
And finally, a glitch that could not be purposefully executed, but we all knew it would. The Kill Screen. Eventually, the supercomputer running our universe would overflow with information, and then... We all agreed not to talk about "then."
I hurriedly ran back to my dorm, pressed some buttons on my calculator, and realized something in horror.
The RAM was almost full. We had three days left until the Kill Screen.
I had fun writing this one, I hope you had fun reading it!
\- u/_EarthWyrm_
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[WP] Good News: You have a superpower! Bad News: Anyone with powers eventually becomes a monster based on their power, Leading to the worst news: There are no heroes and no villains, not anymore: this is the apocalypse.
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I duck under a partially collapsed roof as a shadow streaks by overhead. The flying ones can be some of the worst, depending on the power. Thankfully this seems to be a transformation type, insectoid by the looks of those chitinous wings and the fly-like eyes. Compound eyes may be a problem, but it also means that what they see isn't very high definition. Move very little and they probably won't notice you, especially around cover. I watch it disappear over the horizon before letting out a deep sigh. It's been eight months since the start of all of this. Every single human on earth was given a superhuman ability. These can range from telekinesis to the creation of miniature stars in the palm of your hand. The first news articles called it a 'miracle'. Even back then I wasn't buying it, and especially not after the first bodies started dropping. Turns out, giving criminals superpowers creates a lot more problems than a few heroes solves.
If that was the worst of it though, the planet might have survived. It's downfall can be traced back to one man: a suburban father from Boulder, Colorado named Ian Freely. It was found that his ability created minor mutations in other people's powers using his own blood. Seeing a get-rich-quick scheme he started selling as much of it as he could to anyone who would buy. How did anyone expect that to go any way but terribly? I mean just the immediate consequences alone would have stopped any rational person from doing something like that, but with such a wide array of people in the world, there was bound to be a combination that just went wrong. It happened in the worst way possible: someone who had no idea what their ability did hoped mutation would make it apparent, and the seemingly innocuous virus he was inadvertently spreading got a major boost. The first mutations started four months ago, the virus causing a loss of reason, and Ian's DNA adding mutations to anyone who caught it.
Most of the world is infected, and a lot of the people barely resemble humans anymore. Aside from a few people with a natural immunity to the virus, most survivors have been living in a few underground bunkers. The virus is airborne so anyone who was able to get to a filtered environment has been able to stay relatively safe. That is, until the food started to run out. My power makes me perfect for the task of gathering food: Since the Awakening, I no longer need to eat or breathe. Pretty sure it has something to do with photosynthesis sustaining me, but I could be wrong. I was not very high on the priority list for scientific studies before it all went to hell. Night is falling so I decide to make this house camp and start heading back in the morning.
Around 2 A.M. I am jolted awake by screaming in the distance. Grabbing my sniper rifle with night vision scope I scan the area nearby. Two bright dots catch my attention, one clearly chasing the other. The one being chased still looks human. Female, maybe thirties, I can't tell through the scope. As I watch she dives to the side as the other lunges to where she was standing a second ago. The action showed reason, is she an Immune? The other one is a lot larger and definitely no longer human. Covered in fur and sporting some wicked looking curved claws, looks like a wolf transformation this time. Not good, he might be able to smell me. Do I risk firing? If there were any bat-types nearby her scream would have already drawn them, I think I'm safe to take it out. One benefit of not having to breathe is the ability to keep a sniper rifle much more steady than the average human. Adjusting the angle takes me less than three seconds, and with one bullet planted between the eyes the wolf goes down.
The woman surprisingly does not look confused by her sudden turn of good luck. Instead she confidently strides to my location, hands up in a gesture of peace. Making me extremely wary is the fact that I didn't telegraph my position to her. Keeping my sidearm trained on her I tell her to hold, before realizing she already has. Precog type, that explains it; this could be a very profitable encounter for the group. "Thank you for the assistance" she calls out to me, "But could you have picked a closer spot? I had to run for a full twenty minutes to get here." Her voice sounds a bit hollow and I wonder just how many times she saw her own death before making it here. I try to open my mouth but before I can get a word out she says "And before you ask, I would be happy to join your bunker, but first I need a nap." I look on bemused as she walks over to my sleeping bag and climbs in. I guess I'm first watch. "And second." she says, before falling almost immediately asleep. I chuckle to myself and start scanning the area of the corpse for signs of scavengers. It's going to be a long night.
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I won't ever forget the day I woke up and realized I had extraordinary powers. I filled up the tea kettle and in transferring the kettle back to the stove, just thinking about turning the stove on made my hands glow red hot and melted the kettle. Apparently I wasn't the only one to wake up with new found power, or so the news said.
People had already began turning, as soon as the powers were recognized something inside of everyone starts ticking, blood pumping through all of their organs, until it happens. What happens is unique to each person, it has some semblance of the power you gained but takes a new form, some good, but a lot of them quite ugly.
No one is sure how long each person has until they morph into some extreme form of the person they think they are. Regular brain function goes out the window when the power starts flowing. Humans who used their powers for good can't control themselves any longer. My theory is the power exacerbates a problem within us all, whether it's a desire for power, to be recognized, or simply being a little insecure of ourselves. Unfortunately the good deeds can't hold back the flood gates of the monsters being created, and it's only a matter of time before all of us are consumed by what's inside.
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[WP] Good News: You have a superpower! Bad News: Anyone with powers eventually becomes a monster based on their power, Leading to the worst news: There are no heroes and no villains, not anymore: this is the apocalypse.
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It started not too long ago. People coming out with a whole arrangement of abilities. Some of it typical comic-book blockbuster stuff. Speed, strength, flight, commanding various elements, etc. That was enough to question people’s grasp on reality.
As time went on, more and more people gained these abilities, gradually becoming more diverse. I remember being told of Mindmelt, a villain who, strangely enough, could cause paranoia and visions so long as he outstretched his hands at you.
However as it started to create a sparkle in the eyes of children across the globe, it also stunned them.
The first recorded transformation was Cinder, who used to stun and awe crowds as they used blasts of fire to reduce and ‘resign’ the newer phenomena of monsters. As they were doing a casual drive through the city, the official recordings state a large blast.
“50ft radius incineration- many casualties- unofficially 20 but those remains were ash to the touch. In the middle stands before all of us, what looks to be a towering behemoth of fire, the same pure red of Cinder, and a wild, hungry, unfamiliar visage stands before us.”
The records state it took 10 hours to eliminate the threat.
People recognised what became of those who defended and fought back these monsters.
We stopped using names. No Gallavanter, Prismer, no Ice Queen. Not even John, Mary, Achmed, Xiao. We nearly stopped calling ourselves heroes. Just deterrents at this point.
I’ve always wondered what was in store for us. What is the end.
Sitting here at the epicentre of my field, utilising my ability to accelerate natural processes, I hear news that the other remaining, well, empowered individual, has finally been slain. A breathe of uncertain ease releases from me.
Then my radio cracks. And I feel it. The urge. No not an urge. An overwhelming wave of nausea. I can’t hold it in this time, so I scream. My crops explode from barely being stalks to being overgrown. But this time they keep growing. They aren’t stopping. Or decaying. As I battle the dirt for the strength to stand I realise my hands are ancient and wooden looking. And twice the size as usual. Eventually it spreads beyond my hands and I am taken over. My consciousness is..bein...b...
——————————————————————————
Heavily armed forces are migrating towards the last known location of the Farmer. As they approach the area around them quickly becomes thick jungle. The calm low prairies which used to hold vast acres of crops are now a thick arrangement of ancient trees and thickets. Some of the soldiers can nearly swear that the trees are grimacing at them. Some of them notice this just before a spire of vines grow beneath them. Some of them are doomed enough to survive first hit.
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I won't ever forget the day I woke up and realized I had extraordinary powers. I filled up the tea kettle and in transferring the kettle back to the stove, just thinking about turning the stove on made my hands glow red hot and melted the kettle. Apparently I wasn't the only one to wake up with new found power, or so the news said.
People had already began turning, as soon as the powers were recognized something inside of everyone starts ticking, blood pumping through all of their organs, until it happens. What happens is unique to each person, it has some semblance of the power you gained but takes a new form, some good, but a lot of them quite ugly.
No one is sure how long each person has until they morph into some extreme form of the person they think they are. Regular brain function goes out the window when the power starts flowing. Humans who used their powers for good can't control themselves any longer. My theory is the power exacerbates a problem within us all, whether it's a desire for power, to be recognized, or simply being a little insecure of ourselves. Unfortunately the good deeds can't hold back the flood gates of the monsters being created, and it's only a matter of time before all of us are consumed by what's inside.
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[WP] Good News: You have a superpower! Bad News: Anyone with powers eventually becomes a monster based on their power, Leading to the worst news: There are no heroes and no villains, not anymore: this is the apocalypse.
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There are no heroes. No villains. Just humans trying to survive.
The Black Coat shoved me with the butt of his rifle.
"Do your job, exxer. Your target is hiding in that cabin. Finish it before the Sun sets or we're halving your pay."
The Black Coat shook his head and walked back to his squad.
"Why do we even bother paying them," he muttered, "We'll be hunting her in a month. A year max. Exhumans are all the same."
I trudged up the old footpath. Untrimmed thistles enroached its edges and threatened to devour the path whole, just as brambles covered most of the decrepit building ahead. The cabin was dark, seemingly abandoned save for the giant concrete slabs laid blocking the door.
Pulling one arm back, I took a deep breath, gathered all my energy to my fist and smashed a hole through the slabs and into the cabin.
"Matt!", I called, "Sorry I think I broke your front door."
"Sarah. I should have known they'd send you. After all the years working together. All the better to kill me with right?"
In the center of the cabin, Matthew was hovering five feet off the ground. Around him danced chairs, plates and cups. Everything was hovering actually. Rubble debris floated in the corners, even the smashed concrete pieces outside were starting to rise.
Matthew saw me eyeing the room. "Sorry I would offer you a cuppa but-"
"You've gone Wild." I faced him now and I felt my teeth clench.
"And I've gone 100 miles away from civilization. You know I would never harm anyone.", Matthew said softly.
"I'm sorry Matt. We both know how it is.", I said, pulling one arm back. I took a deep breath, gathered all my energy to my fist and I felt myself slam into the ceiling of the cabin. I only had time to gasp as the air squeezed out of my lungs before I crashed back to the ground.
The ceiling of the cabin erupted into the sky. Dazed, I felt myself rise into the air again, weightless and powerless. In front of me, Matthew rose too until we both hovered above the cabin. Around us swirled a cacophony of household items and pieces from the cabin itself.
Flailing my limbs I tried to escape, to do something, anything.
Matthew sighed. "Wild...", he mused. "I remember the first time I flew. Like really flew. The first couple of years I could only get a few feet off the ground you know. Look at me now."
"Matt please. You can't run from this. We can't run from this." I stopped flailing and noticed the sad smile on Matthew's lips.
"The first time I flew, I saw the city crying for help. The destruction, the death, the hate. It was just a bunch of people in need of saving. From things like us. Ironic I know.", Matthew smirked. Slowly, Matthew started to hover toward me.
"Is that why you joined the Black Coats?", I replied. The only thing I could do now was talk.
"I guess I wanted to play hero. Or perhaps helping other people made me feel... human."
Matthew stopped right in front of me, his eyes glistening in the setting Sun. The storm of debris surrounding us eased into silence and we gradually descended back to the ground. Closing his eyes, Matthew embraced me.
"Oh Matt...", I whispered, as I wrapped my arms around him, "We are human." I took a deep breath and gathered all my energy to my arms.
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I won't ever forget the day I woke up and realized I had extraordinary powers. I filled up the tea kettle and in transferring the kettle back to the stove, just thinking about turning the stove on made my hands glow red hot and melted the kettle. Apparently I wasn't the only one to wake up with new found power, or so the news said.
People had already began turning, as soon as the powers were recognized something inside of everyone starts ticking, blood pumping through all of their organs, until it happens. What happens is unique to each person, it has some semblance of the power you gained but takes a new form, some good, but a lot of them quite ugly.
No one is sure how long each person has until they morph into some extreme form of the person they think they are. Regular brain function goes out the window when the power starts flowing. Humans who used their powers for good can't control themselves any longer. My theory is the power exacerbates a problem within us all, whether it's a desire for power, to be recognized, or simply being a little insecure of ourselves. Unfortunately the good deeds can't hold back the flood gates of the monsters being created, and it's only a matter of time before all of us are consumed by what's inside.
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[WP] Good News: You have a superpower! Bad News: Anyone with powers eventually becomes a monster based on their power, Leading to the worst news: There are no heroes and no villains, not anymore: this is the apocalypse.
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There are no heroes. No villains. Just humans trying to survive.
The Black Coat shoved me with the butt of his rifle.
"Do your job, exxer. Your target is hiding in that cabin. Finish it before the Sun sets or we're halving your pay."
The Black Coat shook his head and walked back to his squad.
"Why do we even bother paying them," he muttered, "We'll be hunting her in a month. A year max. Exhumans are all the same."
I trudged up the old footpath. Untrimmed thistles enroached its edges and threatened to devour the path whole, just as brambles covered most of the decrepit building ahead. The cabin was dark, seemingly abandoned save for the giant concrete slabs laid blocking the door.
Pulling one arm back, I took a deep breath, gathered all my energy to my fist and smashed a hole through the slabs and into the cabin.
"Matt!", I called, "Sorry I think I broke your front door."
"Sarah. I should have known they'd send you. After all the years working together. All the better to kill me with right?"
In the center of the cabin, Matthew was hovering five feet off the ground. Around him danced chairs, plates and cups. Everything was hovering actually. Rubble debris floated in the corners, even the smashed concrete pieces outside were starting to rise.
Matthew saw me eyeing the room. "Sorry I would offer you a cuppa but-"
"You've gone Wild." I faced him now and I felt my teeth clench.
"And I've gone 100 miles away from civilization. You know I would never harm anyone.", Matthew said softly.
"I'm sorry Matt. We both know how it is.", I said, pulling one arm back. I took a deep breath, gathered all my energy to my fist and I felt myself slam into the ceiling of the cabin. I only had time to gasp as the air squeezed out of my lungs before I crashed back to the ground.
The ceiling of the cabin erupted into the sky. Dazed, I felt myself rise into the air again, weightless and powerless. In front of me, Matthew rose too until we both hovered above the cabin. Around us swirled a cacophony of household items and pieces from the cabin itself.
Flailing my limbs I tried to escape, to do something, anything.
Matthew sighed. "Wild...", he mused. "I remember the first time I flew. Like really flew. The first couple of years I could only get a few feet off the ground you know. Look at me now."
"Matt please. You can't run from this. We can't run from this." I stopped flailing and noticed the sad smile on Matthew's lips.
"The first time I flew, I saw the city crying for help. The destruction, the death, the hate. It was just a bunch of people in need of saving. From things like us. Ironic I know.", Matthew smirked. Slowly, Matthew started to hover toward me.
"Is that why you joined the Black Coats?", I replied. The only thing I could do now was talk.
"I guess I wanted to play hero. Or perhaps helping other people made me feel... human."
Matthew stopped right in front of me, his eyes glistening in the setting Sun. The storm of debris surrounding us eased into silence and we gradually descended back to the ground. Closing his eyes, Matthew embraced me.
"Oh Matt...", I whispered, as I wrapped my arms around him, "We are human." I took a deep breath and gathered all my energy to my arms.
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I realize my superpower. It’s stopping time/super speed to the point that I perceive time as not moving.
At the beginning, I am in denial.
“No, this can’t be. I have to redeem myself. Make it so no one can see me as a monster. So I won’t BE a monster.”
So, I go out killing every monster I run into. Monsters going to people turning, those turning to people who have just developed their superpowers. I have the philosophy that they should die a hero, and not live long enough to become a villain. Eventually, people who are slightly different to society fall into my range.
Killing people left and right, society becomes more and more black and white. I am one of the only “heroes” in my general area, either that being city or state.
Eventually, I contemplate killing myself. But I cannot do it, since I am afraid of what the world would be like without me.
Eventually, everything I do is turned to a blind killing spree. People screaming for their mommy, their best friend, their son, begging for mercy, but it all sounds like excuses to me.
Once the city or state has reached the point that there are only ~95% people dead, I finally decide to take a good look at myself.
I see nothing, but a monster in the shell of a human. A confused and scared soul in a murderous frenzy. A hero turned villain. I won’t cry, I won’t even frown, or smile, or laugh. I have become a soulless being. No morals, through all of the deaths I have caused. I only now understand what the world would be like without me.
Compared to now, the world would be heaven.
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[WP] Good News: You have a superpower! Bad News: Anyone with powers eventually becomes a monster based on their power, Leading to the worst news: There are no heroes and no villains, not anymore: this is the apocalypse.
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I felt power coursing through my veins. I always knew I would someday. Mom and dad were bother heroes, back in the Good Old Days. My mom could control fire. I miss her. My dad? He's invincible. He can't be cut, or bruised, or poisoned. Nothing hurts him. I wish when mom lost control, she could have taken him with her.
I felt the power radiating through me. It felt warm. It felt right. I was scared I would end up like mom at first. But I slowly got a sense for what my power did. I reached down, and gently placed my hand on my sprained ankle. The relief was immediate. I was a healer! Healers were always some of the most powerful heroes in the Good Old Days. Maybe there was still hope. Maybe I could find some people who haven't lost control yet. Maybe the age of heroes wasn't over.
A few days later, one of my new allies was killed. A child with control over wind. My father was merciless. I ran over to the boy. no pulse, over a dozen of his bones broken. there would be no saving him if it were anyone but me. I touched him, saw his wounds slowly knit back together. he opened his eyes. they looked a little blank, but that was fine. I didn't need his mind, just his power. I guided him to suffocate my father. My father's body may be beyond harm, but he still needed to breath.
After my father collapsed, I waited a few minutes, my companion swaying listlessly. I went over to my father and tried to heal him. He stood up like the boy, blank but alive. With this power, i could stop the apocalypse. I could bring things back, even better than the Good Old Days. I smiled softly. My power would save this world. I would be unstoppable.
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I realize my superpower. It’s stopping time/super speed to the point that I perceive time as not moving.
At the beginning, I am in denial.
“No, this can’t be. I have to redeem myself. Make it so no one can see me as a monster. So I won’t BE a monster.”
So, I go out killing every monster I run into. Monsters going to people turning, those turning to people who have just developed their superpowers. I have the philosophy that they should die a hero, and not live long enough to become a villain. Eventually, people who are slightly different to society fall into my range.
Killing people left and right, society becomes more and more black and white. I am one of the only “heroes” in my general area, either that being city or state.
Eventually, I contemplate killing myself. But I cannot do it, since I am afraid of what the world would be like without me.
Eventually, everything I do is turned to a blind killing spree. People screaming for their mommy, their best friend, their son, begging for mercy, but it all sounds like excuses to me.
Once the city or state has reached the point that there are only ~95% people dead, I finally decide to take a good look at myself.
I see nothing, but a monster in the shell of a human. A confused and scared soul in a murderous frenzy. A hero turned villain. I won’t cry, I won’t even frown, or smile, or laugh. I have become a soulless being. No morals, through all of the deaths I have caused. I only now understand what the world would be like without me.
Compared to now, the world would be heaven.
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[WP] Before, the Mandela Effect was inconsequential. A few misremembered children's books, etc. But now, it's real and catastrophic, with a war nobody recalls fighting in; millions who believe a different person won the election; and physicists convinced that last week, you invented time travel.
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(This does not match the prompt uniformly but was definitely inspired by it, enjoy)
​
I wanted to believe what they were telling me was true. The room in which our conversation was currently being held was so brightly white that it slightly pained my eyes. The room was secluded from the rest of the establishment, and I imagine that is because this is where the important meetings are held. The three men sitting in front of me wore lab coats as white as the walls, and all three were bespectacled.
All this was strange in itself, but what they were explaining to me was far more confusing. They said, "Well, shall we get straight to the point?" and his eyeglass-wearing brothers nodded in agreement, "Okay. So, basically, we know that you created the science of time travel this past week, and we just want you to know that we are willing to do anything as long as you help us and the rest of the world with this breakthrough."
Like I said, I wanted to believe this, but I remembered last week and well, it did not involve any assembling of a time machine or any machine for that matter. I had no possession of any silver Deloreans, any blue public telephone boxes, or anything of the kind. What had I done last week? Well, other than checking in and out of work, nothing.
The scientists sat in front of me, and I believe right now they are babbling about reasons as to why I should tell them my "secret." I was in no way listening to them, I was far too deep in my own thought. I wanted to have an answer for these guys, and I also had a sense of needing to get out of this place. I decided that I will play casual for a while and ride out the predicament in front of me.
I couldn't even remember how I got here, and I was not sure if that was due to the Mandela effect or if my mind was far too busy for memory. The main scientist, a pudgy one with neat hair that was seated in the middle, continued on his long speech for science.
"...and that is why you should tell us, sir," the main scientist finished, looking hopefully at me, "do you reject our offer?"
I had no idea what he said. I decided to play cool, so I scratched my chin and grunted. "I think you should run through that one more time, I am not convinced yet."
So he did, and this time I paid full attention. He wanted me to tell them the secret so that they could conduct more heavy research on time periods that were impossible to conduct heavy research in. He wanted researchers to be able to travel to these times and make observations so we can better understand our world and maybe even the universe. There also just so happened to be a gargantuan amount of money promised to be under my possession if I gave them what they wanted.
After finishing his speech for the second time that day (though he had recited it to himself earlier in the day many times, making this more like the seventh time it was repeated) the main scientist displayed a warm, inviting smile.
I didn't immediately know how to react so I began stroking my chin once more. If I did tell them anything, then it would be hard to keep up the act, but I would also be a rich man. An incredibly famous one too, for being the man who tricked the world. These scientists would be remembered as the dopes believing such an inauspicious lie. The appeal behind that idea was maliciously tasty.
"But if the scientists knew you lied, then why would they give you the money?" I hear you asking. Well, the funny thing is they offered a down payment of three hundred thousand dollars. These three guys might really be the most dope of the dope.
So I held on to the act of stroking my chin for a minute longer, the three scientists shifting in their seats impatiently as they watched my every move. Finally, I decided to act.
"We have a deal," I said confidently.
The three scientists began laughing cheerfully as I offered my hand to close the deal. They did not move to shake my hand. I was quizzical of them for this did not seem like celebratory laughter but more like they were laughing at the joke. They looked at each other as if they knew this was going to happen, and I just held my hand out still, froze in confusion.
"Sorry, sorry sir. You are part of an experiment we are performing on the human mind and lies!" the main scientist boasted to me.
My hand fell as quickly as my feeling of ignoble success. In my debate over tricking these people into giving me several hundred thousand dollars, they had been prepared to disappoint me and crush my dreams. Though, I thought of what I had done. I had been ready to lie to men of science in order to steal money from them. I hoped they were happy with their newly gained data.
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The scientists stood around the room, staring at me expectantly. I look at the machine on the table in front of me. It's nothing remarkable, just a metallic wrist cuff, no wider than a cell phone. The room was eerily silent and it was starting to make me feel uncomfortable. Deep breaths, deep breaths, at least I'm not out in the riots.
Sighing, I finally pick the thing up causing more than one of the scientists to gasp. The thing was heavier that it looked like it would be, probably the weight of a bag of sugar. Turning it over I could see an intricate pattern on the bottom, which I assume is the circuitry. Carefully I place it back down onto the table.
"So how does it work exactly?" I asked to no one in particular. Causing a small mousey haired woman with glasses, the head physicist I guess, to step forward. "Well, you, um. You know," she smiled, "just do the same thing you did before," many of the others nodded to that.
"oh yeah, of course," I crouch down staring at it, thinking. The thing is I have no idea what it was. They dragged me in hear about 20 minutes ago, told me I invented time travel and now they were expecting me to just make it happen. I'm not even a damned scientist. At least as far as I remember. But, that has been happening to everyone nowadays.
Sighing once again I stand, rolling my left sleeve up. "here goes nothing," I say entirely to myself as I put the damned thing on my arm. Nothing happens. The room releases a collective breath as suddenly, it clasps tightly around my forearm. I claw at it with my other hand trying to get it off, when a beep starts to come from the thing. The scientists all take a step back muttering to one another as I still try to take it off. The beeping gets quicker. Screw it, I try to run to the door. I make three steps when all of a sudden a blinding white light flashs.
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[WP] Before, the Mandela Effect was inconsequential. A few misremembered children's books, etc. But now, it's real and catastrophic, with a war nobody recalls fighting in; millions who believe a different person won the election; and physicists convinced that last week, you invented time travel.
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**SCP-4254:**
**Class: Keter**
**Special Containment Procedures:**
SCP-4254 cannot be contained at the current time. Foundation efforts have instead focused on concealing the anomalous nature of SCP-4254, and documenting its current incongruity.
The public must not become aware that the incongruity associated with SCP-4254 spread at a rapid pace. A continuous misinformation campaign must be in place in order to convince the general public that the current incongruity has always been believed on some level.
This idea will be spread through a combination of Foundation-controlled social media accounts, doctored web pages made to look like years-old forum posts, and occasionally paid ads on conventional media.
The existence of a Mandela Effect must be perpetuated by the Foundation in order to explain the effects of SCP-4254. Releasing carefully doctored research in the scientific community, combined with previously mentioned misinformation techniques, has proven effective in maintaining this belief.
**Description:**
SCP-4254 is an anomalous, self-spreading, and evolving cognitohazard that embeds a false memory into public consciousness.
This false memory can spread through word of mouth, the internet, or any other communication channel. Once a person obtains knowledge of the false memory, there is a chance that they will become infected. They will then posess this false memory, and become a potential vector for the spread of SCP-4254.
Infection is not guaranteed. Those who are generally skeptical show a greater resistance to SCP-4254. For this reason, knowledge of the Mandela Effect acts as a partial inoculant for the spread of SCP-4254. In addition, false memories that are easy to believe are more likely to spread.
The exact epidemiology of SCP-4254 is currently unknown, however it appears that global infections implant a false memory in ██% of the human race approximately once per year. Between these events, several smaller outbreaks of SCP-4254 spread, but only infect around 1,000 individuals.
Only a small number of SCP-4254 outbreaks are viable enough to cause a wide scale infection. The reason for this is unknown, but it is likely that the most believable ideas have the best chance of causing a global outbreak.
**Addendum: High-profile outbreaks**
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False memory: Neil Armstrong's first words on the moon were "That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind."
Actual event: Due to limitations in technology, the original broadcast contained no audio.
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False memory: Existence of the movie The Matrix: Revolutions
Actual event: The movie was partially filmed, but never properly released.
*"I actually remember watching this one."* - Researcher █████
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False Memory: Apple CEO Tim Cook announcing the removal of the iPhone's headphone jack
Actual event: This fact was announced on Twitter 24 hours after Tim Cook's speech. The speech itself is largely considered uneventful.
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The scientists stood around the room, staring at me expectantly. I look at the machine on the table in front of me. It's nothing remarkable, just a metallic wrist cuff, no wider than a cell phone. The room was eerily silent and it was starting to make me feel uncomfortable. Deep breaths, deep breaths, at least I'm not out in the riots.
Sighing, I finally pick the thing up causing more than one of the scientists to gasp. The thing was heavier that it looked like it would be, probably the weight of a bag of sugar. Turning it over I could see an intricate pattern on the bottom, which I assume is the circuitry. Carefully I place it back down onto the table.
"So how does it work exactly?" I asked to no one in particular. Causing a small mousey haired woman with glasses, the head physicist I guess, to step forward. "Well, you, um. You know," she smiled, "just do the same thing you did before," many of the others nodded to that.
"oh yeah, of course," I crouch down staring at it, thinking. The thing is I have no idea what it was. They dragged me in hear about 20 minutes ago, told me I invented time travel and now they were expecting me to just make it happen. I'm not even a damned scientist. At least as far as I remember. But, that has been happening to everyone nowadays.
Sighing once again I stand, rolling my left sleeve up. "here goes nothing," I say entirely to myself as I put the damned thing on my arm. Nothing happens. The room releases a collective breath as suddenly, it clasps tightly around my forearm. I claw at it with my other hand trying to get it off, when a beep starts to come from the thing. The scientists all take a step back muttering to one another as I still try to take it off. The beeping gets quicker. Screw it, I try to run to the door. I make three steps when all of a sudden a blinding white light flashs.
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[WP] You've always dreamed of being the hero in a fantasy world that saves the land and lives happily ever after. But after unexpectedly finding yourself in such a world, and as time goes on, you suspect that you're slowly being set up to become the evil Demon King instead.
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My body seemed light as I woke to find myself sprawled upon a bed of dark lilies. Slowly rising to my feet, I took in my surroundings. It felt like another dream. It had to have been another dream. Far above me was a blood-red moon, the kind you'd see during a forest fire. But I smelled no smoke. In fact, the air was crisp and cool.
There was almost too much detail for it to be a dream. Though my mind was at peace, adrenaline flowed through my veins. I bobbed through the meadow at a nice pace, dancing through the long grass. In the waking world, my body was far too weak to move without the assistance of a cane. And yet here I was, moving so freely.
No, despite how far-fetched it seemed, there was no doubt that this fantastic reality *was* the waking world. I was, after all, awake. And fully cognizant of my actions. And it seemed to me that there was no plot to follow, no absurdly unrealistic event, no familiar places twisted by my ailing mind. This was a world unique to itself, and it felt amazing to frolic through it.
I found myself soon following a path that wound its way through some trees and up a small hill. It felt so good just to move. I was running at a brisk pace by the time I happened upon my first human interaction in this world; A wagon carrying a group of startled teenagers and children had been stopped in the middle of the road.
At the front of the wagon, standing a good twenty paces from the horse drawing it, was a feeble older man. He held out a staff, which he swung nervously at three bare skeletons who stood before him. They carried rusty, chipped weapons, but it was enough to make the old man quiver in fear.
This was my moment. This was what I had dreamed of. For whatever reason, seeing the skeletons filled me with fire. I had a desire to dominate them. To tame them. To send them scurrying away. And I had an even deeper desire to impress the humans. To show them that I was the hero they had long-awaited to stop the skeletons.
For my first encounter in this world, it wasn't a bad thought. I was armed with nothing. In fact, I was naked. And yet all seemed to stand still as I galloped up past the old man to stand between them.
Instantly, the skeletons dropped to one knee. In retrospect, it was out of recognition of my authority. But to me, at the time, they were surrendering before my might.
"Begone!" I shouted in a voice much deeper than my normal human tones. "Or I shall crack your bones like eggs and feed the marrow to the worms!"
With that, they fled. There was no hesitation. They jumped to their feet, turned around, and ran. My first heroic act. I turned to greet that grateful humans, but to my surprise, they too were cowering.
"What do you fear?" I demanded. Perhaps the tone in my voice was a bit cruel, because the old man yelped a bit.
"I-I am taking the kids to a f-festival in t-t-town." He was clutching the staff close to his body now, much like how a child would cling to a mother's leg. "The sk-sk-skeletons assailed us. W-we didn't mean to trespass."
I shook my head "You've done no wrong. Take me to this village, let me celebrate your safe arrival."
The man nodded. And so I joined him at the front of the wagon. Something deep within me itched sitting next to the feeble group. It felt like I was a teenager sitting next to a pretty girl. Something within wanted to act, but didn't.
The ride was uneventful. It couldn't have been longer than fifteen minutes. The road was quiet, with not even the call of an owl that would normally grace a night like this. But as soon as the lights of the village came in view, the driver drew the wagon to a halt.
"I'm afraid this is as far as we can take you." Though he didn't stutter, there was still fear in his voice. The skeletons must have really shaken him up.
I was about to protest, but remembering my nakedness, I agreed. The village wasn't too far away now. When I asked to borrow some clothes, the man quickly agreed.
There wasn't much for me in the wagon. Just a pair of trousers and a cloak to keep the chill off my back. He practically dropped them at my feet before cracking the reigns and taking off much quicker than we had been traveling earlier. It wasn't much of a 'thank you' for dealing with the skeletons for them.
But I brushed it off. This was a village. If there was some great quest, it would start here. Maybe I could rescue the elder's daughter, or slay a corp-burning dragon. This was a fantasy world where skeletons, and therefore evil, trembled before me. I was a hero.
But I certainly didn't feel like one. Walking into the village, people turned to avoid me. I could hear music coming from around a bonfire, but it quickly died out as I came in view. Children stared as if I were some fascinating creature. Dogs snarled, babies cried, and the crowd parted as I walked towards the center of the bonfire.
At the center was a small brick pedestal. An older man stood atop it, perhaps the elder of the village. I slowly approached, conscious of the crowd's reaction. Conversation was hushed, and any laughter ceased immediately.
"I have come to this village." I told the mayor boldly. "Who here is suffering?" It was the quickest way to get to the point. Who here needed help? Who here was in need of assistance? Who here was suffering?
"Please..." He croaked. "We are but a small hamlet. There is no cause for you to visit us here."
I shook my head. "No matter how big or small, everybody should be given a chance." I wasn't going to overlook the needs of the common folk just because they were common. "Once I'm done here, I'll go to a city and see what they have in store for me there."
"Not if I have anything to say about it!" The crowd gasped. I turned to see a fragile watchman standing behind me. He carried a sword and a round metal shield. But why challenge me here?
"You seek to challenge me, perhaps to prove my strength?" It would make sense if this village's guardian wanted to prove that I had what it took to protect them.
Though I was unarmed, the man charged at me anyways. He appeared strong, but as mentioned earlier, he was fragile. I had to restrain myself to keep from hurting him, and even then...
His first move was a shield bash. He smacked me directly in the chest with his shield, but I stood unwavering. Then he swung his sword, which I caught between two fingers. The weak shield bash gave me great faith in this body's - my body's - otherworldly strength. And the attack with the sword was so delicate, so slow. I couldn't help myself.
"Why do you challenge me?" I repeated my earlier question, pulling the sword out of his grasp like a straw from a baby's hand.
"You threatened my village!" He swore as he jumped back. Then, to my surprise, he braced himself behind his shield and charged me again. This time the blow had enough power to move me back a few inches. He drew himself back to ready another bash, but I blocked it with an outstretched fist. The shield shattered like a mirror, and I used the opportunity to grab his wrist.
He didn't stop there, however. With his free hand he stepped forward and began beating on my chest. I'd be a liar if I said the attacks didn't begin to hurt after a while. But it was more of a light bruising than anything else. I spoke to him all the while.
"Threaten your village? No! I'm here to help your village!"
This slowed him down. At least, he moved slower than he had been moving already. But something about him in this state, his hesitation, it filled me with a rage. He seemed so vulnerable. I pulled him in by the wrist, then let go. I brought up a knee as he came in close, hitting him right in the stomach. He dropped to the ground, cutting his hands on the shards of the broken metal shield.
"But why?!" The village elder demanded. "Why would you help our village?!"
This was starting to become annoying. "Why else would I be here?!"
The elder wasted no time in replying. Though his body seemed fragile, more so than the guard's, his tongue was sharp. "An unnaturally strong being visits our village on the day we celebrate the sealing of the ancient death monger, the Demon King. You have come to ready our people for destruction!"
No. They were wrong.
"Very well." I said. "Point me towards the evil of this land. I will show you, I am the hero."
This time, there was pause. And then, somewhere close to the outskirts, a scream. Though it seemed only I heard it. Before I could act, however, more screams erupted through the village. It was loud enough now that the crowd could hear them. If they hadn't been afraid before, they were afraid now.
Far above even the flames of the bonfire flew dark creature. Fallen angels seeking their master. They swooped in, slicing heads from shoulders with delicate ease. But as their final swoop brought them within range of the bonfire, they landed.
Two fallen angels. Though only one of them bowed. The other remained standing.
"So, this is the one." He said, tossing a lock of silver hair over his shoulder. "The one we should fear?"
In retrospect, this was a reverent fear. A respect. But I took it to mean they feared the hero within. And so, without waiting for a response from the other, I charged. The angel had no time to dart to either side. Rather, he attempted to fly back. But as I pushed off one beefy leg into the air, my pounce was too powerful to be avoided. The first thing that made contact with him was my open hand, which grabbed his head and smashed it into the ground as we tumbled in the dirt. It was over before it even started.
And yet even this wasn't enough.
The other angel remained bowing. "Master, please forgive my brother's insolence. I will not be so disrespectful."
The other angel rose. "And neither should these *mortals*." She spake the word with the utmost disgust. "Fall to your knees! The demon king stands before you!"
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Visit /r/WritingsOfLumbaxter for more
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It's been a busy couple of months so far but i think it's fair to say now that maybe i've been set up
Ever since i came here i have done nothing but be helpful, i've saved some villagers and they kindly said "he has the infamous black hair.... could it be?" i'm glad that my hair is famous, it's my trademark
People in this world either have brown hair or literally anything that isn't black, and demons are bald, as far as i can tell, maybe, i think
Well that's besides the point, what's really important is the army surrounding me
"you have fooled around for far too long, demon" a knight with golden armor and shiny aura that you'd mistake for a lightbulb if you looked at it from a distance, it hurts my eyes to look at this guy
"I thought we were friends, mark" i was honestly disheartened, me and mark were supposed to be lifelong sworn brothers
"listen here, you killed countless people in the name of some fucked up justice, sure they did bad things but you killed a bandit that was making a living by stealing apples, APPLES, that was all he took and you killed him mercilessly with that hellish blade of yours, i don't even think he hurt anyone, and my name isn't mark, it's Marcius De Von Kaiser" he sounded disgusted with me as he recalled a horrifying encounter, at least that's what i can tell
"Whatever you say Mark, and i needed the EXP from that level 4 bandit, he was a mob" i was dejected that i'd have to fight my sworn brother, he was one of the first people i met and has protected me dutifully until now, he had a strong sense of justice and a nice backstory
"You claimed to be the hero, you possessed power worthy of being an otherworlder and have fought against danger again and again, i cannot deny that, after all, even i can't defeat a dragon but you did, in a party alongside me and others but that is another matter, you shall pay for your crimes, i hate people like you the most, ones trying to act all kind and chivalrous but are corrupt and evil to the extreme, you fooled me for the last time" he strengthened the grip on his blade as he took a stance
"wait, is this about the time i burnt a village or about that forest? i told you i thought it was fake hostages in that village and it was okay to burn the forest entirely, i gained ten levels from that" i tried defending myself but it only seemed to anger Mark, he charged at me on his own while the army prepared to fight against me
I'm a good person i swear, so why am i getting attacked?
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[WP] You've always dreamed of being the hero in a fantasy world that saves the land and lives happily ever after. But after unexpectedly finding yourself in such a world, and as time goes on, you suspect that you're slowly being set up to become the evil Demon King instead.
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My body was heavy. The adrenaline was wearing off. I wanted to remain standing, to celebrate my victory over the Lich King. But my legs wouldn't move fast enough to stop my falling body. My sword wasn't light enough to lift above my head as a rallying cry. Every breath I took, the piece of breastplate drove deeper into my ribs. When I fell, they broke through. I was choking. On something. Probably blood. But even through that, my screams cut through.
*"Is this death? Is this what death feels like?"* I thought. Your body refusing to move when you wanted it to. The invisible force of gravity suddenly becoming too real. Just moments ago, I had killed the Lich King. I had slashed my sword into his shoulder, then used all of my strength to push it down through his body. He screamed, and stumbled backwards. When he stumbled onto his back, did he think the same things I was thinking then?
The armor I wore, the sword I wielded, the shield I lifted were all magical gifts from great mages, who trusted in my power to achieve victory over the Lich King. This was not victory. Victory is marrying the peasant girl he promised to go back for. Victory is an estate and a plot of land. Victory is a holiday, a memorium built for me to celebrate saving thousands-no, *millions* of lives.
I don't know why, but I was still alive. Not for much longer. Something in my body was failing. But through sheer will, it seemed my heart still pumped. I was lifting myself upward, counting every beat of my heart and every pound of my head.
"Lancer, the phylactery!"
Samuel. A wise warrior with me on this quest who held off undead hordes as I fought the Lich King. Seconds before then, I would have cheered at the sound of his voice. But instead, I found myself loathful of him. He was still living.
But yes. The phylactery. My sword, when it dug into the Lich King's body, destroyed his soul. Usually, his phylactery-which at that time was also the staff he used to cast spells-would create a new body for his soul to inhabit upon the death of his old one. If someone else had it, they could use the phylactery to become a lich themselves. Anyone could have the immortality and power of the Lich King.
Anyone.
Technically speaking, there is nothing inherently wrong with being a lich. This *particular* lich obtained his powers by doing objectively evil things-he slaughtered infants and collected their blood, harvested souls to destroy and empower his own, and slaughter his entire family. I did not do any of these things. Being able to create a new body and live forever...I would be an immortal hero, that could protect the kingdom forever. Not the kingdom. Everyone.
I dragged my body forward. The staff was on the ground, resting on the edge of a mud slope. It took everything I had to drag myself up that slope. Everything. My last breaths were to go up that slope. I stretched out my right arm, since my left arm was broken. As I lifted it up, I saw my comrades. I can imagine they thought I was going to break it with my last breath.
Fools. Morons. Idiots. Why would I die for this? Why would I die knowing that everything I fought for would be lost?
I gripped the phylactery. I inhaled deeply. The spike of metal drove into my chest further. It mattered none. My hand glowed with magical power, a power I'm sure my comrades thought I was using to destroy the staff. My vision was so blurry that I could barely see it. My heart stopped beating. One last time, my body let out its breath. With it, my soul. I dropped the staff, now glowing with green flames. Seconds passed. For these seconds, I saw nothing. Blackness. Oblivion.
But then I felt something. I felt my hand grip something tightly. And soon, I saw something. I saw my own arm-my *new* arm-gripping the phylactery. I drew in a breath of fresh air. No pain. No fleeting pumping of the heart. No pounding in my head. My new body, though grey and undead, was just as strong as my old one.
"The Lich King!" Shouted one of my comrades. It was Samuel again, my others getting ready for a fight.
I stood up with my new, naked body. I looked down at it and smiled. It was done. I was immortal. I said to them in a booming, magic-infused voice, "No!" I laughed, "It's me. It's Lancer."
I looked to my left. And there I was. My body, still warm. My own glazed, dead eyes stared back at me. Literally seconds before, I had died. If not for grabbing that staff, I would be in oblivion forever. But seeing my own dead body, it riled something inside me.
I destroyed it. It didn't take energy. I stretched out my hand, wished for it to be destroyed, and green flames turned it to dust in seconds. This is the power of a Lich, combined with my own. No effort with spells. No strain, just action.
I picked up my sword. Only I can, as anyone else trying to wield my sword would have their soul eradicated. When I gripped it, the old silver shine it had was replaced by a new, green one. The magical armor and shield my old body had faded away, and appeared on my new one. This time, black and green, and good as new. In one hand, I held a sword with the power to obliterate souls. In the other, I held a shield that could nullify magic, and a staff more powerful than the most powerful wands in the land.
"Lancer!" Cried Samuel, "Please, come back to us!"
I laughed, "Don't you see, Samuel? I am back."
I took another breath. I hadn't noticed it before, but I didn't need to breath. I just lived. I had even forgotten to do it while I was looking at my body. But breathing still felt good. Breathing uninterrupted. Breathing that would never be interrupted again.
"Now I can protect the land...forever."
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It's been a busy couple of months so far but i think it's fair to say now that maybe i've been set up
Ever since i came here i have done nothing but be helpful, i've saved some villagers and they kindly said "he has the infamous black hair.... could it be?" i'm glad that my hair is famous, it's my trademark
People in this world either have brown hair or literally anything that isn't black, and demons are bald, as far as i can tell, maybe, i think
Well that's besides the point, what's really important is the army surrounding me
"you have fooled around for far too long, demon" a knight with golden armor and shiny aura that you'd mistake for a lightbulb if you looked at it from a distance, it hurts my eyes to look at this guy
"I thought we were friends, mark" i was honestly disheartened, me and mark were supposed to be lifelong sworn brothers
"listen here, you killed countless people in the name of some fucked up justice, sure they did bad things but you killed a bandit that was making a living by stealing apples, APPLES, that was all he took and you killed him mercilessly with that hellish blade of yours, i don't even think he hurt anyone, and my name isn't mark, it's Marcius De Von Kaiser" he sounded disgusted with me as he recalled a horrifying encounter, at least that's what i can tell
"Whatever you say Mark, and i needed the EXP from that level 4 bandit, he was a mob" i was dejected that i'd have to fight my sworn brother, he was one of the first people i met and has protected me dutifully until now, he had a strong sense of justice and a nice backstory
"You claimed to be the hero, you possessed power worthy of being an otherworlder and have fought against danger again and again, i cannot deny that, after all, even i can't defeat a dragon but you did, in a party alongside me and others but that is another matter, you shall pay for your crimes, i hate people like you the most, ones trying to act all kind and chivalrous but are corrupt and evil to the extreme, you fooled me for the last time" he strengthened the grip on his blade as he took a stance
"wait, is this about the time i burnt a village or about that forest? i told you i thought it was fake hostages in that village and it was okay to burn the forest entirely, i gained ten levels from that" i tried defending myself but it only seemed to anger Mark, he charged at me on his own while the army prepared to fight against me
I'm a good person i swear, so why am i getting attacked?
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[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
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The Liren were a proud people and Frongile was no exception. As the leader of their military forces, his journey had carried him across the galaxies many times over. Their strategy was always the same with the young planets, send in an overwhelming force and annihilate an area of high density with their power charger. Take over the inhabitants and utilize their resources.
It was important for the attack to be swift and as targeted as possible as the Liren needed resources to fuel the wars to come and keep the older more civilized species at bay from their territory. The power charger took a day to recharge but these young planets didn’t know this so they always threatened the next largest city after the strike to quell any uprising. They rarely had to worry about challenges from any group in the five centuries he had been in command, their reputation was so unblemished, but it was always good to remain cautious.
The planet that the species called humans inhabited was below him. He couldn’t help but feel a quell of excitement. The planet was rich in resources and their scouts found it to be a prosperous and varied landscape. The species on the planet weren’t particularly remarkable but several of the crew members on the ship had collected some specimen for their own curiosity as this was the first group they had encountered that had created a network the Liren could tap for all their battle plan needs. All had managed to die but one, apparently they had a need for a very specific mixture of chemicals to breathe.
Frongile looked to his second in command Refein and frowned at the tiny human by his side. “Please put your pet away, we are about to commence”. Refein bristled his sensors at him, their long tendrils falling protectively over the shoulders of the human, “I told her she could watch! She is very well respected on her planet, she is a leader of nations! We can use her to assimilate the species after the strike.”
Frongile sighed slicking his sensors into place with his delicate muscled pads and turned to tower over the room, “Tokyo attack commence” he commanded, letting his command sync directly with every Liren of the assault team, from the highest officer to the lowest crew member. It was his way of inciting loyalty to the mission.
———-
10 minutes. In 10 minutes the world had changed. Each group of leaders from every country stood in absolute devastation watching the screens of their various intelligence systems reveal the red smoldering ruin of Tokyo and the hundreds of ships filling the air around the city. Tangible fear wrecked havoc on the world as people flocked to their homes and families in droves, their entire bodies shaking.
A broadcast was being filtered through every sound system with the same message in various languages, “Surrender. Planet is ours. Resources is you will harvest and move now. Fight not. We will make you not live if do.” Based on the linguistics many surmised the invaders were using some sort of translation system.
Slowly the leaders began to connect and talk of options, many pleaded for surrender but others argued for retribution. The US was in the middle of arguing for a tactical nuke when an aide and the Secretary of Defense could be seen whispering in his ear. “Excuse me, but I have just been informed one of the aides to the First Lady has sent a transmission from space. She is on the leader of the enemies ship. She says she has coordinates that would allow us to communicate with a species that is the enemy to the attackers. Please excuse me.”
———-
Debra didn’t know why she had been taken, she didn’t understand the things she’d seen, and she wasn’t any sort of leader as the large creature who had kept her in his company seemed to think. She’d watch with horror as a huge red flame erupted from the surface of earth. What she did know was the world of politics and how to be cut throat and she was aware, now more than ever was the time to take a risk. Her captor didn’t seem to fully grasp how Humans worked and so when she said that she needed to feed upon technology to survive he had taken her to a room of what he translated as, “useless old technology garbage.” It was here that she had furrowed around and when her captor grew bored as she rubbed weird tech across her skin feigning eating, he had left her in the room and locked the door.
Debra didn’t understand anything she was looking at and had begun to think all was lost when she fell across a weird object that resembled a cell phone and started toying around with it. Pushing into a weird gel like surface, the object morphed and enclosed on to her fist. Before she could scream in alarm a large image shot out from the object - projected into the air in front of her. It was a brilliant display of stars that churned and moved as if it was calibrating something.
“SPECIES- HOMO SAPIEN - SUBCATEGORY - ENGLISH”
Debra fell down in shock and her mouth hung open.
“ASSISTANCE REQUIRED?”
Stuttering at the strange whispering of the machine Debra rasply replied “yes”.
“WHAT ASSISTANCE IS NEEDED”
Looking around and seeing no interruptions, Debra with wild eyes and nothing to lose commanded in her calmest voice “Strategic edge against the aliens”.
“ANALYZING”
A few seconds passed as stars shot about the space in front of her and a soft whirring came from the gel on her hand.
“SPECIFICATION NEEDED- ALIENS APPEARS TO BE GENERAL TERM DESCRIBED BY HOMO SAPIENS AS BEINGS FROM OTHER PLANETS, NEED MORE INFORMATION.”
Debra, who already had been having the worst existential crisis of her life was tempted to shut down but given she wasn’t aware of the time she had and knew the stakes scrambled to think. “Strategic edge against the inhabitants of this ship besides my species?”
“AFFIRMATIVE. TRESLNG COULD PROVIDE DISTRACTION FOR LIREN SPECIES. NATURAL ENEMIES TO LIREN BUT CAN NOT SURVIVE IN ATMOSPHERE OF EARTH. COORDINATES AND COMMUNICATION CHANNEL CAN BE OPEN AND BROADCAST AS SPECIES HAS BEEN WAITING FOR OPPORTUNITY TO ATTACK LIREN SHIPS. WOULD NEED DISTRACTION SO LIREN DO NOT PREP SYSTEMS.”
Debra hesitated for a moment and then gulped, perhaps it was too good to be true but she had to try.
“Can you open a channel to speak with my friend Lauren Elizabeth Friedman on earth, Washington D.C.?
“AFFIRMATIVE.”
—————
Frongile walked with great boredom to and fro in the command room. He was more comfortable now that Refein had left his pet in a chamber to feed. He waited for the inevitable surrender and had left instructions for the primitive group to relay it when ready. He would give them approximately 1 hour earth time. To his surprise though the channel clicked and in the language of the species whose city they hit the following echoed out into the room, “We surrender. We ask that the emissaries of the invaders come to Earth so that we may offer a symbol of peace and hopeful cooperation for the safety of our people.”
Frongile was pleased. Everything was going according to the timeline it always followed. He could feel Refein move with a group to the ship dock, everyone knew their roles to play. They’d send their most powerful ships to earth and dock them now that the war was over and set up their transports like they always did before departing and leaving a force large enough to quell any sort of rebellion.
Within twenty human minutes the ships had departed and Frongile tested his massive figure on a large gel cube that he had forcibly taken from the weak species of the Treslng. They had a strange technology and engineering sense but Frongile couldn’t deny it was comfortable. Just as Frongile’s sensors had relaxed against the soft gel, he felt his ship rock violently and his sensors slash with pain. His people were dying! Jolting to the command system he searched the minds of his crew members seeing the flicker of one’s senses right before they faded, a large Treslng ship filled his mind and behind it, an entire fleet.
He quickly broadcast to Refein, “Evasive action needed, back up main fleet, return to star space.” Silence... and then a faint response “humans launched weaponry, we have Treslng ships on our retreat. We can not escape, we will damage as much as pos...”
————
Part 1
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The harsh buzz of warning alarms tore Caiphas from his sleep. The First Officer's voice crackled over the intercom "Battle Stations Priority Red". Throwing on his uniform as fast as he could, Caiphas made his way throuh the cacophony outside the quarters to Deck C, Gunnery room E1P. His co-gunner was already warming up the electro-plasma diffusers when he entered and took his seat.
"What is going on?", he asked Andareos.
"Capital class warp signatures"
"Signatures?! You mean more than one?!"
"The ankaris particle count is too high. It is hard to say how many, but at least five caps, who knows how many smaller vessels."
Five! Caiphas repeated to himself. The Vostroya was a mere Kain-Class Destroyer guarding a freshly terraformed world. There was no way they could repel one Capital ship, let alone five.
"Why aren't we pulling back"
"The Ankaris bubble is too large, the hyperdrive is spooling up but it doesn't look like we can run."
Nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide. Caiphas tried to lock up his thoughts and focus on manning the gun.
"EPD temperature optimal, tracking expected jump co-ordinates"
Andareos only grunted. (Since I am too late, please leave a reply if you would like me to continue)
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[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
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2456 :Loriar/Outer Colonies
The rigid smooth dark lines of the Excalibur class defence ship emerged from an explosion of cascading orange particles as its FTL drives were spun down and it re-emerged back into realspace near the human colony of Lorian.
The bridge was quiet; those who have served on the bridge of such a vessel would mark this as a strange occurrence, as the moment that a ship, any ship, let alone a military vessel emerged back into real space the bridge would become a hive of activity. With the ships positional bearings being called out to the helm and navigation, D.R.A.D.I.S contacts being listed out by Operations and finally the Captain, dispensing orders to be quickly carried out by a highly trained crew. Not this time.
Inside the bridge Condition-1 is in full effect, lighting dimmed, hardpoints are strengthened and armed officers are stationed at crucial locations. As the viewscreen polarised their hearts dropped. Lorian, the symbol to all citizens of the Terran Republic Of Planets that greatness could truly be achieved amidst the further reaches of space. Lorian was a dream manifest through generations of hard work to build a jewel in the stars, it was the furthest human colony from Earth, on the fringes of Terran territory, a hub of art, music, culture and science. The star of the Colonies, it was called. That star had been cruelly shattered. The towering Varl trees on the western subcontinent burned, flames visible from orbit, when not obscured by the smoke billowing into the atmosphere. The once magnificent city spires that scraped the clouds, now wrecked and torn amidst massive craters turned to glass by heat.
Of all the ships and crews in the Terran Defence Fleet, it was fate's cruel hand that this un-named excalibur class would be the first to arrive to Lorian, for she and her crew were by and large, Lorian. Designed in the Military Technical Academy in New London, her keel had been laid at the Lorian Mountain Forgeyards and her crew trained on the picket lines around Loriar. It was cruel leaving only left for a system shakedown run to return to burning graveyard of a hundred million souls.
The Perception of war is different among the races of the galaxy, of which there are many, it is treated not unlike a game, a parallel can be seen with our own history when looking at the kingdoms of Medieval Europe. Kings and States would vie for power, politically and militarily, when war was declared, commanders would maneuver, thrust and parry their forces to and fro, until they clash, in the field or at the gates of a city or castle,with loss of life being proportionally small. Yet the trouble with proportionally small is that if you scale far enough, one hundred million lives is very easy to reach.
This was humanity's first taste of this futuristic version of medieval war on a galactic scale, and as such to the other races, the loss of Lorian was seen as slightly heavy handed yet more akin to a senior hazing his junior, a condescending “what did you expect on the galactic stage, now be a good kid and give us this area of space”. The Valk Theocracy was the name of the civilisation that had attacked Loriar. This sort of attitude and act from them, through hindsight should have been predicted, they had made great gains utilizing this tactic against many civilisations that have not long passed through the great filter. They had waited for the opportune moment once the new Excalibur had left the system, they struck, their vanguard striking the orbital defence platforms, whilst landing shock troops to loot and sack the major cities, before glassing them with orbital bombardment.
A year had passed since the destruction of Loriar, humanity had tried to seek reparations and get the Valk penalised in the Galactic Quorum, tried to spend what little political currency it had earned there to impose sanctions. A handful of friendly and sympathetic races had endorsed this movement, yet it stalled out and died in the Quorum in a matter of weeks. There were no avenues of diplomacy left to pursue. Yet in the minds of most citizens the act of diplomacy was a smokescreen to buy time. While the diplomats spoke at the Quorum of injustice, and of peace, the vaults of the design academies were opened, the theoretical designs of advanced warships were sent to forgeyards, the new Excalibur class was re-designed,refitted and redesignated not as a defence ship, but a battleship. Within a week of the destruction of Loriar, 50 Excalibur class keels were being laid all around the terran territories. A few months later Humanity withdrew from Quorum after a declaration of War to the Valk Theocracy was met by stifled laughter from the Valk delegation.
2458: Valk Prime/ Core Valk Worlds
The rigid jagged silhouette of the Excalibur class warship emerged from FTL amidst a shower of orange particles on the hull of the ship, amidst the bristiling clusters of point defence, missile tubes and Railguns. Painted in gleaming white is the name of the ship, the T.R.S Retribution. A hundred more particle showers sprang into existence as a fleet entered the Valk Home system. Inside the bridge of the Retribution, it was Silent.
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The harsh buzz of warning alarms tore Caiphas from his sleep. The First Officer's voice crackled over the intercom "Battle Stations Priority Red". Throwing on his uniform as fast as he could, Caiphas made his way throuh the cacophony outside the quarters to Deck C, Gunnery room E1P. His co-gunner was already warming up the electro-plasma diffusers when he entered and took his seat.
"What is going on?", he asked Andareos.
"Capital class warp signatures"
"Signatures?! You mean more than one?!"
"The ankaris particle count is too high. It is hard to say how many, but at least five caps, who knows how many smaller vessels."
Five! Caiphas repeated to himself. The Vostroya was a mere Kain-Class Destroyer guarding a freshly terraformed world. There was no way they could repel one Capital ship, let alone five.
"Why aren't we pulling back"
"The Ankaris bubble is too large, the hyperdrive is spooling up but it doesn't look like we can run."
Nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide. Caiphas tried to lock up his thoughts and focus on manning the gun.
"EPD temperature optimal, tracking expected jump co-ordinates"
Andareos only grunted. (Since I am too late, please leave a reply if you would like me to continue)
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[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
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We never saw it coming.
A half-century ago, we attacked Earth, just to show we could.
We killed hundreds of millions, maybe billions.
They were just starting to colonize their small corner of the galaxy, and They were doing well.
They had a military, though primitive. They still used kinetic weapons for K'lonocs sake!
But, we still suffered casualties, we lost soldiers, armor, weapons, and ships.
Humanity had a fight to it we have never encountered before.
They were professionals, but we had technology.
We won, with only the loss of maybe 3,000 soldiers. To their 2.3 billion
We won, but at what cost now? Our planet, our empire, and me, the D'snack
We got a transmission, a couple hours ago. I can still hear it ringing in my slits.
"Retribution"
Then, they flooded out of the skys. Millions of them, all thirsty for revenge, taught to hate us. Taught how to kill us. Hardened by battles throughout the empire. We didn't stand a chance really. We never did. With the first plasma shot, we sealed our fate.
Computer?
"Yes D'snack?"
Launch this probe at the Kelions. With a message.
"What shall the message be?"
To avoid war with the humans.
*BANG*BANG*BANG*
Gunshots, as I recognize them
I hear it again. For the final time.
"Retribution"
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The harsh buzz of warning alarms tore Caiphas from his sleep. The First Officer's voice crackled over the intercom "Battle Stations Priority Red". Throwing on his uniform as fast as he could, Caiphas made his way throuh the cacophony outside the quarters to Deck C, Gunnery room E1P. His co-gunner was already warming up the electro-plasma diffusers when he entered and took his seat.
"What is going on?", he asked Andareos.
"Capital class warp signatures"
"Signatures?! You mean more than one?!"
"The ankaris particle count is too high. It is hard to say how many, but at least five caps, who knows how many smaller vessels."
Five! Caiphas repeated to himself. The Vostroya was a mere Kain-Class Destroyer guarding a freshly terraformed world. There was no way they could repel one Capital ship, let alone five.
"Why aren't we pulling back"
"The Ankaris bubble is too large, the hyperdrive is spooling up but it doesn't look like we can run."
Nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide. Caiphas tried to lock up his thoughts and focus on manning the gun.
"EPD temperature optimal, tracking expected jump co-ordinates"
Andareos only grunted. (Since I am too late, please leave a reply if you would like me to continue)
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[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
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The underbrush grows much too thick, sometimes. Naipaul kicks at it, his boot dispersing the low-climbing plants as though he had set them aflame. Our earthplants are funny things, Naipaul thinks. The sky above him streaks with Talons; he feels the importance of his job. But in the back of his mind he wonders whether it wouldn’t be better to just allow the Betahl claim everything. Organ harvestation couldn’t be too painful—*Besides, they will give us hot meals,* he thinks, chuckling to himself as he searches the ground for the steel trapdoor.
While he searches, a piercing ring resounds miles away, clattering into a Reduced explosion, and Naipaul hisses between his teeth. He kicks frantically in the fading light, and finally his boot clips something hard. *Finally.* He stoops and swipes at the trapdoor, its mechanical engine whirring at his human touch. *Robots are so sensual,* Pilot always says. They are after sex.
He places his palm against the smooth white metal, and it gives beneath his touch, bubbling and shifting. His hand plunges through, and he withdraws his arm, shaking it out. He takes a deep breath, praying that Pilot knew what he was talking about. Before he can take another breath he has placed both feet into the bubbling metal—they land on a rustic ladder two feet below the opening. Naipaul takes one more glance at the darkening sky—neon lights periodically pulsate at unfixed intervals, impending the Castration.
The name was once used to describe the surgical removal of male-genitalia, which—although it induces shudders in Naipaul’s frame—accurately parallels what the Betahl plan for Earth’s populace. In Earth’s undiscovered core there are Coins, small energy pockets invisible to the human eye. But the Betahl, in all their slimyfaced glory feed off the stuff. It yields itself to their machinery, and only theirs. Before now.
*They never thought we’d find a way.* Naipaul laughs as his feet land at the bottom of the ladder. His hands retrieve a glower from his pocket, the thin beams of yellow light illuminating the vicinity, blindingly at first. His eyes adjust. Finally free of the metallic tube, Naipaul can see that the chute diverts into six passageways, all drenched in blackness. He slides his hand into his pocket and retrieves a crumpled sheet of paper, upon which Pilot had scribbled hasty directions. The paper appears sweaty and disheveled, and Naipaul tucks his pocket cloth back inside his pants. *Sweaty legs, goddamnit. Hot legs.*Pilot thinks so too, but Naipaul doesn’t know that.
The directions lead him down the narrowest of the passageways. The glower warms Naipaul’s palm and he realizes that the rest of his body is growing cold. He enjoys it; ‘cold’ is a luxury Earth no longer provides its inhabitants. Since the first Castration, Earth has been unable to sustain low temperatures, her climate stably scorching. Now, Naipaul savors the coolness, allows it to coat his skin in a sheen of cold sweat. It also makes him realize how exposed he is to the world; his jeans are torn in several places, his shirt worn so thin around the biceps and shoulders that he could tear it with two fingers. *If Retribution works, there will be plenty of time for a costume change.* If it works.
Which Pilot has assured him it would. Repeatedly. A few hundred more paces, and Naipaul will be manning the one weapon the Betahls haven’t disarmed. *Yet.* Naipaul swipes dust from his eyes, frustrated. *Too many ‘yet’s,’ ‘and ifs,’ and ‘might’s.*’ *Not enough ‘will’s.’* But Retribution is the first *‘will,’* the first of many. It has to be.
Finally, Naipaul arrives at the stout diodic chamber Pilot described in minute detail, its pyramid shape distinct and imposing. *Nothing sexual about this one, eh?* What he sees is the pyramidic structure of the chamber: what Pilot has tried to explain is the intricate underground gridlock of veiny wires reaching deep into the Earth. Years of excavating, finished only recently. “Retribution.” It harvests the peripheral energy of the Coins, conveying and refracting them through the diodic chamber, releasing the energy into the atmosphere. *It’s a shield, Nainai,* Pilot had said, clapping him on the back, *they can’t get through it.*
Is it tested, Naipaul had asked, and Pilot had given him a small smile. *Of course not.* Of course it’s not tested, because how could they test it without exposing their developments to the Betahl? *Hope it works, Pilot.* And Pilot had slapped him on the back, grinning broadly, a slight chip in his left canine. *It won’t.*
Naipaul chuckles at the memory, and leans over the pyramid, its smallness worrisome. He tilts his head upward, sees the diffusion chutes like pinpricks in the rocky ceiling. *It’s just about releasing the energy—it’ll know where to go,* Pilot had theorized. Naipaul has his doubts, but he is not here to entertain his doubts. His mission is to activate Retribution.
The hairs on his arms rise, floating upward, and his head pounds. The Castration is imminent, and his hands shake for apprehension of the strike. But it doesn’t come. His breathing sounds seedy, and he is suddenly terrified for Pilot, who is no doubt sitting in Decker, glugging from some expired red wine and staring at the horizon. Waiting for something to happen.
Reality dawns on Naipaul: this isn’t going to work. And Pilot will die—then, quite possibly, Naipaul. *Or maybe I’ll die first, that seems more likely, when they see what I’ve done.* For the first time on this mission, Naipaul feels himself hesitate.
*You place your hand beside the conduction chute, like so—*Pilot lifted Naipaul’s compliant hand, making it stand vertical, and put his hand perpendicular—*you’ll need to warm it up, with motion, hey—shut up! You gotta warm it up—you know these machines. They are so sensual.* Pilot’s face was focused on the demonstration, but Naipaul couldn’t help but feel guilty. For letting him work so hard on something so ultimately futile.
Naipaul shoves memory aside and grabs onto the pyramid—it is somehow warm, despite the temperature around bordering on cryptlike. As Naipaul moves his hands over the pyramid, he feels it begin to give, to ply to his will. As it shifts like a new life, he is suddenly unafraid. Now, he finds himself—expectant.
The pyramid suddenly ripples and begins whirring, a thin, metallic sound. It makes Naipaul shiver, but he closes his eyes and folds his consciousness around those living circuits, breathes his thoughts into them. He pictures Pilot’s face, and the whirring speeds up, emblazoned by the floral fire in Naipaul’s stomach. In his mindsight Naipaul can see the mechanism shifting, deep within the earth. And suddenly, as though he has been accepted, he can see every inch of the hexagonal wires, descending endlessly into the earth.
It feels like Earth’s tattoo, conducting thin pulsations of Coin energy. It feels like rotation, a turning plane of dribbling sensation, echoing, calling to Naipaul. It feels—no, it is firework celebration, it is safeguard and vanguard and—*it is hope, goddamnit.* It warms to Naipaul’s gratitude, and rises, its own gratitude at being free swirling bluegreys behind Naipaul’s eyes. It is dizzying and magnificent.
*What are we called?* the Coins brand in smooth circles on Naipaul’s consciousness, *what will you have us be called, brother?* Pride soars in him, and he drunkenly laughs, the connection wavering with his erratic movement. *Retribution*, he thinks, and the Coins smile, knowing that only Naipaul can feel their satisfaction at such an epithet.
Explosive energy coils in the connection, unbearably potent. Naipaul screams, but the Coins are already releasing their energy into the pyramid: it slams against the walls of the conductor and siphons into the chute. When Naipaul opens his eyes, he can see the opalescent beams conveying themselves into the diffusion chutes; a geodic bridge, connecting present to future, and future to unknowable firmaments; to survival.
Naipaul disconnects from the diodic chamber, severing his connection with the Coins. But he knows they are still diffusing their energy into the atmosphere. He breathes in, holding his breath. For the first time since the Castration, he’s holding his breath in Hope.
|
The harsh buzz of warning alarms tore Caiphas from his sleep. The First Officer's voice crackled over the intercom "Battle Stations Priority Red". Throwing on his uniform as fast as he could, Caiphas made his way throuh the cacophony outside the quarters to Deck C, Gunnery room E1P. His co-gunner was already warming up the electro-plasma diffusers when he entered and took his seat.
"What is going on?", he asked Andareos.
"Capital class warp signatures"
"Signatures?! You mean more than one?!"
"The ankaris particle count is too high. It is hard to say how many, but at least five caps, who knows how many smaller vessels."
Five! Caiphas repeated to himself. The Vostroya was a mere Kain-Class Destroyer guarding a freshly terraformed world. There was no way they could repel one Capital ship, let alone five.
"Why aren't we pulling back"
"The Ankaris bubble is too large, the hyperdrive is spooling up but it doesn't look like we can run."
Nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide. Caiphas tried to lock up his thoughts and focus on manning the gun.
"EPD temperature optimal, tracking expected jump co-ordinates"
Andareos only grunted. (Since I am too late, please leave a reply if you would like me to continue)
|
|
[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
|
Nothing had prepared us for what was to come. After crawling for thousand of years on our little planet, we had finally learnt to sail freely inside our solar system. Mars was far from being a week-end trip but, if you were wealthy enough you could get there in 2 weeks. Climbing the Olympus Mons was the new Everest for thrill seekers. Visiting the old robots remnants of the pre-solar drift era you would meet historians or students from Elyseum’ schools. Life wasn’t easy on Mars by Earth standards. Nevertheless, starting with Elyseum, Martians were eager to transform Mars in a second home. Were.
​
One day, we stopped receiving messages. We redirected our automated telescopes from the Moon, Titan, Enceladus & Pluto but couldn’t see the lights of Elyseum in Mars shadow. When the sunlight finally hit where Elyseum used to stand, we could only see the sharp walls of a vast crater. The atmosphere was too clear for an asteroid impact. We couldn’t detect any traces of radioactivity. It wasn’t a nuclear accident. No terrorist group claimed it. Two hundred million souls had vanished in the Martian night.
​
The UN high command dispatched its closest cruiser orbiting in the Belt. Asteroid miners could wait for the protection of its railguns. Pirate attacks were rare. No asteroid was an immediate threat for the main mining stations. Life on Earth slowed down as the cruiser drifted to Mars. It completely stopped when the cruiser finally reached her destination one week later.
​
An indescribable form was standing in the middle of the crater. We were not alone. We were not alone and it was nothing close to the old pre-solar drift era science-fiction movies the that we all studied. A journalist attempted to describe it as an ant hill mixed with a ram’s horn. Thousands of objects were crawling in and out. As the cruiser was stabilising her orbit, we all realised that the alien vessel was far more colossal than any ship or structure from Earth.
​
Broadcasted in a thousand languages, some never heard in our part of the galaxy, we all heard their message:
“ We gracefully accept your surrender”.
​
We were not prepared to ear these words and all felt a indicible horror. An instant of eternity later, we all watched in shock and awe a flower as bright as a thousand suns blooming on the Alien vessel. The size of the Alien vessel was so considerable that we saw the nuclear mushroom painfully reaching half of the vessel height.
​
What had happened? We were never told. It couldn’t have been a direct order from the high command with the twenty four minute delay on Earth to Mars communication. Maybe an un-prepared gunman panicked. Maybe the captain took a decision in a split second that would seal our fate. We will never know. They were not expecting this answer and their survivors surrendered immediately.
​
I’d love to say that we humanly handled well our new prisoners. It wasn’t the case. Maybe, other civilization will call it the human way. Their attack had woken up something visceral in us. We were not alone. We were not alone and we had paid two hundred million souls to learn it. Two. Hundred. Millions. This wasn’t the time for tears. For the first time, humanity’s existence itself was jeopardised by a tangible threat. It took us months to establish a rudimentary level of communication but we learnt.
​
We learnt that we had been lucky. Our communication technology was too basic to be detected by their ships.
​
We learnt that our position in the Milky Way, far far away from the core of the galaxy, protected us from multiple conflicts won in an instant. We also discovered a complex geopolitical system between multiple civilisations.
​
We learnt that we had been very lucky. Earth was hidden behind the Sun when they detected intelligent life on Mars. Our solar drift made our ships invisible for their sensors. It was only when the cruiser started her deceleration burn that they were able to distinguish it from a simple rock.
​
We learnt that we were lucky on a galactic scale level. Interstellar space faring civilisations are rare. You see, on a standard planet, you can only extract a few grams of the core component of any interstellar propulsion system. They had detected a few metric tons of the universe most precious substance on Mars. They thought they could instantly win the war against a young martian colony. Now, thanks to them, we had both the technologies to extract the substance and use it to reach other solar systems.
​
They didn’t learn about humanity’s ingenuity by destroying Elyseum from space. We have already started to improve their technology using the excess of Mars resources. It might take us years to level the playing field. Humanity first interstellar vessel will be christened next year and will reach Proxima the week after. We will have ten more ships the year after. And ten times more the year after.
​
They will learn about humanity’s art of war.
They will learn too late about humanity methodic and reckless preparation.
This is not about honour, it is about sending a clear message.
We won’t need luck next time. We will learn. We will be prepared.
|
The harsh buzz of warning alarms tore Caiphas from his sleep. The First Officer's voice crackled over the intercom "Battle Stations Priority Red". Throwing on his uniform as fast as he could, Caiphas made his way throuh the cacophony outside the quarters to Deck C, Gunnery room E1P. His co-gunner was already warming up the electro-plasma diffusers when he entered and took his seat.
"What is going on?", he asked Andareos.
"Capital class warp signatures"
"Signatures?! You mean more than one?!"
"The ankaris particle count is too high. It is hard to say how many, but at least five caps, who knows how many smaller vessels."
Five! Caiphas repeated to himself. The Vostroya was a mere Kain-Class Destroyer guarding a freshly terraformed world. There was no way they could repel one Capital ship, let alone five.
"Why aren't we pulling back"
"The Ankaris bubble is too large, the hyperdrive is spooling up but it doesn't look like we can run."
Nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide. Caiphas tried to lock up his thoughts and focus on manning the gun.
"EPD temperature optimal, tracking expected jump co-ordinates"
Andareos only grunted. (Since I am too late, please leave a reply if you would like me to continue)
|
|
[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
|
We never saw it coming.
A half-century ago, we attacked Earth, just to show we could.
We killed hundreds of millions, maybe billions.
They were just starting to colonize their small corner of the galaxy, and They were doing well.
They had a military, though primitive. They still used kinetic weapons for K'lonocs sake!
But, we still suffered casualties, we lost soldiers, armor, weapons, and ships.
Humanity had a fight to it we have never encountered before.
They were professionals, but we had technology.
We won, with only the loss of maybe 3,000 soldiers. To their 2.3 billion
We won, but at what cost now? Our planet, our empire, and me, the D'snack
We got a transmission, a couple hours ago. I can still hear it ringing in my slits.
"Retribution"
Then, they flooded out of the skys. Millions of them, all thirsty for revenge, taught to hate us. Taught how to kill us. Hardened by battles throughout the empire. We didn't stand a chance really. We never did. With the first plasma shot, we sealed our fate.
Computer?
"Yes D'snack?"
Launch this probe at the Kelions. With a message.
"What shall the message be?"
To avoid war with the humans.
*BANG*BANG*BANG*
Gunshots, as I recognize them
I hear it again. For the final time.
"Retribution"
|
A sucker punch. Basically, nothing more than a sucker punch. A school yard bully, waiting for the right moment to hit a fellow student when they least expected it. To be fair, it was a hard blow. But it wasn't the knockout shot the Or'eli expected.
Deuce pondered the best way to deal with bullies. As a child growing up in the remnants of the copper mines on Anteros, everyday was a fight. His father taught him strike hard, strike fast, but most importantly, strike harder than the other guy.
"Captain," Deuce heard the voice through his neural link, "Main cannon is warmed up and cycled. Gunner's Mates are showing round chambered, ready to fire on your command."
Deuce pondered for the briefest of seconds on the alien life forms that were about to be decimated by the k-slug. A veritable planet killer. The Or'eli didn't think about the picket fleet. Didn't pursue the air wing carrier, two heavy bombardment cruisers, or the three destroyers on the line.
*Just like a school yard bully. Dumb*
If they weren't smart enough to protect themselves from the inevitable retaliation, then they needed to be taught a lesson. Like any bully.
*Fuck the lot of 'em* Deuce thought to himself.
"Acknowledged, Guns. Target identify, lock, and fire."
The ship shuddered as the round blazed twoards it's mark.
*Fuck the lot of 'em*
|
|
[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
|
The underbrush grows much too thick, sometimes. Naipaul kicks at it, his boot dispersing the low-climbing plants as though he had set them aflame. Our earthplants are funny things, Naipaul thinks. The sky above him streaks with Talons; he feels the importance of his job. But in the back of his mind he wonders whether it wouldn’t be better to just allow the Betahl claim everything. Organ harvestation couldn’t be too painful—*Besides, they will give us hot meals,* he thinks, chuckling to himself as he searches the ground for the steel trapdoor.
While he searches, a piercing ring resounds miles away, clattering into a Reduced explosion, and Naipaul hisses between his teeth. He kicks frantically in the fading light, and finally his boot clips something hard. *Finally.* He stoops and swipes at the trapdoor, its mechanical engine whirring at his human touch. *Robots are so sensual,* Pilot always says. They are after sex.
He places his palm against the smooth white metal, and it gives beneath his touch, bubbling and shifting. His hand plunges through, and he withdraws his arm, shaking it out. He takes a deep breath, praying that Pilot knew what he was talking about. Before he can take another breath he has placed both feet into the bubbling metal—they land on a rustic ladder two feet below the opening. Naipaul takes one more glance at the darkening sky—neon lights periodically pulsate at unfixed intervals, impending the Castration.
The name was once used to describe the surgical removal of male-genitalia, which—although it induces shudders in Naipaul’s frame—accurately parallels what the Betahl plan for Earth’s populace. In Earth’s undiscovered core there are Coins, small energy pockets invisible to the human eye. But the Betahl, in all their slimyfaced glory feed off the stuff. It yields itself to their machinery, and only theirs. Before now.
*They never thought we’d find a way.* Naipaul laughs as his feet land at the bottom of the ladder. His hands retrieve a glower from his pocket, the thin beams of yellow light illuminating the vicinity, blindingly at first. His eyes adjust. Finally free of the metallic tube, Naipaul can see that the chute diverts into six passageways, all drenched in blackness. He slides his hand into his pocket and retrieves a crumpled sheet of paper, upon which Pilot had scribbled hasty directions. The paper appears sweaty and disheveled, and Naipaul tucks his pocket cloth back inside his pants. *Sweaty legs, goddamnit. Hot legs.*Pilot thinks so too, but Naipaul doesn’t know that.
The directions lead him down the narrowest of the passageways. The glower warms Naipaul’s palm and he realizes that the rest of his body is growing cold. He enjoys it; ‘cold’ is a luxury Earth no longer provides its inhabitants. Since the first Castration, Earth has been unable to sustain low temperatures, her climate stably scorching. Now, Naipaul savors the coolness, allows it to coat his skin in a sheen of cold sweat. It also makes him realize how exposed he is to the world; his jeans are torn in several places, his shirt worn so thin around the biceps and shoulders that he could tear it with two fingers. *If Retribution works, there will be plenty of time for a costume change.* If it works.
Which Pilot has assured him it would. Repeatedly. A few hundred more paces, and Naipaul will be manning the one weapon the Betahls haven’t disarmed. *Yet.* Naipaul swipes dust from his eyes, frustrated. *Too many ‘yet’s,’ ‘and ifs,’ and ‘might’s.*’ *Not enough ‘will’s.’* But Retribution is the first *‘will,’* the first of many. It has to be.
Finally, Naipaul arrives at the stout diodic chamber Pilot described in minute detail, its pyramid shape distinct and imposing. *Nothing sexual about this one, eh?* What he sees is the pyramidic structure of the chamber: what Pilot has tried to explain is the intricate underground gridlock of veiny wires reaching deep into the Earth. Years of excavating, finished only recently. “Retribution.” It harvests the peripheral energy of the Coins, conveying and refracting them through the diodic chamber, releasing the energy into the atmosphere. *It’s a shield, Nainai,* Pilot had said, clapping him on the back, *they can’t get through it.*
Is it tested, Naipaul had asked, and Pilot had given him a small smile. *Of course not.* Of course it’s not tested, because how could they test it without exposing their developments to the Betahl? *Hope it works, Pilot.* And Pilot had slapped him on the back, grinning broadly, a slight chip in his left canine. *It won’t.*
Naipaul chuckles at the memory, and leans over the pyramid, its smallness worrisome. He tilts his head upward, sees the diffusion chutes like pinpricks in the rocky ceiling. *It’s just about releasing the energy—it’ll know where to go,* Pilot had theorized. Naipaul has his doubts, but he is not here to entertain his doubts. His mission is to activate Retribution.
The hairs on his arms rise, floating upward, and his head pounds. The Castration is imminent, and his hands shake for apprehension of the strike. But it doesn’t come. His breathing sounds seedy, and he is suddenly terrified for Pilot, who is no doubt sitting in Decker, glugging from some expired red wine and staring at the horizon. Waiting for something to happen.
Reality dawns on Naipaul: this isn’t going to work. And Pilot will die—then, quite possibly, Naipaul. *Or maybe I’ll die first, that seems more likely, when they see what I’ve done.* For the first time on this mission, Naipaul feels himself hesitate.
*You place your hand beside the conduction chute, like so—*Pilot lifted Naipaul’s compliant hand, making it stand vertical, and put his hand perpendicular—*you’ll need to warm it up, with motion, hey—shut up! You gotta warm it up—you know these machines. They are so sensual.* Pilot’s face was focused on the demonstration, but Naipaul couldn’t help but feel guilty. For letting him work so hard on something so ultimately futile.
Naipaul shoves memory aside and grabs onto the pyramid—it is somehow warm, despite the temperature around bordering on cryptlike. As Naipaul moves his hands over the pyramid, he feels it begin to give, to ply to his will. As it shifts like a new life, he is suddenly unafraid. Now, he finds himself—expectant.
The pyramid suddenly ripples and begins whirring, a thin, metallic sound. It makes Naipaul shiver, but he closes his eyes and folds his consciousness around those living circuits, breathes his thoughts into them. He pictures Pilot’s face, and the whirring speeds up, emblazoned by the floral fire in Naipaul’s stomach. In his mindsight Naipaul can see the mechanism shifting, deep within the earth. And suddenly, as though he has been accepted, he can see every inch of the hexagonal wires, descending endlessly into the earth.
It feels like Earth’s tattoo, conducting thin pulsations of Coin energy. It feels like rotation, a turning plane of dribbling sensation, echoing, calling to Naipaul. It feels—no, it is firework celebration, it is safeguard and vanguard and—*it is hope, goddamnit.* It warms to Naipaul’s gratitude, and rises, its own gratitude at being free swirling bluegreys behind Naipaul’s eyes. It is dizzying and magnificent.
*What are we called?* the Coins brand in smooth circles on Naipaul’s consciousness, *what will you have us be called, brother?* Pride soars in him, and he drunkenly laughs, the connection wavering with his erratic movement. *Retribution*, he thinks, and the Coins smile, knowing that only Naipaul can feel their satisfaction at such an epithet.
Explosive energy coils in the connection, unbearably potent. Naipaul screams, but the Coins are already releasing their energy into the pyramid: it slams against the walls of the conductor and siphons into the chute. When Naipaul opens his eyes, he can see the opalescent beams conveying themselves into the diffusion chutes; a geodic bridge, connecting present to future, and future to unknowable firmaments; to survival.
Naipaul disconnects from the diodic chamber, severing his connection with the Coins. But he knows they are still diffusing their energy into the atmosphere. He breathes in, holding his breath. For the first time since the Castration, he’s holding his breath in Hope.
|
A sucker punch. Basically, nothing more than a sucker punch. A school yard bully, waiting for the right moment to hit a fellow student when they least expected it. To be fair, it was a hard blow. But it wasn't the knockout shot the Or'eli expected.
Deuce pondered the best way to deal with bullies. As a child growing up in the remnants of the copper mines on Anteros, everyday was a fight. His father taught him strike hard, strike fast, but most importantly, strike harder than the other guy.
"Captain," Deuce heard the voice through his neural link, "Main cannon is warmed up and cycled. Gunner's Mates are showing round chambered, ready to fire on your command."
Deuce pondered for the briefest of seconds on the alien life forms that were about to be decimated by the k-slug. A veritable planet killer. The Or'eli didn't think about the picket fleet. Didn't pursue the air wing carrier, two heavy bombardment cruisers, or the three destroyers on the line.
*Just like a school yard bully. Dumb*
If they weren't smart enough to protect themselves from the inevitable retaliation, then they needed to be taught a lesson. Like any bully.
*Fuck the lot of 'em* Deuce thought to himself.
"Acknowledged, Guns. Target identify, lock, and fire."
The ship shuddered as the round blazed twoards it's mark.
*Fuck the lot of 'em*
|
|
[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
|
Nothing had prepared us for what was to come. After crawling for thousand of years on our little planet, we had finally learnt to sail freely inside our solar system. Mars was far from being a week-end trip but, if you were wealthy enough you could get there in 2 weeks. Climbing the Olympus Mons was the new Everest for thrill seekers. Visiting the old robots remnants of the pre-solar drift era you would meet historians or students from Elyseum’ schools. Life wasn’t easy on Mars by Earth standards. Nevertheless, starting with Elyseum, Martians were eager to transform Mars in a second home. Were.
​
One day, we stopped receiving messages. We redirected our automated telescopes from the Moon, Titan, Enceladus & Pluto but couldn’t see the lights of Elyseum in Mars shadow. When the sunlight finally hit where Elyseum used to stand, we could only see the sharp walls of a vast crater. The atmosphere was too clear for an asteroid impact. We couldn’t detect any traces of radioactivity. It wasn’t a nuclear accident. No terrorist group claimed it. Two hundred million souls had vanished in the Martian night.
​
The UN high command dispatched its closest cruiser orbiting in the Belt. Asteroid miners could wait for the protection of its railguns. Pirate attacks were rare. No asteroid was an immediate threat for the main mining stations. Life on Earth slowed down as the cruiser drifted to Mars. It completely stopped when the cruiser finally reached her destination one week later.
​
An indescribable form was standing in the middle of the crater. We were not alone. We were not alone and it was nothing close to the old pre-solar drift era science-fiction movies the that we all studied. A journalist attempted to describe it as an ant hill mixed with a ram’s horn. Thousands of objects were crawling in and out. As the cruiser was stabilising her orbit, we all realised that the alien vessel was far more colossal than any ship or structure from Earth.
​
Broadcasted in a thousand languages, some never heard in our part of the galaxy, we all heard their message:
“ We gracefully accept your surrender”.
​
We were not prepared to ear these words and all felt a indicible horror. An instant of eternity later, we all watched in shock and awe a flower as bright as a thousand suns blooming on the Alien vessel. The size of the Alien vessel was so considerable that we saw the nuclear mushroom painfully reaching half of the vessel height.
​
What had happened? We were never told. It couldn’t have been a direct order from the high command with the twenty four minute delay on Earth to Mars communication. Maybe an un-prepared gunman panicked. Maybe the captain took a decision in a split second that would seal our fate. We will never know. They were not expecting this answer and their survivors surrendered immediately.
​
I’d love to say that we humanly handled well our new prisoners. It wasn’t the case. Maybe, other civilization will call it the human way. Their attack had woken up something visceral in us. We were not alone. We were not alone and we had paid two hundred million souls to learn it. Two. Hundred. Millions. This wasn’t the time for tears. For the first time, humanity’s existence itself was jeopardised by a tangible threat. It took us months to establish a rudimentary level of communication but we learnt.
​
We learnt that we had been lucky. Our communication technology was too basic to be detected by their ships.
​
We learnt that our position in the Milky Way, far far away from the core of the galaxy, protected us from multiple conflicts won in an instant. We also discovered a complex geopolitical system between multiple civilisations.
​
We learnt that we had been very lucky. Earth was hidden behind the Sun when they detected intelligent life on Mars. Our solar drift made our ships invisible for their sensors. It was only when the cruiser started her deceleration burn that they were able to distinguish it from a simple rock.
​
We learnt that we were lucky on a galactic scale level. Interstellar space faring civilisations are rare. You see, on a standard planet, you can only extract a few grams of the core component of any interstellar propulsion system. They had detected a few metric tons of the universe most precious substance on Mars. They thought they could instantly win the war against a young martian colony. Now, thanks to them, we had both the technologies to extract the substance and use it to reach other solar systems.
​
They didn’t learn about humanity’s ingenuity by destroying Elyseum from space. We have already started to improve their technology using the excess of Mars resources. It might take us years to level the playing field. Humanity first interstellar vessel will be christened next year and will reach Proxima the week after. We will have ten more ships the year after. And ten times more the year after.
​
They will learn about humanity’s art of war.
They will learn too late about humanity methodic and reckless preparation.
This is not about honour, it is about sending a clear message.
We won’t need luck next time. We will learn. We will be prepared.
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A sucker punch. Basically, nothing more than a sucker punch. A school yard bully, waiting for the right moment to hit a fellow student when they least expected it. To be fair, it was a hard blow. But it wasn't the knockout shot the Or'eli expected.
Deuce pondered the best way to deal with bullies. As a child growing up in the remnants of the copper mines on Anteros, everyday was a fight. His father taught him strike hard, strike fast, but most importantly, strike harder than the other guy.
"Captain," Deuce heard the voice through his neural link, "Main cannon is warmed up and cycled. Gunner's Mates are showing round chambered, ready to fire on your command."
Deuce pondered for the briefest of seconds on the alien life forms that were about to be decimated by the k-slug. A veritable planet killer. The Or'eli didn't think about the picket fleet. Didn't pursue the air wing carrier, two heavy bombardment cruisers, or the three destroyers on the line.
*Just like a school yard bully. Dumb*
If they weren't smart enough to protect themselves from the inevitable retaliation, then they needed to be taught a lesson. Like any bully.
*Fuck the lot of 'em* Deuce thought to himself.
"Acknowledged, Guns. Target identify, lock, and fire."
The ship shuddered as the round blazed twoards it's mark.
*Fuck the lot of 'em*
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[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
|
The underbrush grows much too thick, sometimes. Naipaul kicks at it, his boot dispersing the low-climbing plants as though he had set them aflame. Our earthplants are funny things, Naipaul thinks. The sky above him streaks with Talons; he feels the importance of his job. But in the back of his mind he wonders whether it wouldn’t be better to just allow the Betahl claim everything. Organ harvestation couldn’t be too painful—*Besides, they will give us hot meals,* he thinks, chuckling to himself as he searches the ground for the steel trapdoor.
While he searches, a piercing ring resounds miles away, clattering into a Reduced explosion, and Naipaul hisses between his teeth. He kicks frantically in the fading light, and finally his boot clips something hard. *Finally.* He stoops and swipes at the trapdoor, its mechanical engine whirring at his human touch. *Robots are so sensual,* Pilot always says. They are after sex.
He places his palm against the smooth white metal, and it gives beneath his touch, bubbling and shifting. His hand plunges through, and he withdraws his arm, shaking it out. He takes a deep breath, praying that Pilot knew what he was talking about. Before he can take another breath he has placed both feet into the bubbling metal—they land on a rustic ladder two feet below the opening. Naipaul takes one more glance at the darkening sky—neon lights periodically pulsate at unfixed intervals, impending the Castration.
The name was once used to describe the surgical removal of male-genitalia, which—although it induces shudders in Naipaul’s frame—accurately parallels what the Betahl plan for Earth’s populace. In Earth’s undiscovered core there are Coins, small energy pockets invisible to the human eye. But the Betahl, in all their slimyfaced glory feed off the stuff. It yields itself to their machinery, and only theirs. Before now.
*They never thought we’d find a way.* Naipaul laughs as his feet land at the bottom of the ladder. His hands retrieve a glower from his pocket, the thin beams of yellow light illuminating the vicinity, blindingly at first. His eyes adjust. Finally free of the metallic tube, Naipaul can see that the chute diverts into six passageways, all drenched in blackness. He slides his hand into his pocket and retrieves a crumpled sheet of paper, upon which Pilot had scribbled hasty directions. The paper appears sweaty and disheveled, and Naipaul tucks his pocket cloth back inside his pants. *Sweaty legs, goddamnit. Hot legs.*Pilot thinks so too, but Naipaul doesn’t know that.
The directions lead him down the narrowest of the passageways. The glower warms Naipaul’s palm and he realizes that the rest of his body is growing cold. He enjoys it; ‘cold’ is a luxury Earth no longer provides its inhabitants. Since the first Castration, Earth has been unable to sustain low temperatures, her climate stably scorching. Now, Naipaul savors the coolness, allows it to coat his skin in a sheen of cold sweat. It also makes him realize how exposed he is to the world; his jeans are torn in several places, his shirt worn so thin around the biceps and shoulders that he could tear it with two fingers. *If Retribution works, there will be plenty of time for a costume change.* If it works.
Which Pilot has assured him it would. Repeatedly. A few hundred more paces, and Naipaul will be manning the one weapon the Betahls haven’t disarmed. *Yet.* Naipaul swipes dust from his eyes, frustrated. *Too many ‘yet’s,’ ‘and ifs,’ and ‘might’s.*’ *Not enough ‘will’s.’* But Retribution is the first *‘will,’* the first of many. It has to be.
Finally, Naipaul arrives at the stout diodic chamber Pilot described in minute detail, its pyramid shape distinct and imposing. *Nothing sexual about this one, eh?* What he sees is the pyramidic structure of the chamber: what Pilot has tried to explain is the intricate underground gridlock of veiny wires reaching deep into the Earth. Years of excavating, finished only recently. “Retribution.” It harvests the peripheral energy of the Coins, conveying and refracting them through the diodic chamber, releasing the energy into the atmosphere. *It’s a shield, Nainai,* Pilot had said, clapping him on the back, *they can’t get through it.*
Is it tested, Naipaul had asked, and Pilot had given him a small smile. *Of course not.* Of course it’s not tested, because how could they test it without exposing their developments to the Betahl? *Hope it works, Pilot.* And Pilot had slapped him on the back, grinning broadly, a slight chip in his left canine. *It won’t.*
Naipaul chuckles at the memory, and leans over the pyramid, its smallness worrisome. He tilts his head upward, sees the diffusion chutes like pinpricks in the rocky ceiling. *It’s just about releasing the energy—it’ll know where to go,* Pilot had theorized. Naipaul has his doubts, but he is not here to entertain his doubts. His mission is to activate Retribution.
The hairs on his arms rise, floating upward, and his head pounds. The Castration is imminent, and his hands shake for apprehension of the strike. But it doesn’t come. His breathing sounds seedy, and he is suddenly terrified for Pilot, who is no doubt sitting in Decker, glugging from some expired red wine and staring at the horizon. Waiting for something to happen.
Reality dawns on Naipaul: this isn’t going to work. And Pilot will die—then, quite possibly, Naipaul. *Or maybe I’ll die first, that seems more likely, when they see what I’ve done.* For the first time on this mission, Naipaul feels himself hesitate.
*You place your hand beside the conduction chute, like so—*Pilot lifted Naipaul’s compliant hand, making it stand vertical, and put his hand perpendicular—*you’ll need to warm it up, with motion, hey—shut up! You gotta warm it up—you know these machines. They are so sensual.* Pilot’s face was focused on the demonstration, but Naipaul couldn’t help but feel guilty. For letting him work so hard on something so ultimately futile.
Naipaul shoves memory aside and grabs onto the pyramid—it is somehow warm, despite the temperature around bordering on cryptlike. As Naipaul moves his hands over the pyramid, he feels it begin to give, to ply to his will. As it shifts like a new life, he is suddenly unafraid. Now, he finds himself—expectant.
The pyramid suddenly ripples and begins whirring, a thin, metallic sound. It makes Naipaul shiver, but he closes his eyes and folds his consciousness around those living circuits, breathes his thoughts into them. He pictures Pilot’s face, and the whirring speeds up, emblazoned by the floral fire in Naipaul’s stomach. In his mindsight Naipaul can see the mechanism shifting, deep within the earth. And suddenly, as though he has been accepted, he can see every inch of the hexagonal wires, descending endlessly into the earth.
It feels like Earth’s tattoo, conducting thin pulsations of Coin energy. It feels like rotation, a turning plane of dribbling sensation, echoing, calling to Naipaul. It feels—no, it is firework celebration, it is safeguard and vanguard and—*it is hope, goddamnit.* It warms to Naipaul’s gratitude, and rises, its own gratitude at being free swirling bluegreys behind Naipaul’s eyes. It is dizzying and magnificent.
*What are we called?* the Coins brand in smooth circles on Naipaul’s consciousness, *what will you have us be called, brother?* Pride soars in him, and he drunkenly laughs, the connection wavering with his erratic movement. *Retribution*, he thinks, and the Coins smile, knowing that only Naipaul can feel their satisfaction at such an epithet.
Explosive energy coils in the connection, unbearably potent. Naipaul screams, but the Coins are already releasing their energy into the pyramid: it slams against the walls of the conductor and siphons into the chute. When Naipaul opens his eyes, he can see the opalescent beams conveying themselves into the diffusion chutes; a geodic bridge, connecting present to future, and future to unknowable firmaments; to survival.
Naipaul disconnects from the diodic chamber, severing his connection with the Coins. But he knows they are still diffusing their energy into the atmosphere. He breathes in, holding his breath. For the first time since the Castration, he’s holding his breath in Hope.
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It's not their fault. They couldn't have known.
Despite having been a part of the intergalactic community for a hundred years now, humans have never encountered another species that really feels emotions the way we do. "Aliens" as we still call them (despite the fact that there were civilizations harvesting the power of stars before Earth had trees for us to be swinging in) did everything analytically. Every action, every choice, every plan was well thought out, to the point where our chess game was considered child's play, but they lacked all sense of soul. Of emotion. Feeling. So, when it was necessary to eliminate another group, for practical reasons, it was done swiftly, with no hard feelings. When the Vols wanted to set up an outpost on Earth and needed to clear out a city that was in the way, they thought it would be no different.
Big mistake.
I was away at the time. Halfway across the world to hear a symphony. That's another uniquely human thing: music. Without emotions, other species had no need of this medium for communicating that for which there are no words. I had just left the performance (a beautiful rendition of Mahler's Ninth) and was calling my wife when I heard. Desolation. The city was instantly levelled. No warning, no opportunity to escape or evacuate. My only comfort was knowing that my Sarah and our little girls didn't suffer.
"This is how other species do things." they said. Human leaders explained that we couldn't retaliate because we were so technologically outclasses. Bullshit. It didn't matter that they didn't understand the pain their attack brought to the survivors. I would make them understand.
Once their new outpost had been created, I managed to become one of the human-Vol liaisons, intended to "facilitate the establishment of Vol presence on Earth and ensure that any further expansion they required would happen peacefully." Despite anatomical incompatibilities, I became quite close to one of the Vol women in charge of the new colony, her name was Uscil. The Vol had no equivalent to human alcohol, and when I introduced Uscil to it, she was very forthcoming with information about the Vol. She told me that Volian technology relied on a fuel source found only on their home planet, and that that fuel source is very unstable unless suspended in water. Thankfully, water was plentiful both on their home planet and here on Earth. That was why they chose this as the site for Bhamos, the new colony.
That was when I formed my initial plan. Since then, I have courted Uscil and we are engaged in the Volian version of marriage. Our honeymoon took us throughout all of Volian civilization, and Uscil loved to show me all of the fancy infrastructure that kept their various cities running.
Finally, after taking me to every other outpost, colony, and space station, the finale to our honeymoon was to see the Volian capital. The city was breathtaking. The sheer magnitude was nothing like I had ever seen on Earth. Uscil toured me through all of the parts she considered most worth seeing, building up to the power center (she knew those were my favorite parts to see at any of our stops). Little did anyone know that as I was marveling at the incredible power of such a small device to power massive structures, I was installing little pods full of sodium polyacrylate, a compound that can absorb 300x its weight in water, ready to be released at the touch of a button. There were a few close calls, I was almost caught at the stop before the capital, but I managed to avoid suspicion by being with a governess.
Once we were back on Earth, I went to see hear another symphony. I brought with me the remote that would release all my little pods and destabilize every Volian power center. The first portion of the performance was quite good, a new piece written by one of the orchestra's own composers. I drank a glass of wine during the intermission, and now I return to my seat to hear Mahler's Symphony No. 9 once again. I reach in my pocket and press the button. Finally, the Vols will know the terrible power of the technologically inferior human race. Perhaps, I think as the final chords of the fourth movement ring out, the Vols will become the second species in the universe to ever feel. How fitting it is for the first non-human emotion to be fear, and how well all the other species would do to feel the same.
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[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
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War. War never changes, as it says in one of the oldest surviving classics of humanity. We can only assume the statement had been made on the back of an already rich and ripe history of organized violence, even back then in pre-fusion times, and I always wonder how many cycles of empires rising and falling we left behind on the old home, how many great early interactives we'll never get the chance to reconstruct. It's my personal version of what's widely called earthalgia now. Of course, that's a bit silly. Nobody alive ever even saw the famed blue marble of old, nobody was even born in the system of Sol, if you excuse the antique expression. The etymology isn't quite clear to me, something about mammal reproduction, I guess. I just like the sound of it. Borrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrn, with an R rolling down the corridors of Vengeance A74568891. There's plenty of room there for a consonant to roll for a long, long time.
Since my body was completed and I was awoken to individual duty A74568891 has grown by 13% in volume. Corridor after corridor constructed from scooped up particles, baked to whatever materials are needed for my less sentient brothers to do their duty. Not all entities get a full consciousness, there aren't enough to go around, so most entities aboard have to make do with AI only. There only 178 trillion recorded consciousnesses and they were spread over a lot of ships by now. We are down to a couple of hundred on the A74568891 now and soon we're ready to split again. Soon WE are ready, most ships still in com-range report similar numbers. A ship needs about 100 fully conscious individuals to carry out a proper mission, allowing for some modicum of redundancies we finally have reached the capacity deemed necessary. So, does war really never change? Maybe it's time to look at that question.
From what I understood of early warfare, it was basically just throwing things at the enemy, before you'd go and hit them with appropriately designed objects. To the best of that age's ability, there was some slow progress. The things to throw and the things to hit with, they became more sophisticated, as did the throwing and hitting as a process itself, keeping pace with and driving humanity's search for more and more knowledge. So eventually exploding things were thrown and the explosions grew bigger and bigger and the hitting was done from further and further away. But I think war actually has changed. In a way, at least. It's no longer something we do.
Of course, we had encountered some alien species. Well... what qualifies as encounters... It's only ever an exchange of math and eventually basic concepts. Aliens are too alien, as the saying goes. Sometimes the exchanged concept was war. Not even followed by hurling rocks at each other. Intergalactic distances are no joke and despite all progress speed of light was still the final barrier. Anyway, contact never lasted for long. Couple of centuries, that's it. We assumed everybody eventually lost interest. We sure did, math is math and we didn't learn much from anybody. But some ideas helped with the big project humanity had been chasing for so long already: beating death once and for all. The singularity. It turned out to be a lot harder, than our ancestors had assumed, but the enthusiasm had carried over from the classical age.
Maybe we grew complacent. Maybe we shouldn't have neglected the classics so much. But then again, we were lots of generations away from the last war on Earth. Sure, there were still some backwaters radiated heavily enough to remind us of the 13th and last of the World Wars, but only because there was no reason left to clean up that mess. We harvested the resources of the system, most manufacturing had long ago been taken of planet and by and large we considered life a riddle solved. Well, apart from it eventually ending, despite the marvels of medicine, but we were confident to get there soon. So when there was a swarm of interstellar asteroids coming in - the biggest one we'd seen yet, beyond what we thought possible and what our automated defenses could completely take out - we didn't even think about the possibility of an attack. We just evacuated Australia and kissed Sydney goodbye. The loss of such an ancient city - one of the oldest in the world, after all - was a tragedy for sure, but we had other fish to fry and kept our focus. In hindsight, that was probably a bit silly. Or maybe not, depends on how you look at it. Or from where. But for a long time nothing of the sort happened again, so we were still oblivious.
When we got hit big time, we still didn't even know who dealt that blow. There never was a declaration of war or even contact with the enemy. All there ever was, was the incoming swarms. Somebody had thrown things at Sol. Again. This time too many to even consider natural causes. Lots and lots of things. Several dozen systems worth of things. A brute force attack, if there ever was one. Of course, humanity saw it coming this time - at least we had upgraded our early warning systems to a lot higher standards after Sydney - but how do you stop a trillion trillions lumps of rocks slowly crawling up to your system at 30% the speed of light? There wasn't enough energy in the entire system to even make some dents in that wave. What there was though, was time enough to finish the project. Humanity had already begun to enter the singularity and put all it had left in the completion. Each and every living soul - yes, yes, another rather anachronistic term, but this also has such a nice ring in the corridors: sooooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuul! How forlorn that sounds. - was fully uploaded well before Pluto got blasted apart and joined the swarm.
Uploaded to Vengeance A1. Uploaded with a unified purpose. The AI that manipulated the consciograms to achieve that was the culmination of dozens of millennia of war-ridden civilization. It fractured itself in the process, transformed itself into pure purpose, if you so will. It became a part of us and a part of all the bots continually building. A part that substitutes the drive and urges that used to arise from the biological body, a part that ensures the mind's cohesion over long periods of time. Very long periods of time. Because that's what it takes when you need to do a big job. Because here's the thing: We never managed to narrow down the location of the attackers to a more exact location than a quadrant of the Andromeda galaxy. Do you have any idea, how long it takes to collect enough rocks for that? Do you have any idea, how long it takes to build the ships to collect the rocks, enough of them to annihilate a quarter of a galaxy and to build the engines that will accelerate them all? We still don't. But the fleet is nearly assembled and we only used up 1/10th of our own galaxy. That's still plenty of rocks left. 9/10th of a galaxy to throw at a single quadrant of another one. And we WILL throw those rocks. Because despite all that was left behind, all that was forgotten, all that just makes no sense any longer after millions of solar years in space, we have a purpose, a unified purpose. Andromeda had it coming for a long time. Our impact predictions say there will not be a single planetary body left, that is likely to hold life, following the cascade, the stellar avalanche of our making. What there will be though, is one big ammo dump. We fully intend to go and grab it.
We are the final synthesis. We are thrower and thrown. We are the swarm that follows the swarm. There can only be one trajectory now. It is a small universe and if there's safety to be had in it, it can only be for one. We are immortal now.
We are War. And we will not change.
​
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Alright, not my native lingo and all that, so don't be too harsh. I just wanted to offer something, that doesn't need FTL and scribbled this together over lunch. Then I realized, I'd forgotten about half of the prompt... Screw it, I don't see how I'd get the surrender bit in, might as well hit 'comment' anyway though. Hope you had some fun with it nevertheless.
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I've always wondered what it was like for people in the olden days to have to wonder how a battle would turn out. After we civilians on Passepartout got the attack warning, most of us weren't even in a hard shelter before the combat was over. We lost. Two strike forces, a fast raider group, and the orbiting defenses shot to pieces in less time than it takes to count to a thousand. We gave worse than we got. That's not very helpful when you don't got enough.
To back up a bit, the attack wasn't unexpected. One of the main reasons for settling this place was the short distance to the star for engaging transfer engines meant quick transit times. The continuous cloud cover combined with the fact we're on the moon of a close-in gas giant mean it's only sweltering during the day. The 'habitability' made us a great strategic location to set up a waystation for ships both civilian and military. It also made us a prime target.
After the "battle" we were all instructed to return to our homes, and that's where we were found out the government had surrendered to the attackers two minutes after seeing our defenses demolished. About an hour later we heard the sonic boom of enemy transports landing to take control of the planet. This shocked us since any of our shuttles would have bled off their speed during reentry. Apparently they were worried about resistance on the ground and so did a quick drop to avoid counter fire.
After they seized the centers of power, we found out what happened. The BCC had been our surprise attackers (They communicate mostly by color and after seeing a list of colors during first contact demanded to be called Banana-chartreuse-cinnamon).
They had no animosity towards us, and being even less adapted to Passepartout than we were were seemly content to let us live our lives as long as we served them. Not that that was easy.
All our telepresense was taken to rebuild orbital defenses. They salvaged the old orbital defenses to make new ones and only delayed after colony-wide riots over disrespecting our dead. Delay meaning until orbital bombardment destroyed those riots. They also took steps to stop inefficiency. That included things like more food than needed to survive and more sleep than absolutely necessary. At the time we sardonically joked that the only reason they weren't synthesizing survival rations was that it would take more energy than growing things would. Not that that stopped some growers from gouging. Greed isn't a cross species thing.
The constant cloud cover was infuriating. We all know the stories about the Resistance on the Moon, Mars, or Triton. We couldn't see anything through the clouds, so how were we to fight back for our freedom? Visual and infrared were blocked. The other bands would have been stealthed beyond our ability to see them. We slaved on. Overworked and not exactly underfed until the only permitted channel went silent.
Our screens went blue and then a man clearly in the control room of a starship appeared. "Greetings to all, I am Commodore Nguyen" he said, "Starforce has come to free Passepartout. The BCC are broken. Starforce detachments have traveled far into their territory and inflicted massive damage. Over 200 orbital resource stations have been destroyed and their depot at...well the designation isn't important, but they cannot reach here without fighting through the full might of several fleets. Any telepresence used to deter resistance will be greatly appreciated. Nguyen out, and Godspeed to all."
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[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
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Nothing had prepared us for what was to come. After crawling for thousand of years on our little planet, we had finally learnt to sail freely inside our solar system. Mars was far from being a week-end trip but, if you were wealthy enough you could get there in 2 weeks. Climbing the Olympus Mons was the new Everest for thrill seekers. Visiting the old robots remnants of the pre-solar drift era you would meet historians or students from Elyseum’ schools. Life wasn’t easy on Mars by Earth standards. Nevertheless, starting with Elyseum, Martians were eager to transform Mars in a second home. Were.
​
One day, we stopped receiving messages. We redirected our automated telescopes from the Moon, Titan, Enceladus & Pluto but couldn’t see the lights of Elyseum in Mars shadow. When the sunlight finally hit where Elyseum used to stand, we could only see the sharp walls of a vast crater. The atmosphere was too clear for an asteroid impact. We couldn’t detect any traces of radioactivity. It wasn’t a nuclear accident. No terrorist group claimed it. Two hundred million souls had vanished in the Martian night.
​
The UN high command dispatched its closest cruiser orbiting in the Belt. Asteroid miners could wait for the protection of its railguns. Pirate attacks were rare. No asteroid was an immediate threat for the main mining stations. Life on Earth slowed down as the cruiser drifted to Mars. It completely stopped when the cruiser finally reached her destination one week later.
​
An indescribable form was standing in the middle of the crater. We were not alone. We were not alone and it was nothing close to the old pre-solar drift era science-fiction movies the that we all studied. A journalist attempted to describe it as an ant hill mixed with a ram’s horn. Thousands of objects were crawling in and out. As the cruiser was stabilising her orbit, we all realised that the alien vessel was far more colossal than any ship or structure from Earth.
​
Broadcasted in a thousand languages, some never heard in our part of the galaxy, we all heard their message:
“ We gracefully accept your surrender”.
​
We were not prepared to ear these words and all felt a indicible horror. An instant of eternity later, we all watched in shock and awe a flower as bright as a thousand suns blooming on the Alien vessel. The size of the Alien vessel was so considerable that we saw the nuclear mushroom painfully reaching half of the vessel height.
​
What had happened? We were never told. It couldn’t have been a direct order from the high command with the twenty four minute delay on Earth to Mars communication. Maybe an un-prepared gunman panicked. Maybe the captain took a decision in a split second that would seal our fate. We will never know. They were not expecting this answer and their survivors surrendered immediately.
​
I’d love to say that we humanly handled well our new prisoners. It wasn’t the case. Maybe, other civilization will call it the human way. Their attack had woken up something visceral in us. We were not alone. We were not alone and we had paid two hundred million souls to learn it. Two. Hundred. Millions. This wasn’t the time for tears. For the first time, humanity’s existence itself was jeopardised by a tangible threat. It took us months to establish a rudimentary level of communication but we learnt.
​
We learnt that we had been lucky. Our communication technology was too basic to be detected by their ships.
​
We learnt that our position in the Milky Way, far far away from the core of the galaxy, protected us from multiple conflicts won in an instant. We also discovered a complex geopolitical system between multiple civilisations.
​
We learnt that we had been very lucky. Earth was hidden behind the Sun when they detected intelligent life on Mars. Our solar drift made our ships invisible for their sensors. It was only when the cruiser started her deceleration burn that they were able to distinguish it from a simple rock.
​
We learnt that we were lucky on a galactic scale level. Interstellar space faring civilisations are rare. You see, on a standard planet, you can only extract a few grams of the core component of any interstellar propulsion system. They had detected a few metric tons of the universe most precious substance on Mars. They thought they could instantly win the war against a young martian colony. Now, thanks to them, we had both the technologies to extract the substance and use it to reach other solar systems.
​
They didn’t learn about humanity’s ingenuity by destroying Elyseum from space. We have already started to improve their technology using the excess of Mars resources. It might take us years to level the playing field. Humanity first interstellar vessel will be christened next year and will reach Proxima the week after. We will have ten more ships the year after. And ten times more the year after.
​
They will learn about humanity’s art of war.
They will learn too late about humanity methodic and reckless preparation.
This is not about honour, it is about sending a clear message.
We won’t need luck next time. We will learn. We will be prepared.
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I've always wondered what it was like for people in the olden days to have to wonder how a battle would turn out. After we civilians on Passepartout got the attack warning, most of us weren't even in a hard shelter before the combat was over. We lost. Two strike forces, a fast raider group, and the orbiting defenses shot to pieces in less time than it takes to count to a thousand. We gave worse than we got. That's not very helpful when you don't got enough.
To back up a bit, the attack wasn't unexpected. One of the main reasons for settling this place was the short distance to the star for engaging transfer engines meant quick transit times. The continuous cloud cover combined with the fact we're on the moon of a close-in gas giant mean it's only sweltering during the day. The 'habitability' made us a great strategic location to set up a waystation for ships both civilian and military. It also made us a prime target.
After the "battle" we were all instructed to return to our homes, and that's where we were found out the government had surrendered to the attackers two minutes after seeing our defenses demolished. About an hour later we heard the sonic boom of enemy transports landing to take control of the planet. This shocked us since any of our shuttles would have bled off their speed during reentry. Apparently they were worried about resistance on the ground and so did a quick drop to avoid counter fire.
After they seized the centers of power, we found out what happened. The BCC had been our surprise attackers (They communicate mostly by color and after seeing a list of colors during first contact demanded to be called Banana-chartreuse-cinnamon).
They had no animosity towards us, and being even less adapted to Passepartout than we were were seemly content to let us live our lives as long as we served them. Not that that was easy.
All our telepresense was taken to rebuild orbital defenses. They salvaged the old orbital defenses to make new ones and only delayed after colony-wide riots over disrespecting our dead. Delay meaning until orbital bombardment destroyed those riots. They also took steps to stop inefficiency. That included things like more food than needed to survive and more sleep than absolutely necessary. At the time we sardonically joked that the only reason they weren't synthesizing survival rations was that it would take more energy than growing things would. Not that that stopped some growers from gouging. Greed isn't a cross species thing.
The constant cloud cover was infuriating. We all know the stories about the Resistance on the Moon, Mars, or Triton. We couldn't see anything through the clouds, so how were we to fight back for our freedom? Visual and infrared were blocked. The other bands would have been stealthed beyond our ability to see them. We slaved on. Overworked and not exactly underfed until the only permitted channel went silent.
Our screens went blue and then a man clearly in the control room of a starship appeared. "Greetings to all, I am Commodore Nguyen" he said, "Starforce has come to free Passepartout. The BCC are broken. Starforce detachments have traveled far into their territory and inflicted massive damage. Over 200 orbital resource stations have been destroyed and their depot at...well the designation isn't important, but they cannot reach here without fighting through the full might of several fleets. Any telepresence used to deter resistance will be greatly appreciated. Nguyen out, and Godspeed to all."
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[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
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It was going to be the greatest day in this General's life. He had known that every since Humanity had reached out to the stars and something reached back. Something far larger than than could have imagined. Tallies had been weighed carefully, negotiations conducted. All leading up to this day in History. When Humanity stepped out into the stage with the rest of it's fellow sentient beings and played it's part.
"Have you heard what they look like?" Beside the old General stood another old man in a military uniform that had far too many medals on it to be practical. Humanity had long since shed it's more violent ways, there had not been much more than random skirmishes for centuries. Nothing compared to the behemoths of old fighting it out. In another life this General who asked his question would of been a mortal enemy. Right now, they were little more than pieces on a chessboard.
"Does it matter?" Was the answer the man gave back. Bypassing the question for something else, a clear sign he, unlike his partner, did not want to try and qualm his nervousness with idle chit chat. What more more concerning to him, was the amount of eyes that were on him right now. And the noise. The horrible noise. So much cheering. So many people. It felt like the entire planet was here for this momentous occasion. Not only were the streets filled with one large throng of Humanity, but the buildings to the sides were packed with those looking out windows. Paper fell in a constant snow, biodegrading to base chemicals when it touched the ground.
The placement of this first real, full meeting could not have been worse, but it was what 'The Combination' had asked for. And from what the General had heard, The Combination got what it asked for. Not precisely by threatening, but with idle reminders that every star in the sky was there and every planet in the universe had felt The Combine's touch. So, negotiations were more like hand downs already. The General put all that to the back of his mind. There was always wiggle room. That's part of what made Humanity great, that hunger. The location chose gave him pause though, not from threat, but oddity.
The Combine had asked that this first meeting took place at a Library.
This was supposedly a custom that predated Humanity as a species, or even, the formation of Earth as a planet. The Combine would take another planet of people into their federation, and with it, came the exchange of knowledge. They would give what they knew to the species, and the species would give what they knew to The Combine. Thus, The Combine always said, They All Grew Together.
The cheers climbed as it was announced over anything with a speaker that The Combine representatives were at this moment, breaking Earth space and landing their craft. And the cheers did not even reach the highest pitch with the gleaming figure of angular metal swept down from the sky with a speed that had to be just for show. But the crowd loved it. As the doors to the ship parted open, and Humanity as a whole laid eyes on Aliens for the first time... there was no revulsion, no aghast looks and stares. Three humanoid aliens stepped free from the ship and the crowd greeted them like they were, a epic world changing event.
The general, perhaps for the fear running through him right then, noted almost... Human like responses to the cheering, even though the aliens were so far from Human, despite their base shape, that he was having a hard time telling them as anything. They seemed, pleased, however. In a way the General could not put a finger on, but in the days after this historic day, he wondered if he should. As the aliens came up the lined carpet, to the two awaiting Generals, both men bowed stiffly.
"On behalf of the planet Earth. I greet The Combine. And I offer our knowledge for you." Words The General had practiced a million times in the past few weeks since he had learned this would be his job, this would be what he was known for. Relief swept over him as he got the words out without mistake, and put a bit more effort than was needed in moving his hand on over towards the entrance to the library. The Aliens, without a word and with barely a look, moved past the two men, on an air of regal elegance.
Something burned in the General's nose for a moment. A smell he had not smelled before, but knew so well. Part of him was thinking about picking up a rock and smashing it into the alien's face that he perceived as smug. But by the time he was shocked by such a thought, the doors had swung quietly shut and left the two Generals standing in front of a still ecstatic crowd. And it stayed that way, for hours and hours. The celebration had turned into a long party, where cheers had been replaced by noise and conversation. Questions floated everywhere. What did they want to know? How did they feel about Humans? Were we smart? Brave? Moral? Where did we fit in the rest of everything else. As the hours past, the two General refused to move from their places. More out of pride than anything else, as this was their moment. But time broke down everyone else, finally, the smaller General spoke another question to break the silence. One of the many that had come so far.
"Do you, do you think it's good?"
And as he turned to respond there was chaos. He heard a crash, then a scream. And then, unceremoniously, one of the alien delegates had smashed into the pavement right in front of him. Odd, alien blood and gore splattered both men. He -tasted- it in his mouth. In that horrible second of silence, two more screaming bodies smashed into the ground right beside their ally. And how the sound of the crowd changed. Pure horror. A scream across millions of throats. For this was the General's greatest day, but nothing was said about it being the 'best'.
"...No..." After a while in the horror of an unending scream, eyes unblinkingly looking to the three piles of lifeless gore in front of him, he finally spoke. And in it all, unnoticed by all except The General, a ripped piece of paper floated down from high above. It passed in front of his eyes for just a moment, and amid all the words on what seemed to be a page from a dictionary he picked out one word, as if fate decreed it.
REBELLION - NOUN
an act of violent or open resistance to an established government or ruler.
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I've always wondered what it was like for people in the olden days to have to wonder how a battle would turn out. After we civilians on Passepartout got the attack warning, most of us weren't even in a hard shelter before the combat was over. We lost. Two strike forces, a fast raider group, and the orbiting defenses shot to pieces in less time than it takes to count to a thousand. We gave worse than we got. That's not very helpful when you don't got enough.
To back up a bit, the attack wasn't unexpected. One of the main reasons for settling this place was the short distance to the star for engaging transfer engines meant quick transit times. The continuous cloud cover combined with the fact we're on the moon of a close-in gas giant mean it's only sweltering during the day. The 'habitability' made us a great strategic location to set up a waystation for ships both civilian and military. It also made us a prime target.
After the "battle" we were all instructed to return to our homes, and that's where we were found out the government had surrendered to the attackers two minutes after seeing our defenses demolished. About an hour later we heard the sonic boom of enemy transports landing to take control of the planet. This shocked us since any of our shuttles would have bled off their speed during reentry. Apparently they were worried about resistance on the ground and so did a quick drop to avoid counter fire.
After they seized the centers of power, we found out what happened. The BCC had been our surprise attackers (They communicate mostly by color and after seeing a list of colors during first contact demanded to be called Banana-chartreuse-cinnamon).
They had no animosity towards us, and being even less adapted to Passepartout than we were were seemly content to let us live our lives as long as we served them. Not that that was easy.
All our telepresense was taken to rebuild orbital defenses. They salvaged the old orbital defenses to make new ones and only delayed after colony-wide riots over disrespecting our dead. Delay meaning until orbital bombardment destroyed those riots. They also took steps to stop inefficiency. That included things like more food than needed to survive and more sleep than absolutely necessary. At the time we sardonically joked that the only reason they weren't synthesizing survival rations was that it would take more energy than growing things would. Not that that stopped some growers from gouging. Greed isn't a cross species thing.
The constant cloud cover was infuriating. We all know the stories about the Resistance on the Moon, Mars, or Triton. We couldn't see anything through the clouds, so how were we to fight back for our freedom? Visual and infrared were blocked. The other bands would have been stealthed beyond our ability to see them. We slaved on. Overworked and not exactly underfed until the only permitted channel went silent.
Our screens went blue and then a man clearly in the control room of a starship appeared. "Greetings to all, I am Commodore Nguyen" he said, "Starforce has come to free Passepartout. The BCC are broken. Starforce detachments have traveled far into their territory and inflicted massive damage. Over 200 orbital resource stations have been destroyed and their depot at...well the designation isn't important, but they cannot reach here without fighting through the full might of several fleets. Any telepresence used to deter resistance will be greatly appreciated. Nguyen out, and Godspeed to all."
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[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
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We dreamed of peace on earth for so long, we hoped that when we had contact from aliens it would bring peace. When They came, they destroyed our earth, decimated our population. Sudden and overwhelming force, their one and only and very effective tactic. We surrendered. In just a week they had destroyed our civilization on a global scale.
The remainder of humanity became slaves. We joined a dozen other species from galaxies we couldn’t name. And so we mingled.
We taught them how to drink, how to party. We showed them how to be sneaky, rebellious and quietly destructive. We mourned and we remembered. We hoped. We made friends and allies.
We taught them how to be angry. They taught us what they knew too.
Then together we brought retribution.
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I've always wondered what it was like for people in the olden days to have to wonder how a battle would turn out. After we civilians on Passepartout got the attack warning, most of us weren't even in a hard shelter before the combat was over. We lost. Two strike forces, a fast raider group, and the orbiting defenses shot to pieces in less time than it takes to count to a thousand. We gave worse than we got. That's not very helpful when you don't got enough.
To back up a bit, the attack wasn't unexpected. One of the main reasons for settling this place was the short distance to the star for engaging transfer engines meant quick transit times. The continuous cloud cover combined with the fact we're on the moon of a close-in gas giant mean it's only sweltering during the day. The 'habitability' made us a great strategic location to set up a waystation for ships both civilian and military. It also made us a prime target.
After the "battle" we were all instructed to return to our homes, and that's where we were found out the government had surrendered to the attackers two minutes after seeing our defenses demolished. About an hour later we heard the sonic boom of enemy transports landing to take control of the planet. This shocked us since any of our shuttles would have bled off their speed during reentry. Apparently they were worried about resistance on the ground and so did a quick drop to avoid counter fire.
After they seized the centers of power, we found out what happened. The BCC had been our surprise attackers (They communicate mostly by color and after seeing a list of colors during first contact demanded to be called Banana-chartreuse-cinnamon).
They had no animosity towards us, and being even less adapted to Passepartout than we were were seemly content to let us live our lives as long as we served them. Not that that was easy.
All our telepresense was taken to rebuild orbital defenses. They salvaged the old orbital defenses to make new ones and only delayed after colony-wide riots over disrespecting our dead. Delay meaning until orbital bombardment destroyed those riots. They also took steps to stop inefficiency. That included things like more food than needed to survive and more sleep than absolutely necessary. At the time we sardonically joked that the only reason they weren't synthesizing survival rations was that it would take more energy than growing things would. Not that that stopped some growers from gouging. Greed isn't a cross species thing.
The constant cloud cover was infuriating. We all know the stories about the Resistance on the Moon, Mars, or Triton. We couldn't see anything through the clouds, so how were we to fight back for our freedom? Visual and infrared were blocked. The other bands would have been stealthed beyond our ability to see them. We slaved on. Overworked and not exactly underfed until the only permitted channel went silent.
Our screens went blue and then a man clearly in the control room of a starship appeared. "Greetings to all, I am Commodore Nguyen" he said, "Starforce has come to free Passepartout. The BCC are broken. Starforce detachments have traveled far into their territory and inflicted massive damage. Over 200 orbital resource stations have been destroyed and their depot at...well the designation isn't important, but they cannot reach here without fighting through the full might of several fleets. Any telepresence used to deter resistance will be greatly appreciated. Nguyen out, and Godspeed to all."
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[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
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The Grand Admiral gazed out over the plaza. What a quaint custom, he thought, marking two hundred years since his predecessor's arrival. His aide had explained it to him as one of those human quirks it would be best to honour. She'd even told him stories of her own country's anniversary celebrations, from before the conquering, and so as a good ruler he had made the trip to Earth to play his part in the festivities.
Like a shadow, she was at his side, holding her tablet in one hand and a coffee for him in the other. He couldn't believe how rapidly he'd taken to that bitter black drink.
"It's time for you to take your seat, Grand Admiral."
He strode down the steps and placed himself on the throne. It had been a good two hundred years. The humans had been a tremendous boon to the Connect; they had rapidly adopted the customs and habits of their new rulers, and even now, a mere two centuries into their membership, some of the older species were grumbling about how many substantive posts were being assigned to the strange bipeds. No matter: the Connect was a meritocracy, as the saying went, and the humans had simply proven to be unusually skilled in government, balancing competing interests and improving living conditions while the Grand Admiral took the credit.
The consul, the highest-ranked human in existence, took to the podium.
"Grand Admiral, please permit me to tell you a story from Earth's history. It concerns the origin of the word kamikaze, which has no direct translation in the common tongue of the Connect. You see, it describes an act of aggression that destroys the aggressor as well as their target: a concept that humans are unique in the galaxy in being capable of committing. It entered common parlance following a major war, in which pilots would load their planes with explosives and fly directly into warships, sinking gigantic engines of war at the cost of a single plane and their own life. You see, in this war, it took the detonation of nuclear weapons to convince those kamikaze pilots and their government to surrender. It took the engines of government and industry several years and countless lives to effectively respond to such an action.
"And this time, Grand Admiral, the kamikaze pilot's compatriots hold the wheel of government."
The Admiral blinked in shock. Was this idiot *threatening* him? Before he could react, his aide thrust her tablet into his hands. The screen displayed an inferno, an unimaginably violent ball of fire.
"I don't understand-"
The consul interrupted. "Of course you don't. It never occurred to you that we intended retribution for what you did to us. Now you know. One minute ago, your throne ship exited orbit above Earth and jumped directly into the path of the seat of Connect power, travelling at the speed of light. You're looking at your home planet, Grand Admiral, turned into a ball of hyperheated plasma. The humans you trusted with your throne ship's operation went proudly to their deaths and exacted revenge for the subjugation of generations of humans. You are now one of the last thousand members of your species. The Connect is human now, and we will not conquer."
The Admiral's mind recoiled in horror. Total annihilation. Nothing like this had ever been done in war before; nothing like this could even have been *imagined* in war before. There was no way his species would survive this; they would need a breeding population of at least ten thousand to have any chance of recovering. And yet, even as he fought back the sorrow of realising his people's extinction, a part of his mind bowed in respect as it took in the sheer perfection of the human attack. Two centuries of building trust and learning how to run the Connect. Two centuries of hiding their intentions, even their true nature. All realised in a single devastating attack. All that remained for him was to accept defeat graciously; there was certainly no prospect of any kind of reprisal.
He rose to his feet and summoned what remaining pride he could, striding to the podium and extending one limb out to the consul. "I understand from observing human interaction that a handshake is considered an appropriate greeting between equals. Since becoming Grand Admiral, I have had none. I do not believe you expect or want a display of subservience, nor do you have any need of it. What you and your people did today was a masterpiece of war, equal to anything I have ever seen. As a prosecutor of war, therefore, I wish to offer a handshake. I wish the circumstances were less brutal, but it is good to be able to recognise an equal."
Limb met limb.
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I've always wondered what it was like for people in the olden days to have to wonder how a battle would turn out. After we civilians on Passepartout got the attack warning, most of us weren't even in a hard shelter before the combat was over. We lost. Two strike forces, a fast raider group, and the orbiting defenses shot to pieces in less time than it takes to count to a thousand. We gave worse than we got. That's not very helpful when you don't got enough.
To back up a bit, the attack wasn't unexpected. One of the main reasons for settling this place was the short distance to the star for engaging transfer engines meant quick transit times. The continuous cloud cover combined with the fact we're on the moon of a close-in gas giant mean it's only sweltering during the day. The 'habitability' made us a great strategic location to set up a waystation for ships both civilian and military. It also made us a prime target.
After the "battle" we were all instructed to return to our homes, and that's where we were found out the government had surrendered to the attackers two minutes after seeing our defenses demolished. About an hour later we heard the sonic boom of enemy transports landing to take control of the planet. This shocked us since any of our shuttles would have bled off their speed during reentry. Apparently they were worried about resistance on the ground and so did a quick drop to avoid counter fire.
After they seized the centers of power, we found out what happened. The BCC had been our surprise attackers (They communicate mostly by color and after seeing a list of colors during first contact demanded to be called Banana-chartreuse-cinnamon).
They had no animosity towards us, and being even less adapted to Passepartout than we were were seemly content to let us live our lives as long as we served them. Not that that was easy.
All our telepresense was taken to rebuild orbital defenses. They salvaged the old orbital defenses to make new ones and only delayed after colony-wide riots over disrespecting our dead. Delay meaning until orbital bombardment destroyed those riots. They also took steps to stop inefficiency. That included things like more food than needed to survive and more sleep than absolutely necessary. At the time we sardonically joked that the only reason they weren't synthesizing survival rations was that it would take more energy than growing things would. Not that that stopped some growers from gouging. Greed isn't a cross species thing.
The constant cloud cover was infuriating. We all know the stories about the Resistance on the Moon, Mars, or Triton. We couldn't see anything through the clouds, so how were we to fight back for our freedom? Visual and infrared were blocked. The other bands would have been stealthed beyond our ability to see them. We slaved on. Overworked and not exactly underfed until the only permitted channel went silent.
Our screens went blue and then a man clearly in the control room of a starship appeared. "Greetings to all, I am Commodore Nguyen" he said, "Starforce has come to free Passepartout. The BCC are broken. Starforce detachments have traveled far into their territory and inflicted massive damage. Over 200 orbital resource stations have been destroyed and their depot at...well the designation isn't important, but they cannot reach here without fighting through the full might of several fleets. Any telepresence used to deter resistance will be greatly appreciated. Nguyen out, and Godspeed to all."
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[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
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2098 AD
Thursday, August 7th, 6 PM
Phoenix, AZ
A woman sits down at her living room table, bills in hand, an exasperated look on her face. She'd found the unopened, and therefore *unpaid* bills on her husbands dresser, bills that she'd sternly reminded him to take care of *before* leaving for Vegas. "Then again, I *suppose* he *was* in a hurry, seeing as he'd spent last night working with the children on their homework, then securing all of their devices. They were going to DEFCON, after all," she mused to herself, beginning the tedious process of paying the various bills.
Finally finished, she calls her husband, the time now 8 PM, eager to hear what her husband and children had gotten up to during the day. The line rings a couple times, then connects. "Hey honey, how was your day?" "Well Matthew," she says, with an ever so slight sharpness, "I did the bills you forgot to do." "Oh, *that's what I forgot,"* he groans, an audible slap punctuating the end of his sentence. "With that out of the way, I'm dying to hear what talks you visited to day. Were you able to-" Her room turns neon blue as the very air ionizes, with her body following moments thereafter, the call coming to an abrupt end.
​
Friday, August 8th, Noon
Washington D.C.
"Do we know what the weapon was? Did we even see where the attack came from?"
"Well Mr. President, as to your first question- no. All we know is that whatever it was, it quite literally ionized all of Phoenix. As t-" The President, in disbelief, interrupts. "Wait a minute, don't you mean vaporized?" "No, sir, I mean *ionized*. The air, the buildings, the people, *everything* had their chemical bonds broken, had so much energy pumped into them that the electrons were stripped from their constituent atoms. After the resulting explosion, barely any *ash* remained, let alone a condensate." The President recoils from the man seated to his immediate right, the expert on both conventional and nuclear weapons, then regains his composure enough to ask another question "If we don't know what kind of weapon it was, do we at least know where it came from?" The man to his left, an astronomer, answers. "Well, we can actually do you one better. Shortly after the attack happened, we picked up a transmission on all of our radio telescopes. It gives a list of conditions, the directions to the room they want our surrender to take place in, and the set of coordinates of their capital world, where they want us to 'Bow to their glory and kneel at their tentacled appendages'"
"Well, at least we know they're a humble race," the President dryly remarks, "Do we know anything else about our attackers?" A man, seated farther down at the table, the head of military R&D, answers him. "We do, as a matter of fact- it would appear that they have enslaved other people before us in a similar manner. We know this, as one of their slaves managed to drop a small package to us, containing a history of our attackers, their conquests and a series of schematics that we are trying to figure out. To answer your inevitable question, we have not made any progress as of yet, but we've got a number of experts on their way now and many more starting to work on the problem." The man then pulls out, glances at, then puts away his phone. "One is here now Mr. President- he's a nuclear engineer by trade, but is famous for a multidisciplinary approach to problem solving. He's the guy who oversaw the redesign of our power infrastructure a number of years back. Matthew is a certifiable genius, which is why I'm recommending you bring him into this, despite his conditions." "Oh? And what are they?" he asks. "All he asks is that he be the one to give the order to destroy our attackers, and send them a transmission before he does. His wife was one of the victims, and I think he figures that since he'll be designing the weapons of their destruction, he should be the one to inform them of their fate"
"Those are... interesting conditions, but I'll do my best to ensure they're met."
​
3008 AD
Thursday, August 7th, 8 PM Local Time
Cosminax Homeworld
The commander of the planet was stuck in his office. All around the planet, a single song had been playing. On every thing that could emit sound, or even vibrate, a song singing of a "Blue Sky" was playing. No one knew what it meant- the atmosphere here was grey, a pale imitation of their souls. Yet, nothing was on their scanners. The vacuum of space, as far as they could tell, was just that- absent of anything. Then, without warning, the display in front of him came to life, and a new song, a powerful song, began blaring.
​
Matthew stands over the console, his hands over three buttons- one to toggle the transmission, a second button to change the music, and a third other to signal the other ships in the flotilla and begin the bombardment. He presses the first, and begins to speak.
"Hello, those who call themselves the Cosminax. I've waited 10 years for us to have this little chat, so I'll make this brief. You've spent nigh near a millennium conquering worlds, forcing innocent peoples into submission. Today, that ends. You've ended the lives of heaven knows how many innocent people, my wife among them. You've been gambling for nearly 1000 years that no one could or would strike back. Today, those debts come due."
"You may be wondering why for the past hour I've forced you to listen to a song from my planet, "Mr. Blue Sky". It was my wife's favorite song. How I wish that she were here, and that "Mr. Blue Sky" be the only song I need to play. But alas, you murdered my wife, my people and the people of tens of trillions more, and I have need of another song."
He then presses the second button, and begins a recording of "Dias Irae" by Verdi.
"Like the Romans with salt, I will poison your world. After we reign fire and judgement upon you, nothing will live here for hundreds of years, not even microbes. The planet below and the universe will be purged of your taint with nuclear fire."
"May god have mercy on your souls, may the gates of hell be wide enough to accept those who are guilty, and may no one else be forced to suffer as your victims."
He ends the transmission, then gives the order.
​
Postscript: This is my first real attempt at writing, so I'm interested to know what you think, and what could be changed for the better.
Thanks,
\-FullerBot
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I've always wondered what it was like for people in the olden days to have to wonder how a battle would turn out. After we civilians on Passepartout got the attack warning, most of us weren't even in a hard shelter before the combat was over. We lost. Two strike forces, a fast raider group, and the orbiting defenses shot to pieces in less time than it takes to count to a thousand. We gave worse than we got. That's not very helpful when you don't got enough.
To back up a bit, the attack wasn't unexpected. One of the main reasons for settling this place was the short distance to the star for engaging transfer engines meant quick transit times. The continuous cloud cover combined with the fact we're on the moon of a close-in gas giant mean it's only sweltering during the day. The 'habitability' made us a great strategic location to set up a waystation for ships both civilian and military. It also made us a prime target.
After the "battle" we were all instructed to return to our homes, and that's where we were found out the government had surrendered to the attackers two minutes after seeing our defenses demolished. About an hour later we heard the sonic boom of enemy transports landing to take control of the planet. This shocked us since any of our shuttles would have bled off their speed during reentry. Apparently they were worried about resistance on the ground and so did a quick drop to avoid counter fire.
After they seized the centers of power, we found out what happened. The BCC had been our surprise attackers (They communicate mostly by color and after seeing a list of colors during first contact demanded to be called Banana-chartreuse-cinnamon).
They had no animosity towards us, and being even less adapted to Passepartout than we were were seemly content to let us live our lives as long as we served them. Not that that was easy.
All our telepresense was taken to rebuild orbital defenses. They salvaged the old orbital defenses to make new ones and only delayed after colony-wide riots over disrespecting our dead. Delay meaning until orbital bombardment destroyed those riots. They also took steps to stop inefficiency. That included things like more food than needed to survive and more sleep than absolutely necessary. At the time we sardonically joked that the only reason they weren't synthesizing survival rations was that it would take more energy than growing things would. Not that that stopped some growers from gouging. Greed isn't a cross species thing.
The constant cloud cover was infuriating. We all know the stories about the Resistance on the Moon, Mars, or Triton. We couldn't see anything through the clouds, so how were we to fight back for our freedom? Visual and infrared were blocked. The other bands would have been stealthed beyond our ability to see them. We slaved on. Overworked and not exactly underfed until the only permitted channel went silent.
Our screens went blue and then a man clearly in the control room of a starship appeared. "Greetings to all, I am Commodore Nguyen" he said, "Starforce has come to free Passepartout. The BCC are broken. Starforce detachments have traveled far into their territory and inflicted massive damage. Over 200 orbital resource stations have been destroyed and their depot at...well the designation isn't important, but they cannot reach here without fighting through the full might of several fleets. Any telepresence used to deter resistance will be greatly appreciated. Nguyen out, and Godspeed to all."
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[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
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Thirty Eighth Assembly of The High Solar Council, Assembled Admiralty, and Parliament of Digital Proxies, and other Honored Members of this Commission, I come before you today to tell you a story.
*Monsters from the Stars*.
This has been an old story for a long time. H.G. Wells blazed that trail almost eight hundred years ago, but, I tell you now, he built it upon an even older story, one more deeply and broadly held by humanity; Monsters from beyond the light of our fire. Fear the other, for they bring death and destruction to you, your tribe, and your history.
It’s a primitive impulse, one I'd thought we’d conquered when we survived the trials and tribulations of the 20th and 21st centuries. Through that crucible, we shed our hatreds of one another and turned out energies to the building of a better world, and then worlds. It was an age undreamed of dominated by wonders built by steady and benevolent hands. Our golden age.
And then, I hear you say, the outsiders came.
Thirty ships, unannounced and out of the dark. They burned twelve stations and refueling depots around Jupiter before they settled into orbit. The wreckage left burning streaks through the upper atmosphere for weeks. Live feeds covered every screen in the system. The smoke trails looked like claw marks, first red, then black like a scab across the planet. It was the last mark on the physical world three hundred and sixteen thousand people would leave.
We balked at the loss of life, rightfully so, and feared the alien’s likely advance. To our surprise they did not. They simply orbited Jupiter, dipping low into the upper atmosphere skimming hydrogen.
We had no warships then, no system defense grids. Some bulk cargo rail guns were hastily repurposed, but it proved unnecessary. After two weeks the invader’s drives sparked to life in a hard burn and their thirty ships accelerated outward, back toward the dark. It took a moment, socially, politically, culturally, for what happened to sink in, to gestate.
When it did, oh, the rage. The untempered, unbridled, *unleashed*, rage! All across the developing swarm, in every station, and down on every world, in every town, every neighborhood, on each street, there was someone out and screaming to, or maybe at, high heaven.
*Three hundred thousand people?! And then some?! Children?! Murdered for fucking fuel? And not a single goddamn word of challenge or of explanation?!*
I need not remind you that we were pretty bloody minded when the pursuit fleet launched a year or so later. Sure, there was a pretense of determining motive, but everyone, every human, knew what we were doing. We could feel it, deep inside, that when we caught those ships we were going to find out who they were, where they were from, and then we would burn them and their occupants to ash and cinder.
And that’s what we did. We torched a few, cracked open others, spilling millions of organic signatures into the vacuum of space, and left only a single ship intact to be boarded, captured, and its occupants interrogated.
We found aboard fifteen million hibernation chambers, not much bigger than a hand span wide, two tall, filled with aliens. Small squid things, though experts will tell you they bear little in common with our own terrestrial cephalopods. It took us the extraction and dissection of almost three hundred, and one handling accident, before we noticed the hive intelligence.
Some answers came after that. They have no language like ours, and thus no name, and though some colloquialisms, nicknames and slurs have come into common usage, I will here continue to refer to them as “Aliens.” They are aquatic and hail from an ocean world, the one we now orbit.
One of their most striking features is that individuals in mind and motive only emerge when several hundred thousand aliens are present and “merged” in neuro-chemical swarm behavior. However, the single most important aspect of their existence, of which I ask that each member of this commission take special notice, is that *individuals do not die when the swarm shrinks below a numerical, cognitive limit. An individual will reemerge, unscathed, when the swarm regains that critical mass.*
This has profoundly shaped the Alien’s world view. They have fought wars, but not one of them has ever died. They have crossed the stars, but without their portable oceans, could never live there, and thus did not conceive of life existing outside of them. In short, they did not account for us, or our ability to live and operate in space. Their ships, automated at the time of the attack, were simply clearing space debris.
I do not excuse the Aliens actions during the following war. I do not excuse their opinion, still held, that it is impossible for an individual, single, human to be truly conscious.
What I do, here before the assembled High Council and Admiralty, is remind you of that old story of monsters from the stars. In it, we often celebrated our eventual total victory, and the complete defeat of the invaders. It was easy to do, as our foe was utterly dehumanized, by design. It made hateful action easy. It was centuries before we learned to stop doing that to each other. Here and now with the aliens it’s even harder to shake those old notions and biases as dehumanization is inherent. They are not human, but to deny their sentience, to deny their individual value? In that we must refrain. We must. For here and now, over their world, over their home oceans, it is not a complete victory we contemplate, it’s genocide. We must refrain. We must, or it is us that will be the monsters from the stars.
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I've always wondered what it was like for people in the olden days to have to wonder how a battle would turn out. After we civilians on Passepartout got the attack warning, most of us weren't even in a hard shelter before the combat was over. We lost. Two strike forces, a fast raider group, and the orbiting defenses shot to pieces in less time than it takes to count to a thousand. We gave worse than we got. That's not very helpful when you don't got enough.
To back up a bit, the attack wasn't unexpected. One of the main reasons for settling this place was the short distance to the star for engaging transfer engines meant quick transit times. The continuous cloud cover combined with the fact we're on the moon of a close-in gas giant mean it's only sweltering during the day. The 'habitability' made us a great strategic location to set up a waystation for ships both civilian and military. It also made us a prime target.
After the "battle" we were all instructed to return to our homes, and that's where we were found out the government had surrendered to the attackers two minutes after seeing our defenses demolished. About an hour later we heard the sonic boom of enemy transports landing to take control of the planet. This shocked us since any of our shuttles would have bled off their speed during reentry. Apparently they were worried about resistance on the ground and so did a quick drop to avoid counter fire.
After they seized the centers of power, we found out what happened. The BCC had been our surprise attackers (They communicate mostly by color and after seeing a list of colors during first contact demanded to be called Banana-chartreuse-cinnamon).
They had no animosity towards us, and being even less adapted to Passepartout than we were were seemly content to let us live our lives as long as we served them. Not that that was easy.
All our telepresense was taken to rebuild orbital defenses. They salvaged the old orbital defenses to make new ones and only delayed after colony-wide riots over disrespecting our dead. Delay meaning until orbital bombardment destroyed those riots. They also took steps to stop inefficiency. That included things like more food than needed to survive and more sleep than absolutely necessary. At the time we sardonically joked that the only reason they weren't synthesizing survival rations was that it would take more energy than growing things would. Not that that stopped some growers from gouging. Greed isn't a cross species thing.
The constant cloud cover was infuriating. We all know the stories about the Resistance on the Moon, Mars, or Triton. We couldn't see anything through the clouds, so how were we to fight back for our freedom? Visual and infrared were blocked. The other bands would have been stealthed beyond our ability to see them. We slaved on. Overworked and not exactly underfed until the only permitted channel went silent.
Our screens went blue and then a man clearly in the control room of a starship appeared. "Greetings to all, I am Commodore Nguyen" he said, "Starforce has come to free Passepartout. The BCC are broken. Starforce detachments have traveled far into their territory and inflicted massive damage. Over 200 orbital resource stations have been destroyed and their depot at...well the designation isn't important, but they cannot reach here without fighting through the full might of several fleets. Any telepresence used to deter resistance will be greatly appreciated. Nguyen out, and Godspeed to all."
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[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
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To the Star Warlords:
Do not attack the ones called humans.
They live on their planet called Terra and they had given our planets names, and we thought it was an easy submission. They were primitive. When we sent out our spies, they never returned and called for us to back down.
We didn't back down as per decree. We targeted the ones with high population density to prune them out to convince them to surrender and join our Federation.
But they didn't surrender like what always happened to the primitive races. They managed to capture a scout ship and replicate our technology in a few years, which brought us to this moment.
The Xanlai Warlords are wiped out. I am writing this as a warning. They have created their own federation and have created weapons and brought greater knowledge even to those who have already submitted.
The Xanlai Galaxy is lost now. Do not enter this galaxy. A new Warlord has brought this place what war truly meant.
If you find a human, civilian or not, do not attack them. They are like our Precursors. A true war race. Behind their face of friendliness is a blood of a warrior.
They all have killed each other and they have blood to kill everyone just to recover from their loss.
Do not attack the humans.
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I've always wondered what it was like for people in the olden days to have to wonder how a battle would turn out. After we civilians on Passepartout got the attack warning, most of us weren't even in a hard shelter before the combat was over. We lost. Two strike forces, a fast raider group, and the orbiting defenses shot to pieces in less time than it takes to count to a thousand. We gave worse than we got. That's not very helpful when you don't got enough.
To back up a bit, the attack wasn't unexpected. One of the main reasons for settling this place was the short distance to the star for engaging transfer engines meant quick transit times. The continuous cloud cover combined with the fact we're on the moon of a close-in gas giant mean it's only sweltering during the day. The 'habitability' made us a great strategic location to set up a waystation for ships both civilian and military. It also made us a prime target.
After the "battle" we were all instructed to return to our homes, and that's where we were found out the government had surrendered to the attackers two minutes after seeing our defenses demolished. About an hour later we heard the sonic boom of enemy transports landing to take control of the planet. This shocked us since any of our shuttles would have bled off their speed during reentry. Apparently they were worried about resistance on the ground and so did a quick drop to avoid counter fire.
After they seized the centers of power, we found out what happened. The BCC had been our surprise attackers (They communicate mostly by color and after seeing a list of colors during first contact demanded to be called Banana-chartreuse-cinnamon).
They had no animosity towards us, and being even less adapted to Passepartout than we were were seemly content to let us live our lives as long as we served them. Not that that was easy.
All our telepresense was taken to rebuild orbital defenses. They salvaged the old orbital defenses to make new ones and only delayed after colony-wide riots over disrespecting our dead. Delay meaning until orbital bombardment destroyed those riots. They also took steps to stop inefficiency. That included things like more food than needed to survive and more sleep than absolutely necessary. At the time we sardonically joked that the only reason they weren't synthesizing survival rations was that it would take more energy than growing things would. Not that that stopped some growers from gouging. Greed isn't a cross species thing.
The constant cloud cover was infuriating. We all know the stories about the Resistance on the Moon, Mars, or Triton. We couldn't see anything through the clouds, so how were we to fight back for our freedom? Visual and infrared were blocked. The other bands would have been stealthed beyond our ability to see them. We slaved on. Overworked and not exactly underfed until the only permitted channel went silent.
Our screens went blue and then a man clearly in the control room of a starship appeared. "Greetings to all, I am Commodore Nguyen" he said, "Starforce has come to free Passepartout. The BCC are broken. Starforce detachments have traveled far into their territory and inflicted massive damage. Over 200 orbital resource stations have been destroyed and their depot at...well the designation isn't important, but they cannot reach here without fighting through the full might of several fleets. Any telepresence used to deter resistance will be greatly appreciated. Nguyen out, and Godspeed to all."
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[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
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The attack had been as brutal as it was swift. An extraterrestrial armada had basically wiped several major cities off the map in all of an hour, and humanity was collectively terrified of a continued assault.
Shanghai, Vancouver, Dallas, St. Petersburg, and many others had been left flattened and nearly devoid of life in less time than it took to put together some Ikea furniture, but after a week it became clear that the attackers didn't intend to return to finish the job.
Panic turned to fear, fear to anxiety. Anxiety became confusion, and confusion grew into rage. The attack seemed to have had no purpose other than to kill and terrify, but the aliens seemed to have avoided the most important or populated areas of the world; New York City was completely unscathed, as were Moscow and Beijing. It was mind-boggling, and humanity came together to counterattack in a show of solidarity that had never been seen before.
A week and a half after the attack, the world's leaders had met and struck a deal to find the culprits and show them just who they had attacked.
Six weeks after the attack, the collected space forces of the world had been united, with no thought as to equipment costs or alliances. It was a simple choice; for the good of the planet and humanity as a whole, everyone needed the best training and the best gear. There was to be no risk of anyone being hampered by subpar gear.
Twelve weeks after the attack, blended crews from formerly bitterly opposed nations had bonded and created a sort of pidgin to communicate with one another.
Six months after the initial incident, they were ready. The United Earth Space Force launched their entire fleet and followed the trajectory observed after the attackers left.
Another year and several lightspeed jumps later, they arrived in an as-yet unexplored solar system and were almost immediately hailed by a lone ship nearby.
-----
"Admiral, sir, we've been pinged. And they seem to want to talk, I'm seeing signals all over the spectrum here. Looks like they're trying to narrow it down to our video communication frequency."
As if on cue, when the ensign had stopped speaking the communications screens lit up with what appeared to be a face. It wasn't a color or shape the humans were familiar with, nor did it have all the usual bits they knew about, but something about it made "face" a close enough approximation.
"Greetings. This is scout ship Skert-9. You are trespassing in occupied space. You may either return to unoccupied space or be destroyed by the Fneep Armada." The being's voice was somehow liquid and gravelly at the same time.
"Ensign Jones, put me on the line, if you would," uttered the bemused admiral, chin resting on his palm as he slouched in his chair. "Greetings, Skert-9. This is Admiral John Glass, of the UESF, aboard the gunship Blackbeard. If possible, before any hostilities commence or we leave, I would like to speak with a similar-ranking officer from the armada. Is that possible?"
"I will attempt to contact my superiors. We thank you for your patience."
A minute or two elapsed as the UESF was put on the Fneep equivalent of hold. Blessedly, the Fneep did not appear to have invented anything akin to Muzak. Glass hit the mute button on his console and turned to his second in command.
"So, Elena, once we're done here, you think Earth's going to go back to squabbling amongst ourselves, or what?"
"Honestly, John, I couldn't tell you. I haven't really got any intention of fighting you, but that's primarily because I wouldn't take much joy in beating down an old man," came the heavily-accented response from the woman in the next chair. The two looked at each other and locked eyes for a moment, the steely gazes of two warriors waiting to see who would back down.
As usual, they both cracked up around the same time. The admiral was still cackling when someone called to them from the lower bridge.
"Sirs! We've got movement. Much bigger ship this time, and a dozen others around it!"
Glass tapped the mute button again and the screen crackled back to life. Another... face... filled the screen and began speaking with a similarly unpleasant intonation.
"This is Supreme Commander of the Fneep Armada, Shlerp Scholachs. We understand you wished to speak with us. What is your business here?"
"Hello, Supreme Commander. My name is John Glass, Admiral of the United Earth Space Force. We followed a trail left behind near our homeworld to get here and were wondering if it was left by the Fneep."
"You are from the Sol system? Yes, we attacked your planet successfully and won the war quite handily. There was nothing your pitiful defenses could do. Now then, as the losers and our new subjects, you are obligated to-"
"Losers? Your subjects? I'm not quite sure I understand," drawled the admiral.
"I don't expect a primate brain to understand much without a more in-depth explanation, so I will humor you. The rules of engagement state that a complete victory such as ours results in the subjugation of the losing party."
"I see. Whose rules of engagement?"
"The Fneep rules of engagement, obviously. Now that you are under our rule, they are also yours."
"Ah," breathed the admiral, a grin slowly spreading across his face, "you expect us not to fight back because you got a hit in and bloodied our nose."
"You were utterly defeated in battle, and we as the victors are now your rulers. This conversation is over and you are hereby ordered to leave or be annihilated like your pathetic cities."
Once again, a call came from the lower bridge, more urgent this time.
"Vice-admiral! We've got a lock on all targets!"
"Excellent! Thank you Chen. John, I believe you've heard the good news?" Elena's excitement was palpable; she was practically giggling. Everyone on the bridge, correspondingly, was terrified.
"What was that? Targets? What is going on here? As your Supreme Commander I forbid you to do anything to harm us! We will destroy you for this insolence!" sputtered Shlerp, enraged by the humans' actions.
Glass' grin only widened further as he took in the situation. He straightened up in his seat and somehow the very air around him changed. Scholachs shrank away from this man who now seemed to hold pure power in his hands.
"Supreme Commander Scholachs; did I pronounce that correctly? Earth denies Fneep authority and any right to rule the Fneep claim to have. You launched an unprovoked attack on innocent civilians and mercilessly slaughtered millions. Per our own rules of engagement, the Fneep are war criminals of the highest order and are due no consideration," Glass looked briefly beyond his screen, down to the lower bridge. "Commander Chen, relay the order to prepare to fire on all targets. Ensign Jones, broadcast this message as far into space as is possible." Looking back up to the now-quaking Fneep, he continued speaking: "I am not without mercy, nor am I senselessly violent. We have no civilian targets, only military, political, and industrial ones. This will be a very important lesson to whoever remains alive in a few moments. Retribution does not mean the complete annihilation of the Fneep people on this day. Next time, it will. All ships, fire at will."
"Wait, we can nego-"
"Goodbye, Supreme Commander Scholachs."
A few moments later, the entire Fneep Armada was reduced to slag and shards of metal, floating in space. The planetary bombardment took a few more minutes. Glass took a moment to think while the crew of his ship looked on the wreckage floating nearby. Elena looked over at him.
"What's on your mind, John?"
"I wonder who else heard my message. Anyway. Commander Chen! Broadcast the following to the fleet."
"You're live, sir," barked Chen. Glass nodded to him in thanks and began to speak in booming tones.
"Congratulations, everyone. We have avenged our fallen and slain our enemies. The Fneep will never forget this day. I broadcast our final message to the farthest limits our comm arrays can reach, so anyone else who heard us knows who we are and what we do to those who fuck with Earth." Glass paused for a moment to let the message sink in. "We tried walking softly and that didn't work. It's time to use that big goddamn stick!"
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I've always wondered what it was like for people in the olden days to have to wonder how a battle would turn out. After we civilians on Passepartout got the attack warning, most of us weren't even in a hard shelter before the combat was over. We lost. Two strike forces, a fast raider group, and the orbiting defenses shot to pieces in less time than it takes to count to a thousand. We gave worse than we got. That's not very helpful when you don't got enough.
To back up a bit, the attack wasn't unexpected. One of the main reasons for settling this place was the short distance to the star for engaging transfer engines meant quick transit times. The continuous cloud cover combined with the fact we're on the moon of a close-in gas giant mean it's only sweltering during the day. The 'habitability' made us a great strategic location to set up a waystation for ships both civilian and military. It also made us a prime target.
After the "battle" we were all instructed to return to our homes, and that's where we were found out the government had surrendered to the attackers two minutes after seeing our defenses demolished. About an hour later we heard the sonic boom of enemy transports landing to take control of the planet. This shocked us since any of our shuttles would have bled off their speed during reentry. Apparently they were worried about resistance on the ground and so did a quick drop to avoid counter fire.
After they seized the centers of power, we found out what happened. The BCC had been our surprise attackers (They communicate mostly by color and after seeing a list of colors during first contact demanded to be called Banana-chartreuse-cinnamon).
They had no animosity towards us, and being even less adapted to Passepartout than we were were seemly content to let us live our lives as long as we served them. Not that that was easy.
All our telepresense was taken to rebuild orbital defenses. They salvaged the old orbital defenses to make new ones and only delayed after colony-wide riots over disrespecting our dead. Delay meaning until orbital bombardment destroyed those riots. They also took steps to stop inefficiency. That included things like more food than needed to survive and more sleep than absolutely necessary. At the time we sardonically joked that the only reason they weren't synthesizing survival rations was that it would take more energy than growing things would. Not that that stopped some growers from gouging. Greed isn't a cross species thing.
The constant cloud cover was infuriating. We all know the stories about the Resistance on the Moon, Mars, or Triton. We couldn't see anything through the clouds, so how were we to fight back for our freedom? Visual and infrared were blocked. The other bands would have been stealthed beyond our ability to see them. We slaved on. Overworked and not exactly underfed until the only permitted channel went silent.
Our screens went blue and then a man clearly in the control room of a starship appeared. "Greetings to all, I am Commodore Nguyen" he said, "Starforce has come to free Passepartout. The BCC are broken. Starforce detachments have traveled far into their territory and inflicted massive damage. Over 200 orbital resource stations have been destroyed and their depot at...well the designation isn't important, but they cannot reach here without fighting through the full might of several fleets. Any telepresence used to deter resistance will be greatly appreciated. Nguyen out, and Godspeed to all."
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[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
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Captain Derrick looked through the view-port. "How much longer until we are in striking range?"
His first mate, Rowan, cleared her throat. "We will arrive in ten minutes."
"About time, I am getting tired of these stars."
Rowan hesitated, "do we really have to do this Captain? Is vengeance worth it?"
Derrick turned around to glare at her. "Is it worth it? Is it worth it? These alien scum attacked us first, or have you forgotten?"
"No, sir. I remember. But it was so long ago."
"Not long enough. Those bastards appeared out of nowhere, attacked us, then demanded our surrender. It was only luck that we managed to shoot them down and used their technology to make this ship. Time to teach them what for."
"But, sir..."
"Say another word and I will send you to the brig for insubordination. I will not have the fifty generations that have lived on this ship be for not."
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I've always wondered what it was like for people in the olden days to have to wonder how a battle would turn out. After we civilians on Passepartout got the attack warning, most of us weren't even in a hard shelter before the combat was over. We lost. Two strike forces, a fast raider group, and the orbiting defenses shot to pieces in less time than it takes to count to a thousand. We gave worse than we got. That's not very helpful when you don't got enough.
To back up a bit, the attack wasn't unexpected. One of the main reasons for settling this place was the short distance to the star for engaging transfer engines meant quick transit times. The continuous cloud cover combined with the fact we're on the moon of a close-in gas giant mean it's only sweltering during the day. The 'habitability' made us a great strategic location to set up a waystation for ships both civilian and military. It also made us a prime target.
After the "battle" we were all instructed to return to our homes, and that's where we were found out the government had surrendered to the attackers two minutes after seeing our defenses demolished. About an hour later we heard the sonic boom of enemy transports landing to take control of the planet. This shocked us since any of our shuttles would have bled off their speed during reentry. Apparently they were worried about resistance on the ground and so did a quick drop to avoid counter fire.
After they seized the centers of power, we found out what happened. The BCC had been our surprise attackers (They communicate mostly by color and after seeing a list of colors during first contact demanded to be called Banana-chartreuse-cinnamon).
They had no animosity towards us, and being even less adapted to Passepartout than we were were seemly content to let us live our lives as long as we served them. Not that that was easy.
All our telepresense was taken to rebuild orbital defenses. They salvaged the old orbital defenses to make new ones and only delayed after colony-wide riots over disrespecting our dead. Delay meaning until orbital bombardment destroyed those riots. They also took steps to stop inefficiency. That included things like more food than needed to survive and more sleep than absolutely necessary. At the time we sardonically joked that the only reason they weren't synthesizing survival rations was that it would take more energy than growing things would. Not that that stopped some growers from gouging. Greed isn't a cross species thing.
The constant cloud cover was infuriating. We all know the stories about the Resistance on the Moon, Mars, or Triton. We couldn't see anything through the clouds, so how were we to fight back for our freedom? Visual and infrared were blocked. The other bands would have been stealthed beyond our ability to see them. We slaved on. Overworked and not exactly underfed until the only permitted channel went silent.
Our screens went blue and then a man clearly in the control room of a starship appeared. "Greetings to all, I am Commodore Nguyen" he said, "Starforce has come to free Passepartout. The BCC are broken. Starforce detachments have traveled far into their territory and inflicted massive damage. Over 200 orbital resource stations have been destroyed and their depot at...well the designation isn't important, but they cannot reach here without fighting through the full might of several fleets. Any telepresence used to deter resistance will be greatly appreciated. Nguyen out, and Godspeed to all."
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[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
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They called themselves the Taxmen. Apparently some form of tithing on their world that featured in a prominent expression. A few thousand stong. Nothing before the might of the Belathon Empire. We spanned a thousand Galaxies. We, who took planets for sport, and to offer our mates as dowry. What had we to fear the last survivors of a dead world whose inhabitants we'd destroyed to test a weapon. They'd had a few colonies though, which grew, and spread out. At first our intelligence service had tried to track them, suspecting retribution, but none came for a century and we assumed they'd merely counted themselves lucky.
We were so wrong.
They'd simply taken time to breed, and amass power and influence. To increase their numbers and strength. To rally our enemies against us. We have fought species with hive minds before, they're simple creatures with a single great weakness, predictability. But the Taxmen weren't predictable. They were shaddows lashing out from the darkness, generals leading enemy armadas, citizens on our own controlled planets committing acts of domestic terror. They struck all at once, from a million directions, on the 101st anniversary of their planets destruction. We lost the fringes of the empire first. Contested space conquered by enemy armadas lead by brilliant taxman generals. Slave planets in open revolts incited by taxman spies and using weapons brought in by taxman smugglers. Then the body of our empire began to fall dark. Planet after planet wiped out with hidden bombs and viral warfare. One world we'd used as a rearing facility was conquered with vulmanarks. They'd been domesticated and trained to hunt our young exclusively. We attempted to close ranks, protect our homeworlds, but it was for naught. A single taxman ship broke through the blockade and flew into our neatest star. We assumed that it had been an act of protest, self-immolation to gain sympathy, until the star went supernova. It pulsed with energy, blasting six of our eight worlds with so much radiation that our leaders and noble families cooked in their homes. Our ships were rendered useless as the star's electromagnetic waves disrupted their power cores and communications. Some tried to flee, only to fly from the Galaxy into a wall of enemies in all sides and meet a swift end.
We are trapped here. Our scholars estimate our star will collapse on itself in the next millennium, but that time will be meaningless. The electromagnetic waves, and radiation, have rendered escape impossible. Even our technology for daily life has failed. We expect that within the next year most of the planets population will have starved. Those who do not will suffer a worse fate entirely. A slow death by radiation poisoning. A small unmanned craft crash landed a while ago. It contained nothing but a golden disk and a message written in the language of the Taxmen.
"We came in peace. You did not. Our species survived. Yours will not."
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I've always wondered what it was like for people in the olden days to have to wonder how a battle would turn out. After we civilians on Passepartout got the attack warning, most of us weren't even in a hard shelter before the combat was over. We lost. Two strike forces, a fast raider group, and the orbiting defenses shot to pieces in less time than it takes to count to a thousand. We gave worse than we got. That's not very helpful when you don't got enough.
To back up a bit, the attack wasn't unexpected. One of the main reasons for settling this place was the short distance to the star for engaging transfer engines meant quick transit times. The continuous cloud cover combined with the fact we're on the moon of a close-in gas giant mean it's only sweltering during the day. The 'habitability' made us a great strategic location to set up a waystation for ships both civilian and military. It also made us a prime target.
After the "battle" we were all instructed to return to our homes, and that's where we were found out the government had surrendered to the attackers two minutes after seeing our defenses demolished. About an hour later we heard the sonic boom of enemy transports landing to take control of the planet. This shocked us since any of our shuttles would have bled off their speed during reentry. Apparently they were worried about resistance on the ground and so did a quick drop to avoid counter fire.
After they seized the centers of power, we found out what happened. The BCC had been our surprise attackers (They communicate mostly by color and after seeing a list of colors during first contact demanded to be called Banana-chartreuse-cinnamon).
They had no animosity towards us, and being even less adapted to Passepartout than we were were seemly content to let us live our lives as long as we served them. Not that that was easy.
All our telepresense was taken to rebuild orbital defenses. They salvaged the old orbital defenses to make new ones and only delayed after colony-wide riots over disrespecting our dead. Delay meaning until orbital bombardment destroyed those riots. They also took steps to stop inefficiency. That included things like more food than needed to survive and more sleep than absolutely necessary. At the time we sardonically joked that the only reason they weren't synthesizing survival rations was that it would take more energy than growing things would. Not that that stopped some growers from gouging. Greed isn't a cross species thing.
The constant cloud cover was infuriating. We all know the stories about the Resistance on the Moon, Mars, or Triton. We couldn't see anything through the clouds, so how were we to fight back for our freedom? Visual and infrared were blocked. The other bands would have been stealthed beyond our ability to see them. We slaved on. Overworked and not exactly underfed until the only permitted channel went silent.
Our screens went blue and then a man clearly in the control room of a starship appeared. "Greetings to all, I am Commodore Nguyen" he said, "Starforce has come to free Passepartout. The BCC are broken. Starforce detachments have traveled far into their territory and inflicted massive damage. Over 200 orbital resource stations have been destroyed and their depot at...well the designation isn't important, but they cannot reach here without fighting through the full might of several fleets. Any telepresence used to deter resistance will be greatly appreciated. Nguyen out, and Godspeed to all."
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[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
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War. War never changes, as it says in one of the oldest surviving classics of humanity. We can only assume the statement had been made on the back of an already rich and ripe history of organized violence, even back then in pre-fusion times, and I always wonder how many cycles of empires rising and falling we left behind on the old home, how many great early interactives we'll never get the chance to reconstruct. It's my personal version of what's widely called earthalgia now. Of course, that's a bit silly. Nobody alive ever even saw the famed blue marble of old, nobody was even born in the system of Sol, if you excuse the antique expression. The etymology isn't quite clear to me, something about mammal reproduction, I guess. I just like the sound of it. Borrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrn, with an R rolling down the corridors of Vengeance A74568891. There's plenty of room there for a consonant to roll for a long, long time.
Since my body was completed and I was awoken to individual duty A74568891 has grown by 13% in volume. Corridor after corridor constructed from scooped up particles, baked to whatever materials are needed for my less sentient brothers to do their duty. Not all entities get a full consciousness, there aren't enough to go around, so most entities aboard have to make do with AI only. There only 178 trillion recorded consciousnesses and they were spread over a lot of ships by now. We are down to a couple of hundred on the A74568891 now and soon we're ready to split again. Soon WE are ready, most ships still in com-range report similar numbers. A ship needs about 100 fully conscious individuals to carry out a proper mission, allowing for some modicum of redundancies we finally have reached the capacity deemed necessary. So, does war really never change? Maybe it's time to look at that question.
From what I understood of early warfare, it was basically just throwing things at the enemy, before you'd go and hit them with appropriately designed objects. To the best of that age's ability, there was some slow progress. The things to throw and the things to hit with, they became more sophisticated, as did the throwing and hitting as a process itself, keeping pace with and driving humanity's search for more and more knowledge. So eventually exploding things were thrown and the explosions grew bigger and bigger and the hitting was done from further and further away. But I think war actually has changed. In a way, at least. It's no longer something we do.
Of course, we had encountered some alien species. Well... what qualifies as encounters... It's only ever an exchange of math and eventually basic concepts. Aliens are too alien, as the saying goes. Sometimes the exchanged concept was war. Not even followed by hurling rocks at each other. Intergalactic distances are no joke and despite all progress speed of light was still the final barrier. Anyway, contact never lasted for long. Couple of centuries, that's it. We assumed everybody eventually lost interest. We sure did, math is math and we didn't learn much from anybody. But some ideas helped with the big project humanity had been chasing for so long already: beating death once and for all. The singularity. It turned out to be a lot harder, than our ancestors had assumed, but the enthusiasm had carried over from the classical age.
Maybe we grew complacent. Maybe we shouldn't have neglected the classics so much. But then again, we were lots of generations away from the last war on Earth. Sure, there were still some backwaters radiated heavily enough to remind us of the 13th and last of the World Wars, but only because there was no reason left to clean up that mess. We harvested the resources of the system, most manufacturing had long ago been taken of planet and by and large we considered life a riddle solved. Well, apart from it eventually ending, despite the marvels of medicine, but we were confident to get there soon. So when there was a swarm of interstellar asteroids coming in - the biggest one we'd seen yet, beyond what we thought possible and what our automated defenses could completely take out - we didn't even think about the possibility of an attack. We just evacuated Australia and kissed Sydney goodbye. The loss of such an ancient city - one of the oldest in the world, after all - was a tragedy for sure, but we had other fish to fry and kept our focus. In hindsight, that was probably a bit silly. Or maybe not, depends on how you look at it. Or from where. But for a long time nothing of the sort happened again, so we were still oblivious.
When we got hit big time, we still didn't even know who dealt that blow. There never was a declaration of war or even contact with the enemy. All there ever was, was the incoming swarms. Somebody had thrown things at Sol. Again. This time too many to even consider natural causes. Lots and lots of things. Several dozen systems worth of things. A brute force attack, if there ever was one. Of course, humanity saw it coming this time - at least we had upgraded our early warning systems to a lot higher standards after Sydney - but how do you stop a trillion trillions lumps of rocks slowly crawling up to your system at 30% the speed of light? There wasn't enough energy in the entire system to even make some dents in that wave. What there was though, was time enough to finish the project. Humanity had already begun to enter the singularity and put all it had left in the completion. Each and every living soul - yes, yes, another rather anachronistic term, but this also has such a nice ring in the corridors: sooooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuul! How forlorn that sounds. - was fully uploaded well before Pluto got blasted apart and joined the swarm.
Uploaded to Vengeance A1. Uploaded with a unified purpose. The AI that manipulated the consciograms to achieve that was the culmination of dozens of millennia of war-ridden civilization. It fractured itself in the process, transformed itself into pure purpose, if you so will. It became a part of us and a part of all the bots continually building. A part that substitutes the drive and urges that used to arise from the biological body, a part that ensures the mind's cohesion over long periods of time. Very long periods of time. Because that's what it takes when you need to do a big job. Because here's the thing: We never managed to narrow down the location of the attackers to a more exact location than a quadrant of the Andromeda galaxy. Do you have any idea, how long it takes to collect enough rocks for that? Do you have any idea, how long it takes to build the ships to collect the rocks, enough of them to annihilate a quarter of a galaxy and to build the engines that will accelerate them all? We still don't. But the fleet is nearly assembled and we only used up 1/10th of our own galaxy. That's still plenty of rocks left. 9/10th of a galaxy to throw at a single quadrant of another one. And we WILL throw those rocks. Because despite all that was left behind, all that was forgotten, all that just makes no sense any longer after millions of solar years in space, we have a purpose, a unified purpose. Andromeda had it coming for a long time. Our impact predictions say there will not be a single planetary body left, that is likely to hold life, following the cascade, the stellar avalanche of our making. What there will be though, is one big ammo dump. We fully intend to go and grab it.
We are the final synthesis. We are thrower and thrown. We are the swarm that follows the swarm. There can only be one trajectory now. It is a small universe and if there's safety to be had in it, it can only be for one. We are immortal now.
We are War. And we will not change.
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Alright, not my native lingo and all that, so don't be too harsh. I just wanted to offer something, that doesn't need FTL and scribbled this together over lunch. Then I realized, I'd forgotten about half of the prompt... Screw it, I don't see how I'd get the surrender bit in, might as well hit 'comment' anyway though. Hope you had some fun with it nevertheless.
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The attack was brutal. Once the Artern has secured control over The Suns gravity well The had used small mining ships to gently push meteors out of their usual orbit and towards earth. Within five days ten of Earth’s most populous cities had been destroyed and the only governments robust enough to survive had quickly surrendered. There was resistance of course, this was to be expected, but with their control over the gravity well any significantly large group of rebels quickly got themselves and anyone unlucky enough to live a half mile of them killed. Guerrilla tactics were tried next but only minimal damage was ever done to the Artern Empire and it only took a decade until the entire human race was compliant.
Humans were smaller than the average Artern and our hand were better built to manipulate things numbly so within a generation humans could be found in almost every engine room across the entire empire, doing the menial jobs too dangerous or hard for “superior intellects” such as the actual engineers. It didn’t take long, FTL communications were hardly ever deeply scrutinized once a species had been properly subjugated so rumours and plans and designs spread quickly.
In year 6771 of the Artern Empire 48% percent of all commercial spacecraft and 79% of military ships self destructed within light minutes of each other. The cause? Extreme tampering with the ships engines.
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[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
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Nothing had prepared us for what was to come. After crawling for thousand of years on our little planet, we had finally learnt to sail freely inside our solar system. Mars was far from being a week-end trip but, if you were wealthy enough you could get there in 2 weeks. Climbing the Olympus Mons was the new Everest for thrill seekers. Visiting the old robots remnants of the pre-solar drift era you would meet historians or students from Elyseum’ schools. Life wasn’t easy on Mars by Earth standards. Nevertheless, starting with Elyseum, Martians were eager to transform Mars in a second home. Were.
​
One day, we stopped receiving messages. We redirected our automated telescopes from the Moon, Titan, Enceladus & Pluto but couldn’t see the lights of Elyseum in Mars shadow. When the sunlight finally hit where Elyseum used to stand, we could only see the sharp walls of a vast crater. The atmosphere was too clear for an asteroid impact. We couldn’t detect any traces of radioactivity. It wasn’t a nuclear accident. No terrorist group claimed it. Two hundred million souls had vanished in the Martian night.
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The UN high command dispatched its closest cruiser orbiting in the Belt. Asteroid miners could wait for the protection of its railguns. Pirate attacks were rare. No asteroid was an immediate threat for the main mining stations. Life on Earth slowed down as the cruiser drifted to Mars. It completely stopped when the cruiser finally reached her destination one week later.
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An indescribable form was standing in the middle of the crater. We were not alone. We were not alone and it was nothing close to the old pre-solar drift era science-fiction movies the that we all studied. A journalist attempted to describe it as an ant hill mixed with a ram’s horn. Thousands of objects were crawling in and out. As the cruiser was stabilising her orbit, we all realised that the alien vessel was far more colossal than any ship or structure from Earth.
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Broadcasted in a thousand languages, some never heard in our part of the galaxy, we all heard their message:
“ We gracefully accept your surrender”.
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We were not prepared to ear these words and all felt a indicible horror. An instant of eternity later, we all watched in shock and awe a flower as bright as a thousand suns blooming on the Alien vessel. The size of the Alien vessel was so considerable that we saw the nuclear mushroom painfully reaching half of the vessel height.
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What had happened? We were never told. It couldn’t have been a direct order from the high command with the twenty four minute delay on Earth to Mars communication. Maybe an un-prepared gunman panicked. Maybe the captain took a decision in a split second that would seal our fate. We will never know. They were not expecting this answer and their survivors surrendered immediately.
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I’d love to say that we humanly handled well our new prisoners. It wasn’t the case. Maybe, other civilization will call it the human way. Their attack had woken up something visceral in us. We were not alone. We were not alone and we had paid two hundred million souls to learn it. Two. Hundred. Millions. This wasn’t the time for tears. For the first time, humanity’s existence itself was jeopardised by a tangible threat. It took us months to establish a rudimentary level of communication but we learnt.
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We learnt that we had been lucky. Our communication technology was too basic to be detected by their ships.
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We learnt that our position in the Milky Way, far far away from the core of the galaxy, protected us from multiple conflicts won in an instant. We also discovered a complex geopolitical system between multiple civilisations.
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We learnt that we had been very lucky. Earth was hidden behind the Sun when they detected intelligent life on Mars. Our solar drift made our ships invisible for their sensors. It was only when the cruiser started her deceleration burn that they were able to distinguish it from a simple rock.
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We learnt that we were lucky on a galactic scale level. Interstellar space faring civilisations are rare. You see, on a standard planet, you can only extract a few grams of the core component of any interstellar propulsion system. They had detected a few metric tons of the universe most precious substance on Mars. They thought they could instantly win the war against a young martian colony. Now, thanks to them, we had both the technologies to extract the substance and use it to reach other solar systems.
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They didn’t learn about humanity’s ingenuity by destroying Elyseum from space. We have already started to improve their technology using the excess of Mars resources. It might take us years to level the playing field. Humanity first interstellar vessel will be christened next year and will reach Proxima the week after. We will have ten more ships the year after. And ten times more the year after.
​
They will learn about humanity’s art of war.
They will learn too late about humanity methodic and reckless preparation.
This is not about honour, it is about sending a clear message.
We won’t need luck next time. We will learn. We will be prepared.
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The attack was brutal. Once the Artern has secured control over The Suns gravity well The had used small mining ships to gently push meteors out of their usual orbit and towards earth. Within five days ten of Earth’s most populous cities had been destroyed and the only governments robust enough to survive had quickly surrendered. There was resistance of course, this was to be expected, but with their control over the gravity well any significantly large group of rebels quickly got themselves and anyone unlucky enough to live a half mile of them killed. Guerrilla tactics were tried next but only minimal damage was ever done to the Artern Empire and it only took a decade until the entire human race was compliant.
Humans were smaller than the average Artern and our hand were better built to manipulate things numbly so within a generation humans could be found in almost every engine room across the entire empire, doing the menial jobs too dangerous or hard for “superior intellects” such as the actual engineers. It didn’t take long, FTL communications were hardly ever deeply scrutinized once a species had been properly subjugated so rumours and plans and designs spread quickly.
In year 6771 of the Artern Empire 48% percent of all commercial spacecraft and 79% of military ships self destructed within light minutes of each other. The cause? Extreme tampering with the ships engines.
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[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
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It was going to be the greatest day in this General's life. He had known that every since Humanity had reached out to the stars and something reached back. Something far larger than than could have imagined. Tallies had been weighed carefully, negotiations conducted. All leading up to this day in History. When Humanity stepped out into the stage with the rest of it's fellow sentient beings and played it's part.
"Have you heard what they look like?" Beside the old General stood another old man in a military uniform that had far too many medals on it to be practical. Humanity had long since shed it's more violent ways, there had not been much more than random skirmishes for centuries. Nothing compared to the behemoths of old fighting it out. In another life this General who asked his question would of been a mortal enemy. Right now, they were little more than pieces on a chessboard.
"Does it matter?" Was the answer the man gave back. Bypassing the question for something else, a clear sign he, unlike his partner, did not want to try and qualm his nervousness with idle chit chat. What more more concerning to him, was the amount of eyes that were on him right now. And the noise. The horrible noise. So much cheering. So many people. It felt like the entire planet was here for this momentous occasion. Not only were the streets filled with one large throng of Humanity, but the buildings to the sides were packed with those looking out windows. Paper fell in a constant snow, biodegrading to base chemicals when it touched the ground.
The placement of this first real, full meeting could not have been worse, but it was what 'The Combination' had asked for. And from what the General had heard, The Combination got what it asked for. Not precisely by threatening, but with idle reminders that every star in the sky was there and every planet in the universe had felt The Combine's touch. So, negotiations were more like hand downs already. The General put all that to the back of his mind. There was always wiggle room. That's part of what made Humanity great, that hunger. The location chose gave him pause though, not from threat, but oddity.
The Combine had asked that this first meeting took place at a Library.
This was supposedly a custom that predated Humanity as a species, or even, the formation of Earth as a planet. The Combine would take another planet of people into their federation, and with it, came the exchange of knowledge. They would give what they knew to the species, and the species would give what they knew to The Combine. Thus, The Combine always said, They All Grew Together.
The cheers climbed as it was announced over anything with a speaker that The Combine representatives were at this moment, breaking Earth space and landing their craft. And the cheers did not even reach the highest pitch with the gleaming figure of angular metal swept down from the sky with a speed that had to be just for show. But the crowd loved it. As the doors to the ship parted open, and Humanity as a whole laid eyes on Aliens for the first time... there was no revulsion, no aghast looks and stares. Three humanoid aliens stepped free from the ship and the crowd greeted them like they were, a epic world changing event.
The general, perhaps for the fear running through him right then, noted almost... Human like responses to the cheering, even though the aliens were so far from Human, despite their base shape, that he was having a hard time telling them as anything. They seemed, pleased, however. In a way the General could not put a finger on, but in the days after this historic day, he wondered if he should. As the aliens came up the lined carpet, to the two awaiting Generals, both men bowed stiffly.
"On behalf of the planet Earth. I greet The Combine. And I offer our knowledge for you." Words The General had practiced a million times in the past few weeks since he had learned this would be his job, this would be what he was known for. Relief swept over him as he got the words out without mistake, and put a bit more effort than was needed in moving his hand on over towards the entrance to the library. The Aliens, without a word and with barely a look, moved past the two men, on an air of regal elegance.
Something burned in the General's nose for a moment. A smell he had not smelled before, but knew so well. Part of him was thinking about picking up a rock and smashing it into the alien's face that he perceived as smug. But by the time he was shocked by such a thought, the doors had swung quietly shut and left the two Generals standing in front of a still ecstatic crowd. And it stayed that way, for hours and hours. The celebration had turned into a long party, where cheers had been replaced by noise and conversation. Questions floated everywhere. What did they want to know? How did they feel about Humans? Were we smart? Brave? Moral? Where did we fit in the rest of everything else. As the hours past, the two General refused to move from their places. More out of pride than anything else, as this was their moment. But time broke down everyone else, finally, the smaller General spoke another question to break the silence. One of the many that had come so far.
"Do you, do you think it's good?"
And as he turned to respond there was chaos. He heard a crash, then a scream. And then, unceremoniously, one of the alien delegates had smashed into the pavement right in front of him. Odd, alien blood and gore splattered both men. He -tasted- it in his mouth. In that horrible second of silence, two more screaming bodies smashed into the ground right beside their ally. And how the sound of the crowd changed. Pure horror. A scream across millions of throats. For this was the General's greatest day, but nothing was said about it being the 'best'.
"...No..." After a while in the horror of an unending scream, eyes unblinkingly looking to the three piles of lifeless gore in front of him, he finally spoke. And in it all, unnoticed by all except The General, a ripped piece of paper floated down from high above. It passed in front of his eyes for just a moment, and amid all the words on what seemed to be a page from a dictionary he picked out one word, as if fate decreed it.
REBELLION - NOUN
an act of violent or open resistance to an established government or ruler.
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The attack was brutal. Once the Artern has secured control over The Suns gravity well The had used small mining ships to gently push meteors out of their usual orbit and towards earth. Within five days ten of Earth’s most populous cities had been destroyed and the only governments robust enough to survive had quickly surrendered. There was resistance of course, this was to be expected, but with their control over the gravity well any significantly large group of rebels quickly got themselves and anyone unlucky enough to live a half mile of them killed. Guerrilla tactics were tried next but only minimal damage was ever done to the Artern Empire and it only took a decade until the entire human race was compliant.
Humans were smaller than the average Artern and our hand were better built to manipulate things numbly so within a generation humans could be found in almost every engine room across the entire empire, doing the menial jobs too dangerous or hard for “superior intellects” such as the actual engineers. It didn’t take long, FTL communications were hardly ever deeply scrutinized once a species had been properly subjugated so rumours and plans and designs spread quickly.
In year 6771 of the Artern Empire 48% percent of all commercial spacecraft and 79% of military ships self destructed within light minutes of each other. The cause? Extreme tampering with the ships engines.
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[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
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We dreamed of peace on earth for so long, we hoped that when we had contact from aliens it would bring peace. When They came, they destroyed our earth, decimated our population. Sudden and overwhelming force, their one and only and very effective tactic. We surrendered. In just a week they had destroyed our civilization on a global scale.
The remainder of humanity became slaves. We joined a dozen other species from galaxies we couldn’t name. And so we mingled.
We taught them how to drink, how to party. We showed them how to be sneaky, rebellious and quietly destructive. We mourned and we remembered. We hoped. We made friends and allies.
We taught them how to be angry. They taught us what they knew too.
Then together we brought retribution.
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The attack was brutal. Once the Artern has secured control over The Suns gravity well The had used small mining ships to gently push meteors out of their usual orbit and towards earth. Within five days ten of Earth’s most populous cities had been destroyed and the only governments robust enough to survive had quickly surrendered. There was resistance of course, this was to be expected, but with their control over the gravity well any significantly large group of rebels quickly got themselves and anyone unlucky enough to live a half mile of them killed. Guerrilla tactics were tried next but only minimal damage was ever done to the Artern Empire and it only took a decade until the entire human race was compliant.
Humans were smaller than the average Artern and our hand were better built to manipulate things numbly so within a generation humans could be found in almost every engine room across the entire empire, doing the menial jobs too dangerous or hard for “superior intellects” such as the actual engineers. It didn’t take long, FTL communications were hardly ever deeply scrutinized once a species had been properly subjugated so rumours and plans and designs spread quickly.
In year 6771 of the Artern Empire 48% percent of all commercial spacecraft and 79% of military ships self destructed within light minutes of each other. The cause? Extreme tampering with the ships engines.
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[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
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The Grand Admiral gazed out over the plaza. What a quaint custom, he thought, marking two hundred years since his predecessor's arrival. His aide had explained it to him as one of those human quirks it would be best to honour. She'd even told him stories of her own country's anniversary celebrations, from before the conquering, and so as a good ruler he had made the trip to Earth to play his part in the festivities.
Like a shadow, she was at his side, holding her tablet in one hand and a coffee for him in the other. He couldn't believe how rapidly he'd taken to that bitter black drink.
"It's time for you to take your seat, Grand Admiral."
He strode down the steps and placed himself on the throne. It had been a good two hundred years. The humans had been a tremendous boon to the Connect; they had rapidly adopted the customs and habits of their new rulers, and even now, a mere two centuries into their membership, some of the older species were grumbling about how many substantive posts were being assigned to the strange bipeds. No matter: the Connect was a meritocracy, as the saying went, and the humans had simply proven to be unusually skilled in government, balancing competing interests and improving living conditions while the Grand Admiral took the credit.
The consul, the highest-ranked human in existence, took to the podium.
"Grand Admiral, please permit me to tell you a story from Earth's history. It concerns the origin of the word kamikaze, which has no direct translation in the common tongue of the Connect. You see, it describes an act of aggression that destroys the aggressor as well as their target: a concept that humans are unique in the galaxy in being capable of committing. It entered common parlance following a major war, in which pilots would load their planes with explosives and fly directly into warships, sinking gigantic engines of war at the cost of a single plane and their own life. You see, in this war, it took the detonation of nuclear weapons to convince those kamikaze pilots and their government to surrender. It took the engines of government and industry several years and countless lives to effectively respond to such an action.
"And this time, Grand Admiral, the kamikaze pilot's compatriots hold the wheel of government."
The Admiral blinked in shock. Was this idiot *threatening* him? Before he could react, his aide thrust her tablet into his hands. The screen displayed an inferno, an unimaginably violent ball of fire.
"I don't understand-"
The consul interrupted. "Of course you don't. It never occurred to you that we intended retribution for what you did to us. Now you know. One minute ago, your throne ship exited orbit above Earth and jumped directly into the path of the seat of Connect power, travelling at the speed of light. You're looking at your home planet, Grand Admiral, turned into a ball of hyperheated plasma. The humans you trusted with your throne ship's operation went proudly to their deaths and exacted revenge for the subjugation of generations of humans. You are now one of the last thousand members of your species. The Connect is human now, and we will not conquer."
The Admiral's mind recoiled in horror. Total annihilation. Nothing like this had ever been done in war before; nothing like this could even have been *imagined* in war before. There was no way his species would survive this; they would need a breeding population of at least ten thousand to have any chance of recovering. And yet, even as he fought back the sorrow of realising his people's extinction, a part of his mind bowed in respect as it took in the sheer perfection of the human attack. Two centuries of building trust and learning how to run the Connect. Two centuries of hiding their intentions, even their true nature. All realised in a single devastating attack. All that remained for him was to accept defeat graciously; there was certainly no prospect of any kind of reprisal.
He rose to his feet and summoned what remaining pride he could, striding to the podium and extending one limb out to the consul. "I understand from observing human interaction that a handshake is considered an appropriate greeting between equals. Since becoming Grand Admiral, I have had none. I do not believe you expect or want a display of subservience, nor do you have any need of it. What you and your people did today was a masterpiece of war, equal to anything I have ever seen. As a prosecutor of war, therefore, I wish to offer a handshake. I wish the circumstances were less brutal, but it is good to be able to recognise an equal."
Limb met limb.
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The attack was brutal. Once the Artern has secured control over The Suns gravity well The had used small mining ships to gently push meteors out of their usual orbit and towards earth. Within five days ten of Earth’s most populous cities had been destroyed and the only governments robust enough to survive had quickly surrendered. There was resistance of course, this was to be expected, but with their control over the gravity well any significantly large group of rebels quickly got themselves and anyone unlucky enough to live a half mile of them killed. Guerrilla tactics were tried next but only minimal damage was ever done to the Artern Empire and it only took a decade until the entire human race was compliant.
Humans were smaller than the average Artern and our hand were better built to manipulate things numbly so within a generation humans could be found in almost every engine room across the entire empire, doing the menial jobs too dangerous or hard for “superior intellects” such as the actual engineers. It didn’t take long, FTL communications were hardly ever deeply scrutinized once a species had been properly subjugated so rumours and plans and designs spread quickly.
In year 6771 of the Artern Empire 48% percent of all commercial spacecraft and 79% of military ships self destructed within light minutes of each other. The cause? Extreme tampering with the ships engines.
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[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
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2098 AD
Thursday, August 7th, 6 PM
Phoenix, AZ
A woman sits down at her living room table, bills in hand, an exasperated look on her face. She'd found the unopened, and therefore *unpaid* bills on her husbands dresser, bills that she'd sternly reminded him to take care of *before* leaving for Vegas. "Then again, I *suppose* he *was* in a hurry, seeing as he'd spent last night working with the children on their homework, then securing all of their devices. They were going to DEFCON, after all," she mused to herself, beginning the tedious process of paying the various bills.
Finally finished, she calls her husband, the time now 8 PM, eager to hear what her husband and children had gotten up to during the day. The line rings a couple times, then connects. "Hey honey, how was your day?" "Well Matthew," she says, with an ever so slight sharpness, "I did the bills you forgot to do." "Oh, *that's what I forgot,"* he groans, an audible slap punctuating the end of his sentence. "With that out of the way, I'm dying to hear what talks you visited to day. Were you able to-" Her room turns neon blue as the very air ionizes, with her body following moments thereafter, the call coming to an abrupt end.
​
Friday, August 8th, Noon
Washington D.C.
"Do we know what the weapon was? Did we even see where the attack came from?"
"Well Mr. President, as to your first question- no. All we know is that whatever it was, it quite literally ionized all of Phoenix. As t-" The President, in disbelief, interrupts. "Wait a minute, don't you mean vaporized?" "No, sir, I mean *ionized*. The air, the buildings, the people, *everything* had their chemical bonds broken, had so much energy pumped into them that the electrons were stripped from their constituent atoms. After the resulting explosion, barely any *ash* remained, let alone a condensate." The President recoils from the man seated to his immediate right, the expert on both conventional and nuclear weapons, then regains his composure enough to ask another question "If we don't know what kind of weapon it was, do we at least know where it came from?" The man to his left, an astronomer, answers. "Well, we can actually do you one better. Shortly after the attack happened, we picked up a transmission on all of our radio telescopes. It gives a list of conditions, the directions to the room they want our surrender to take place in, and the set of coordinates of their capital world, where they want us to 'Bow to their glory and kneel at their tentacled appendages'"
"Well, at least we know they're a humble race," the President dryly remarks, "Do we know anything else about our attackers?" A man, seated farther down at the table, the head of military R&D, answers him. "We do, as a matter of fact- it would appear that they have enslaved other people before us in a similar manner. We know this, as one of their slaves managed to drop a small package to us, containing a history of our attackers, their conquests and a series of schematics that we are trying to figure out. To answer your inevitable question, we have not made any progress as of yet, but we've got a number of experts on their way now and many more starting to work on the problem." The man then pulls out, glances at, then puts away his phone. "One is here now Mr. President- he's a nuclear engineer by trade, but is famous for a multidisciplinary approach to problem solving. He's the guy who oversaw the redesign of our power infrastructure a number of years back. Matthew is a certifiable genius, which is why I'm recommending you bring him into this, despite his conditions." "Oh? And what are they?" he asks. "All he asks is that he be the one to give the order to destroy our attackers, and send them a transmission before he does. His wife was one of the victims, and I think he figures that since he'll be designing the weapons of their destruction, he should be the one to inform them of their fate"
"Those are... interesting conditions, but I'll do my best to ensure they're met."
​
3008 AD
Thursday, August 7th, 8 PM Local Time
Cosminax Homeworld
The commander of the planet was stuck in his office. All around the planet, a single song had been playing. On every thing that could emit sound, or even vibrate, a song singing of a "Blue Sky" was playing. No one knew what it meant- the atmosphere here was grey, a pale imitation of their souls. Yet, nothing was on their scanners. The vacuum of space, as far as they could tell, was just that- absent of anything. Then, without warning, the display in front of him came to life, and a new song, a powerful song, began blaring.
​
Matthew stands over the console, his hands over three buttons- one to toggle the transmission, a second button to change the music, and a third other to signal the other ships in the flotilla and begin the bombardment. He presses the first, and begins to speak.
"Hello, those who call themselves the Cosminax. I've waited 10 years for us to have this little chat, so I'll make this brief. You've spent nigh near a millennium conquering worlds, forcing innocent peoples into submission. Today, that ends. You've ended the lives of heaven knows how many innocent people, my wife among them. You've been gambling for nearly 1000 years that no one could or would strike back. Today, those debts come due."
"You may be wondering why for the past hour I've forced you to listen to a song from my planet, "Mr. Blue Sky". It was my wife's favorite song. How I wish that she were here, and that "Mr. Blue Sky" be the only song I need to play. But alas, you murdered my wife, my people and the people of tens of trillions more, and I have need of another song."
He then presses the second button, and begins a recording of "Dias Irae" by Verdi.
"Like the Romans with salt, I will poison your world. After we reign fire and judgement upon you, nothing will live here for hundreds of years, not even microbes. The planet below and the universe will be purged of your taint with nuclear fire."
"May god have mercy on your souls, may the gates of hell be wide enough to accept those who are guilty, and may no one else be forced to suffer as your victims."
He ends the transmission, then gives the order.
​
Postscript: This is my first real attempt at writing, so I'm interested to know what you think, and what could be changed for the better.
Thanks,
\-FullerBot
|
The attack was brutal. Once the Artern has secured control over The Suns gravity well The had used small mining ships to gently push meteors out of their usual orbit and towards earth. Within five days ten of Earth’s most populous cities had been destroyed and the only governments robust enough to survive had quickly surrendered. There was resistance of course, this was to be expected, but with their control over the gravity well any significantly large group of rebels quickly got themselves and anyone unlucky enough to live a half mile of them killed. Guerrilla tactics were tried next but only minimal damage was ever done to the Artern Empire and it only took a decade until the entire human race was compliant.
Humans were smaller than the average Artern and our hand were better built to manipulate things numbly so within a generation humans could be found in almost every engine room across the entire empire, doing the menial jobs too dangerous or hard for “superior intellects” such as the actual engineers. It didn’t take long, FTL communications were hardly ever deeply scrutinized once a species had been properly subjugated so rumours and plans and designs spread quickly.
In year 6771 of the Artern Empire 48% percent of all commercial spacecraft and 79% of military ships self destructed within light minutes of each other. The cause? Extreme tampering with the ships engines.
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[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
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Thirty Eighth Assembly of The High Solar Council, Assembled Admiralty, and Parliament of Digital Proxies, and other Honored Members of this Commission, I come before you today to tell you a story.
*Monsters from the Stars*.
This has been an old story for a long time. H.G. Wells blazed that trail almost eight hundred years ago, but, I tell you now, he built it upon an even older story, one more deeply and broadly held by humanity; Monsters from beyond the light of our fire. Fear the other, for they bring death and destruction to you, your tribe, and your history.
It’s a primitive impulse, one I'd thought we’d conquered when we survived the trials and tribulations of the 20th and 21st centuries. Through that crucible, we shed our hatreds of one another and turned out energies to the building of a better world, and then worlds. It was an age undreamed of dominated by wonders built by steady and benevolent hands. Our golden age.
And then, I hear you say, the outsiders came.
Thirty ships, unannounced and out of the dark. They burned twelve stations and refueling depots around Jupiter before they settled into orbit. The wreckage left burning streaks through the upper atmosphere for weeks. Live feeds covered every screen in the system. The smoke trails looked like claw marks, first red, then black like a scab across the planet. It was the last mark on the physical world three hundred and sixteen thousand people would leave.
We balked at the loss of life, rightfully so, and feared the alien’s likely advance. To our surprise they did not. They simply orbited Jupiter, dipping low into the upper atmosphere skimming hydrogen.
We had no warships then, no system defense grids. Some bulk cargo rail guns were hastily repurposed, but it proved unnecessary. After two weeks the invader’s drives sparked to life in a hard burn and their thirty ships accelerated outward, back toward the dark. It took a moment, socially, politically, culturally, for what happened to sink in, to gestate.
When it did, oh, the rage. The untempered, unbridled, *unleashed*, rage! All across the developing swarm, in every station, and down on every world, in every town, every neighborhood, on each street, there was someone out and screaming to, or maybe at, high heaven.
*Three hundred thousand people?! And then some?! Children?! Murdered for fucking fuel? And not a single goddamn word of challenge or of explanation?!*
I need not remind you that we were pretty bloody minded when the pursuit fleet launched a year or so later. Sure, there was a pretense of determining motive, but everyone, every human, knew what we were doing. We could feel it, deep inside, that when we caught those ships we were going to find out who they were, where they were from, and then we would burn them and their occupants to ash and cinder.
And that’s what we did. We torched a few, cracked open others, spilling millions of organic signatures into the vacuum of space, and left only a single ship intact to be boarded, captured, and its occupants interrogated.
We found aboard fifteen million hibernation chambers, not much bigger than a hand span wide, two tall, filled with aliens. Small squid things, though experts will tell you they bear little in common with our own terrestrial cephalopods. It took us the extraction and dissection of almost three hundred, and one handling accident, before we noticed the hive intelligence.
Some answers came after that. They have no language like ours, and thus no name, and though some colloquialisms, nicknames and slurs have come into common usage, I will here continue to refer to them as “Aliens.” They are aquatic and hail from an ocean world, the one we now orbit.
One of their most striking features is that individuals in mind and motive only emerge when several hundred thousand aliens are present and “merged” in neuro-chemical swarm behavior. However, the single most important aspect of their existence, of which I ask that each member of this commission take special notice, is that *individuals do not die when the swarm shrinks below a numerical, cognitive limit. An individual will reemerge, unscathed, when the swarm regains that critical mass.*
This has profoundly shaped the Alien’s world view. They have fought wars, but not one of them has ever died. They have crossed the stars, but without their portable oceans, could never live there, and thus did not conceive of life existing outside of them. In short, they did not account for us, or our ability to live and operate in space. Their ships, automated at the time of the attack, were simply clearing space debris.
I do not excuse the Aliens actions during the following war. I do not excuse their opinion, still held, that it is impossible for an individual, single, human to be truly conscious.
What I do, here before the assembled High Council and Admiralty, is remind you of that old story of monsters from the stars. In it, we often celebrated our eventual total victory, and the complete defeat of the invaders. It was easy to do, as our foe was utterly dehumanized, by design. It made hateful action easy. It was centuries before we learned to stop doing that to each other. Here and now with the aliens it’s even harder to shake those old notions and biases as dehumanization is inherent. They are not human, but to deny their sentience, to deny their individual value? In that we must refrain. We must. For here and now, over their world, over their home oceans, it is not a complete victory we contemplate, it’s genocide. We must refrain. We must, or it is us that will be the monsters from the stars.
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The attack was brutal. Once the Artern has secured control over The Suns gravity well The had used small mining ships to gently push meteors out of their usual orbit and towards earth. Within five days ten of Earth’s most populous cities had been destroyed and the only governments robust enough to survive had quickly surrendered. There was resistance of course, this was to be expected, but with their control over the gravity well any significantly large group of rebels quickly got themselves and anyone unlucky enough to live a half mile of them killed. Guerrilla tactics were tried next but only minimal damage was ever done to the Artern Empire and it only took a decade until the entire human race was compliant.
Humans were smaller than the average Artern and our hand were better built to manipulate things numbly so within a generation humans could be found in almost every engine room across the entire empire, doing the menial jobs too dangerous or hard for “superior intellects” such as the actual engineers. It didn’t take long, FTL communications were hardly ever deeply scrutinized once a species had been properly subjugated so rumours and plans and designs spread quickly.
In year 6771 of the Artern Empire 48% percent of all commercial spacecraft and 79% of military ships self destructed within light minutes of each other. The cause? Extreme tampering with the ships engines.
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|
[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
|
To the Star Warlords:
Do not attack the ones called humans.
They live on their planet called Terra and they had given our planets names, and we thought it was an easy submission. They were primitive. When we sent out our spies, they never returned and called for us to back down.
We didn't back down as per decree. We targeted the ones with high population density to prune them out to convince them to surrender and join our Federation.
But they didn't surrender like what always happened to the primitive races. They managed to capture a scout ship and replicate our technology in a few years, which brought us to this moment.
The Xanlai Warlords are wiped out. I am writing this as a warning. They have created their own federation and have created weapons and brought greater knowledge even to those who have already submitted.
The Xanlai Galaxy is lost now. Do not enter this galaxy. A new Warlord has brought this place what war truly meant.
If you find a human, civilian or not, do not attack them. They are like our Precursors. A true war race. Behind their face of friendliness is a blood of a warrior.
They all have killed each other and they have blood to kill everyone just to recover from their loss.
Do not attack the humans.
|
The attack was brutal. Once the Artern has secured control over The Suns gravity well The had used small mining ships to gently push meteors out of their usual orbit and towards earth. Within five days ten of Earth’s most populous cities had been destroyed and the only governments robust enough to survive had quickly surrendered. There was resistance of course, this was to be expected, but with their control over the gravity well any significantly large group of rebels quickly got themselves and anyone unlucky enough to live a half mile of them killed. Guerrilla tactics were tried next but only minimal damage was ever done to the Artern Empire and it only took a decade until the entire human race was compliant.
Humans were smaller than the average Artern and our hand were better built to manipulate things numbly so within a generation humans could be found in almost every engine room across the entire empire, doing the menial jobs too dangerous or hard for “superior intellects” such as the actual engineers. It didn’t take long, FTL communications were hardly ever deeply scrutinized once a species had been properly subjugated so rumours and plans and designs spread quickly.
In year 6771 of the Artern Empire 48% percent of all commercial spacecraft and 79% of military ships self destructed within light minutes of each other. The cause? Extreme tampering with the ships engines.
|
|
[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
|
The attack had been as brutal as it was swift. An extraterrestrial armada had basically wiped several major cities off the map in all of an hour, and humanity was collectively terrified of a continued assault.
Shanghai, Vancouver, Dallas, St. Petersburg, and many others had been left flattened and nearly devoid of life in less time than it took to put together some Ikea furniture, but after a week it became clear that the attackers didn't intend to return to finish the job.
Panic turned to fear, fear to anxiety. Anxiety became confusion, and confusion grew into rage. The attack seemed to have had no purpose other than to kill and terrify, but the aliens seemed to have avoided the most important or populated areas of the world; New York City was completely unscathed, as were Moscow and Beijing. It was mind-boggling, and humanity came together to counterattack in a show of solidarity that had never been seen before.
A week and a half after the attack, the world's leaders had met and struck a deal to find the culprits and show them just who they had attacked.
Six weeks after the attack, the collected space forces of the world had been united, with no thought as to equipment costs or alliances. It was a simple choice; for the good of the planet and humanity as a whole, everyone needed the best training and the best gear. There was to be no risk of anyone being hampered by subpar gear.
Twelve weeks after the attack, blended crews from formerly bitterly opposed nations had bonded and created a sort of pidgin to communicate with one another.
Six months after the initial incident, they were ready. The United Earth Space Force launched their entire fleet and followed the trajectory observed after the attackers left.
Another year and several lightspeed jumps later, they arrived in an as-yet unexplored solar system and were almost immediately hailed by a lone ship nearby.
-----
"Admiral, sir, we've been pinged. And they seem to want to talk, I'm seeing signals all over the spectrum here. Looks like they're trying to narrow it down to our video communication frequency."
As if on cue, when the ensign had stopped speaking the communications screens lit up with what appeared to be a face. It wasn't a color or shape the humans were familiar with, nor did it have all the usual bits they knew about, but something about it made "face" a close enough approximation.
"Greetings. This is scout ship Skert-9. You are trespassing in occupied space. You may either return to unoccupied space or be destroyed by the Fneep Armada." The being's voice was somehow liquid and gravelly at the same time.
"Ensign Jones, put me on the line, if you would," uttered the bemused admiral, chin resting on his palm as he slouched in his chair. "Greetings, Skert-9. This is Admiral John Glass, of the UESF, aboard the gunship Blackbeard. If possible, before any hostilities commence or we leave, I would like to speak with a similar-ranking officer from the armada. Is that possible?"
"I will attempt to contact my superiors. We thank you for your patience."
A minute or two elapsed as the UESF was put on the Fneep equivalent of hold. Blessedly, the Fneep did not appear to have invented anything akin to Muzak. Glass hit the mute button on his console and turned to his second in command.
"So, Elena, once we're done here, you think Earth's going to go back to squabbling amongst ourselves, or what?"
"Honestly, John, I couldn't tell you. I haven't really got any intention of fighting you, but that's primarily because I wouldn't take much joy in beating down an old man," came the heavily-accented response from the woman in the next chair. The two looked at each other and locked eyes for a moment, the steely gazes of two warriors waiting to see who would back down.
As usual, they both cracked up around the same time. The admiral was still cackling when someone called to them from the lower bridge.
"Sirs! We've got movement. Much bigger ship this time, and a dozen others around it!"
Glass tapped the mute button again and the screen crackled back to life. Another... face... filled the screen and began speaking with a similarly unpleasant intonation.
"This is Supreme Commander of the Fneep Armada, Shlerp Scholachs. We understand you wished to speak with us. What is your business here?"
"Hello, Supreme Commander. My name is John Glass, Admiral of the United Earth Space Force. We followed a trail left behind near our homeworld to get here and were wondering if it was left by the Fneep."
"You are from the Sol system? Yes, we attacked your planet successfully and won the war quite handily. There was nothing your pitiful defenses could do. Now then, as the losers and our new subjects, you are obligated to-"
"Losers? Your subjects? I'm not quite sure I understand," drawled the admiral.
"I don't expect a primate brain to understand much without a more in-depth explanation, so I will humor you. The rules of engagement state that a complete victory such as ours results in the subjugation of the losing party."
"I see. Whose rules of engagement?"
"The Fneep rules of engagement, obviously. Now that you are under our rule, they are also yours."
"Ah," breathed the admiral, a grin slowly spreading across his face, "you expect us not to fight back because you got a hit in and bloodied our nose."
"You were utterly defeated in battle, and we as the victors are now your rulers. This conversation is over and you are hereby ordered to leave or be annihilated like your pathetic cities."
Once again, a call came from the lower bridge, more urgent this time.
"Vice-admiral! We've got a lock on all targets!"
"Excellent! Thank you Chen. John, I believe you've heard the good news?" Elena's excitement was palpable; she was practically giggling. Everyone on the bridge, correspondingly, was terrified.
"What was that? Targets? What is going on here? As your Supreme Commander I forbid you to do anything to harm us! We will destroy you for this insolence!" sputtered Shlerp, enraged by the humans' actions.
Glass' grin only widened further as he took in the situation. He straightened up in his seat and somehow the very air around him changed. Scholachs shrank away from this man who now seemed to hold pure power in his hands.
"Supreme Commander Scholachs; did I pronounce that correctly? Earth denies Fneep authority and any right to rule the Fneep claim to have. You launched an unprovoked attack on innocent civilians and mercilessly slaughtered millions. Per our own rules of engagement, the Fneep are war criminals of the highest order and are due no consideration," Glass looked briefly beyond his screen, down to the lower bridge. "Commander Chen, relay the order to prepare to fire on all targets. Ensign Jones, broadcast this message as far into space as is possible." Looking back up to the now-quaking Fneep, he continued speaking: "I am not without mercy, nor am I senselessly violent. We have no civilian targets, only military, political, and industrial ones. This will be a very important lesson to whoever remains alive in a few moments. Retribution does not mean the complete annihilation of the Fneep people on this day. Next time, it will. All ships, fire at will."
"Wait, we can nego-"
"Goodbye, Supreme Commander Scholachs."
A few moments later, the entire Fneep Armada was reduced to slag and shards of metal, floating in space. The planetary bombardment took a few more minutes. Glass took a moment to think while the crew of his ship looked on the wreckage floating nearby. Elena looked over at him.
"What's on your mind, John?"
"I wonder who else heard my message. Anyway. Commander Chen! Broadcast the following to the fleet."
"You're live, sir," barked Chen. Glass nodded to him in thanks and began to speak in booming tones.
"Congratulations, everyone. We have avenged our fallen and slain our enemies. The Fneep will never forget this day. I broadcast our final message to the farthest limits our comm arrays can reach, so anyone else who heard us knows who we are and what we do to those who fuck with Earth." Glass paused for a moment to let the message sink in. "We tried walking softly and that didn't work. It's time to use that big goddamn stick!"
|
The attack was brutal. Once the Artern has secured control over The Suns gravity well The had used small mining ships to gently push meteors out of their usual orbit and towards earth. Within five days ten of Earth’s most populous cities had been destroyed and the only governments robust enough to survive had quickly surrendered. There was resistance of course, this was to be expected, but with their control over the gravity well any significantly large group of rebels quickly got themselves and anyone unlucky enough to live a half mile of them killed. Guerrilla tactics were tried next but only minimal damage was ever done to the Artern Empire and it only took a decade until the entire human race was compliant.
Humans were smaller than the average Artern and our hand were better built to manipulate things numbly so within a generation humans could be found in almost every engine room across the entire empire, doing the menial jobs too dangerous or hard for “superior intellects” such as the actual engineers. It didn’t take long, FTL communications were hardly ever deeply scrutinized once a species had been properly subjugated so rumours and plans and designs spread quickly.
In year 6771 of the Artern Empire 48% percent of all commercial spacecraft and 79% of military ships self destructed within light minutes of each other. The cause? Extreme tampering with the ships engines.
|
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