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euclaise

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like 8

"You are special, more than you know." I rolled my eyes at Dad's tone. He always hinted that things were not what they seem. He spoke so often of hidden pasts, keeping parts secret from me. He promised it would make sense once I was old enough. But he never told me when that would be. No matter how often I needled him about it, he wouldn't say. "Come on dad. You act like I'm meant to be important." He smiled at me. "You are. In fact, I think its time you knew." I narrowed my eyes at him, crossing my arms. "Are you really going to tell me? Or is this another poor attempt at a joke?" His vaguely amused expression changed, becoming deadly serious. "No. I'm not joking anymore." With a sigh he reached up, feeling in the crevice atop his hunting cupboard. From it he withdrew a small chest, old but extravagantly carved. A golden lock sealed it, one that matched a key he took from around his neck. "The truth is, I am no mere huntsman. Even this village is no ordinary village. Every man, woman and child has sworn their allegiance to our family." He unlocked the chest, lifting back the lid. Inside was a green silk cushion, in which sat a crown of pure black. "I am the Black King. The one whose knights serve beyond even death itself. The other Kings are Kings in name only. I am the only one to hold royal power. As my daughter, you too hold it, as the Black Princess." With a sigh, Dad reached back up, taking out a second chest. This was smaller, but equally ornate. He unlocked it with the same key as before, turning it to me. I slowly leaned forwards, opening it. On another green silk cushion sat a black tiara, clearly unworn. "Dad... why keep this hidden?" He bowed his head. "The other Kings fear me. Alone I was a target, a long lived one that's true, but only a target. But I was a known element in the constant game of royal battles. They tolerated me, and my slow expansion. But you, you changed it. If they knew of your existence, you would be their first priority. An Heiress to the Black Throne, they wouldn't allow you to live." He slowly clicked each finger, bending it with his other hand. "So I hid you, until such time as you were ready. I let them think I had vanished, my kingdom empty. But my loyal vassals came with me here, to protect us both, and let you have a childhood you would otherwise be without. Now you are grown. Now you are ready to learn the power that lies within us. And now we can reclaim our land."

In a time where kings rule and knights go off to battle, there is a legend of the Black King, a king who’s soldiers would still serve even after death. He disappeared one day without a trace and is said to live in hiding. Only thing is, he is your dad.

“I think I might be going insane.” The sigh of exasperation caught in my throat as I looked at Ryan. He had always been prone to melodrama and exaggeration, but he did really look like he’d been through the wringer. The dark circles under his eyes attested to how much sleep he’d been getting, and I was pretty sure he’d been wearing the same clothes the last time I’d seen him the day before. Rather than responding with a glib comment and continuing to the kitchen to make myself some breakfast I went and sat next to him on the living room couch. “You alright, man?” I asked. Ryan and I weren’t close, he was a friend of a friend I’d moved in with after graduating college because I couldn’t afford rent by myself until I found a job. I would even have hesitated to say we were friends, but even if I had no idea what to say to him he did look like he really needed to talk to someone. “No, I don’t think I am,” he said, his voice shaky. “Tell me, is this real, have I gotten all the way out this time?” “Bro, I have no idea what you mean by ‘all the way out’, but yeah, this is real.” “How long have we known each other? When did we meet?” Ryan asked. “Three, no, four years ago,” I answered, choosing to humour him. “It was at a party Darren threw, we didn’t talk much then, hell, we haven’t talked much since then either, but I’m pretty sure that was the first time we met.” “That’s what I remember too. It feels so real, it really does,” he said, looking down at his hands, and sounding not the least bit convinced by his own words. “Yeah, like I said, this is the real world,” I replied, patting his shoulder. “You really need to give that VR headset a break, it sounds like it’s messing with you.” “The last 6 times felt real too,” he said, ignoring me. “Each time I’d pull the headset off it felt like I was back in reality with clear memories of being there my entire life. And each time I was still inside.” The certainty in his voice gave me pause. Had he actually been hallucinating? That was way beyond what I could help with as a sort-of-maybe-friend. Where did you take someone who was hallucinating? I knew that psychiatrists helped with mental health, or was it psychologists? I could never remember the difference. If he was in this state, then maybe the hospital- “I’m so scared,” he continued, interrupting my thoughts. “I haven’t been able to bring myself to try to access the system menu. What if it’s there? What if there’s no end to it and I’m stuck here forever?” I exhaled, not realizing until I did that I had been holding my breath. Maybe this would be easier than I had thought. “Alright Ryan,” I said, “ I promise you that this is reality. I know that I’m not some sort of NPC, or whatever, that’s for sure. So go ahead, try and access the menu, or whatever, and you’ll see that this is all real. Simple as, buddy.” “There really isn’t another way, is there?” He asked while giving a shaky nod. “Alright then. System: menu” His eyes snapped up and focused on something I couldn’t see. For a second I would have sworn he started to tear up. “Logout,” he said, his voice breaking. And then he disappeared, leaving me stunned, and alone, on the couch. \--- r/WulgrenWrites

You take off your VR headset, only to realize you can no longer tell the difference between virtual reality and reality.

It is a really brilliant method of staying alive for them. Alien parasites came to Earth, offering, in exchange for being allowed to use a host-body for a two-year period, that you could rest. Sleep for a long while, long enough that any say, embarrassing or awkward situations were out of the picture. Long enough that people might have forgiven you for anything you might have done. And the parasites also did promise to use your body responsibly. To ensure its wealth, its success, its prosperity. Many people down on their luck saw this as a good option. Alcoholics, the homeless, tired refugees, exhausted salarymen, the people in society that by definition aren't doing too well. All of them were the most common users. They got rest. They got an out. They didn't have to take responsibility for their own lives. They could let some alien parasite seize full control of their body for a few years, and when they woke up, they'd be refreshed, off of addictive substances, and fairly succesful. And the alien parasites did exactly as they advertised. After two years of comfortable happy dreams, people woke up with good health, money in the bank, and a prosperous life. Which they could then take control over and live happily. After all, the alien parasite, being more of a symbiotic lifeform, didn't exactly want to do more than create a nice life, reproduce in the natural way that parasites do, and ensure its own survival. The parasites were refugees and outcasts themselves, and felt the need to not simply take over bodies that were already being used without proper and lawful consent. No matter how intelligent this pseudo-fungal neuro-parasite was, its basic goals were just to find a method of survival, reproduction, and success of its own kind, but in a decent, lawful manner. At least, that's what people think. The truth is seldom a happy one. And these seemingly benevolent parasites were simply a lot smarter than their feral kin. When someone woke up again, parasite out of their system, a happy life ready for them; they often found that they were woefully unprepared for it. Some took it in stride, and adapted in the best traditions of humanity. They built on what they had gained, unleashing talents that had never been allowed to truly develop or be used before they let themselves be infected. But others, those who had fled from their own failures, who had taken the easy way out by getting the parasites willingly; they did not do so well. Soon their new jobs were impossible for them to do, as they had no idea how to do them at all, despite the helpful information report that the parasite had prepared before leaving the body behind for good. They did not know how to behave, because despite the rest and the lack of stress, they were still the same people who had problems. They hadn't grown, hadn't adapted, hadn't learned anything to make them deal with the realities of life in the insurance business, or international stock trading, or high-class entertainment. Which was all part of the plan, from the parasites' side of things. These people, shortly making a mess of their new lives, returned to the parasites, and desperately got infected again. Same contract. Same details. Same stipulations. And all the problems went away as they retreated back into dreamland for another two years. Every time they awoke, a few managed to get their affairs in order and live, more or less, successfully because of the parasite's work. But it was only a few repeat users, repeatedly infected, that managed to get their lives in order. Most just tried, failed, and returned for another couple of years of pleasant dreams. And that was when the deal began to change. After the fifth repeat, the parasites refused to infect the people under the old contract. They offered a different one. A longer one. Five years in dreamland. Most signed. A few saw it as a step too far and went out to fail or succeed in a human way. They came to their senses, one might say, and stayed human. But most, having already signed over ten years of their life, signed the new deal. Often without looking at the various new parts added to it. New clauses. New additions. And plenty of warnings about what can go wrong should the human in question sign, and how they're waiving a lot of rights by signing. The parasites that managed to get that far with a human body, took human mates, made a real human life, more than merely money and health. But real lives. With real family. Living human lives, which made them quite happy, as the need hosts to be truly aware the way human beings are. And they weren't going to stop, thus, the new contract had plenty of reasons to prevent the reawakening of the original mind. One of the most commonly used clauses in the contract was that the parasite's spouse or children could block the reawakening of the original human mind, if the spouse didn't themselves have a parasite in their brain living their lives for them. Most families, not wanting to wake a stranger up who might decide to leave them bereft of a loving spouse and parent, took that option. Not that it was necessary, not really. Five years in dreamland. Five years suppressed in the subconscious mind with no chance of wakening; it does things to the human mind. Not good things. The few who awoke could no longer discern reality from fiction. They could not tell the wakening world was real anymore. They'd spent too long submerged in their own dreams, surrounded by no outside human contact, that they couldn't return to reality. Only in one singular case has anyone ever successfully returned after five years underneath the parasite's command. And even then, that person will never live a normal life again. And so, for the most part, the human lies dormant. Fading into the background of the mind. Then into the deepest pits of the subconscious mind. After a decade, what is left of that original mind? What remains after an infinity of dreaming? Oh to be sure, scientists have determined that something remains. But as the body grows older, and the parasite never leaves it, they truly do subsume the original mind. After two decades, the removal of the parasite would leave the body in a comatose state. After three, there would be nothing left of the human that had once inhabited the body. The body will just die in that case. Shut down completely and utterly. The parasite would become, for all intents and purposes, the full legal owner of that human body. Until it, or the parasite inside of it, dies. Of course, this is all perfectly legal. People know full-well what the ramifications are, of having one of the alien fungal-worms living inside of you. It's all legal, except for in certain religiously conservative countries and in North Korea. That some still make that choice, to give up their independence, their existence, to let some alien parasite live in their body, and be far more successful than them, that's their choice. We do believe in freedom of choice here, at least in this case. Do I have one? No, of course not. Yes, I do work for them. I understand the confusion, I get that specific question a lot. No, I'm just here to make sure, that before you sign that dotted line, down there, right underneath that paragraph about giving up your rights to any children you may or may not have during the 5 year period, that you understand fully and completely what you're giving up. Just what you're letting go, the resulting loss of personhood, the potential madness, the horror of potentially being supplanted permanently as the consciousness of your body etc. The history, or perhaps, the nature of this deal. All that stuff you're giving up on, even to escape the hardships of human life. It's a lot to lose. Of course, there is much to be gained as well. Should you wake up in five years, you'll be prosperous. Never wake up again... Well. At least it'll be painless. You'll die dreaming about wonders that otherwise never could have been. Perhaps the most gentle form of euthanasia, at least that's what the rest of the legal team calls it. So, if you'd just sign there, above the paragraph about allowing your consciousness to die should you never wake up again, then we can take you right on down to the infection chambers. Though, given that you've been here before, I imagine you know the way. Then you can go back to your dreams. And let someone else live out theirs in your body. A win-win, some might say. (SIGN HERE)_______________________________ [ALTERNATIVE OPTIONS](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)

A parasitic species that completely takes over their host to survive advertises that in exchange for your body, you can sleep for two years while they live your life. Many drunkards and other ne'er-do-wells agreed, and two years later, they found themselves quite successful when they woke up.

It is a beautiful day. Perfect for a wedding. And what a wedding it is. Two large families and many personal friends of the groom and bride, coming together to celebrate love. A joining of blood and souls. There are the young flower-girls, innocent and cheerful, ever-so-proud of their job. There are the bridesmaids, happy for their friend, their hearts overflowing with shared joy at the beautiful bride's perfect day. There stands the best man, in his immaculate suit, serious, aloof, and yet in a distant manner quite happy and joyful. The priest smiles; he believes that this might be one of the marriages that truly will last. Too many people rush into marriage, he thinks. These people however, are suitable for it. They're ready. And look at the bride. Her dress makes her look like an angel. Her smile is wide and warm. Her eyes sparkle whenever they meet her husband-to-be's. The ceremony has gone off without a hitch. There were no awkward moments. No rambling speeches. No last minute pranks by edgy young teenage relatives. No; everything was perfectly fine. And afterwards, at the outdoors dinner celebration, at the height of summer, the food was delicious. Several luaus, huge platters of smoked salmon, seven different kind of salads, turkeys, vegetarian and vegan options, and more. Anyone who would walk home from that dinner dissatisfied with their dining choices was someone who did not in any universe deserve to have the ability to eat. The drinks flowed freely. And merry songs were sung. Many gifts were given, as is tradition for two young people starting their new lives together. Truly, to anyone present, this was a perfect moment. Speeches were held, all of which were lauded for their wit, caring, and cheerfulness. There was even a lively and cheery dance, where young and old felt free to move to the beat, as their hearts desired. A fork beats against a crystal glass, as the mother of the bride stands up. The crowd turns to look at her, awaiting a speech. She turns and looks at the wedded couple with a smile, though the crowd is puzzled as it is not a happy smile. It is vindictive. Full of a hunger for revenge. A thirst for justice. She points a long arm out towards the groom and speaks with a voice that is without any love. ''*I know what you did.*'' Everyone turns to the groom, shocked over this sudden turn of events. The bride looks hurt. And confused. She keeps looking from her husband to her mother. ''*You thought you could keep it secret. You thought you could hide it. You thought it would remain buried.*'' Slowly, but certainly, the middle-aged woman advanced towards the groom. Above her, the once clear blue sky was filled with black clouds. Where before there had been songbirds in the trees, only a murder of crows could be seen, their quiet cawing indicative of a fear that transcended species. The groom, frightened, almost takes a step back, but stands his ground as his mother-in-law, no, whatever it is that has her in its thrall, comes closer. No-one dares to move towards them. The older relatives are shocked, and feel their bodies shake. The children are weeping in fear, running to their parents. The mother of the bride finally, after what feels like an eternity, has reached the bride and the groom. She has not stopped staring at the groom the whole time. But at last, the bride throws herself in between the two of them. ''*Let me share what I know, child of mine, and mayhap you will not throw yourself in front of him so easily.*'' She pulled the bride gently towards her, and whispered words into her ear that only she could hear. The bride grew as pale as her dress, hearing those words pass from the lips of her mother into her ears. The bride turned, and stared in abject horror at her groom. Before turning aside to violently throw up. The groom stepped back, slowly, as the mother-of-the-bride began to advance once more. The parents of the groom rushed towards them, finally pulled out of the stupor that they'd been in, followed by the father of the bride. But they were stopped by the bride, who frantically, whispering, told them what her mother had told her. The bride's father, became red like fire with a rage that only a parent can have. The mother of the groom wept. Wept and screamed at the heavens. ''*My boy! My boy! What have I done to fail as a mother!*'' The father of the groom became pale. And turned to the groom. And spoke with a loud, clear, and cold tone. ''*I have no son.*'' He grabbed a dinner knife and advanced towards the groom, joining the mother of the bride in approaching the boy. Soon enough, they were joined by their respective partners. Others ran to the shocked bride, and heard in turn what she had learned. And soon enough, everyone, friend, family, server, the caters, and others, looked upon the groom with an unbridled revulsion. They no longer saw him as a friend. As a member of their circle, a part of their family. His was a crime for which there is no forgiveness. His was a life that should never have been allowed to have been lived. His was a sin too terrible to name. And thus, his end should be one that would be forgotten. Upon this meadow, his bones would have to lie. The best-man tackled him, pinning him to the ground with the aid of some of the older men, while the bridesmaids gathered the wedding garland decorations to use to tie him up. He struggled underneath them. Their silent judging eyes staring at him with the uttermost revulsion and hatred. They tied him on his hands and on his feet. And carried him away, into the woods. Where the men and women who had not been involved with tying him up, were dirtying their finest clothes digging a hole with their finely manicured hands. They dug deep, caring not for broken nails and hard soil. They only cared for ridding the world of this wolf-in-sheep's-clothing. This rot in their midst. It had to be removed. To be purged from this realm. Down into the black dirt they cast his wriggling body. And together, they buried him underneath that same black soil. He screamed. But they would not stop. Upon his grave they heaped as many stones as they could find, hoping to ensure that he remained buried indefinitely. All afternoon, and all evening, until the dark of midnight, they covered his grave in as many stones, holy sigils, and crosses as they could make. Some poured out gasoline upon the ground, others drove into town, buying toxic chemicals, and into the soil where he laid they poured them as well. So that nothing may grow from his flesh. That nothing may return from him. That forever his flesh would not be allowed to return to nature. At last, they were done, and tired, exhausted, and wearied, the guests went to their cars. And drove home. Hoping never to remember this day. Vowing never to explain what had happened to the children who had been present. They even forbade their children from mentioning this day ever again. Only the bride and her parents remained. The bride had sat still, merely watching in mute horror as her husband was forced to endure the justice that he had earned from his unmentionable crimes. She moved slowly towards the grave, and with slow, measured movements, she removed the golden ring from her finger. A promise of love and loyalty. A promise that cannot be kept with monsters. And no woman born would ever be loyal to such a man. She placed the ring upon the impromptu grave, and then left the unholy ground behind for good. Supported by her parents, they returned to the car, where she promptly fell into the sleep of the exhausted. ''*How did you know?*'' The father of the widow asked. ''*Look.*'' She showed him something on her phone. Evidence. He looked only for a brief second before turning away. It was all he could do not to vomit. Instead, he turned the car-key, and began to drive away. Only a murder of crows remained in the trees. Observing. At last, in the dread of the blackest night, they too took flight. Innocents had been avenged. And a monster was dead. The horror had, at long last, been ended. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)

The mother of the bride stands up to toast the newlyweds. Once she has everyone's attention, she turns to the groom with a vindictive smile and says, "I know what you did."

Soot rained down upon the eclectic party. Behind them the orphanage burned. It cast their sickly shadows in the snow as the flames danced among the charred wood and blackened stone. Around them, the rest of the world lay silent. The first to speak up was the Bard. Her purple hands shook with adrenaline as her short legs carried her towards the hulking Paladin. “What the fuck was that!?” Barely contained rage electrfied her words, tears threatening to spill over. “I did what had to be done.” The Paladin answered vaguely. His face was stoney and voice lacking the familiar warmth the rest of them had come to know. “What had to- you set fire to an orphanage!” The Rogue bellowed. His pointed ears burned as his brow furrowed in utter confusion. Beside him, the Wizard kneeled and emptied his stomach upon the mixture of ash and snow. “I can explain. Just not tonight. Please, believe me.” He begged softly. “If you can explain I suggest you do so now.” The Rogue demanded, unsheathing his blade. “Fuck explanations!” The Bard shouted, sweeping the Paladin’s legs. He fell to the ground with a crunch as his armor took the brunt of it. Regaining his footing, the Rogue charged him. “You don’t understand!” He shouted at the duo, raising his shield to block the elven Rogue. Finally the Wizard had regained his composure. He stood tall with glowing eyes and lightning crackling at his fingertips. “Then make us.” He growled. Having shaken off the Rogue the Paladin faced the Wizard, already casting his spell. “They were already dead!” In an instant the fighting had stopped. The bolt of lightning flew over the Paladin’s shoulder as the Wizard reacted to the proclamation. “They were…?” “They were already dead.” The Paladin confirmed. “The caretaker, her story didn’t make sense. I came back earlier tonight to ask her more questions. I caught her casting the illusions. The children had already been dead.” “That can’t be.” The Rogue said. “Why would she-“ “I detected arcane energy throughout the building but I had no idea.” Muttered the Bard. “Why would she do it?” The Wizard demanded an explanation. “She took the donations. The food, the coin, all of it.” “The fire?” “When I caught her, she fought. I put her down.” “And that started the fire?” Asked the Bard. “No, I did that after. I figured the townspeople wouldn’t believe it. They cared deeply for the children, they wouldn’t be able to live with the truth. So I made it look like an accident.” He explained. “Tipped over a lantern. Easier to believe a freak accident than murder.” “And why should we believe you?” The Rogue spat. With a deep sigh the Paladin dropped his shield. “I have traveled the world with you people. I’ve saved your lives as many times as you’ve saved mine. If you don’t believe me, I won’t fight you. I just couldn’t die with that atrocity pinned on me.” The trio exchanged looks. Uncertainty and sorrow clouded their minds. The Rogue stomped towards the defenseless Paladin and raised the blade toward his neck. The Paladin just closed his eyes. “I beleive you.” Spoke the Wizard. “As do I.” The Bard agreed. “Hmph.” The Rogue hummed, withdrawing his blade and turning tail. “We’ll see.” He set off back towards their room in the inn. The Wizard nodded and followed. The Paladin fell to his knees, gazing toward the dying flames. The Bard approached him wordlessly, wrapping her small arms around him. “He’ll come around.” She softly assured. The Paladin cried.

the party watch’s in horror as the orphanage burns. The bard turns to the chaotic good Paladin and says “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!?”

A slightly different spin on the prompt, but on reading the prompt the first line sprang to mind “God damn it Eros” I shouted as the pellet chinked off of the wall inches from my face. As usual I didn’t expect an answer, you’d think being the god of love would mean that he’d be looking to help more than just me. Unfortunately for me however, the god of love decided that I’m priority number one. Judging from the amount of near-misses like that one, I have been for weeks. “I know you can hear me damn it. Of all the people on the planet who’d gladly take your help and you’re just doggedly determined to make my life hell.” I turned to look around me, hoping I’d spot the idiot. Most people think of him as Cupid, the adorable little naked cherub, blonde hair, blue eyes and fluttering around on fluffy little wings wielding a bow in the shape of a heart. I’ve done my research, Eros is six feet tall, his hair is short cropped and black, absolutely no wings or bow and from what I’ve seen from artist renditions his eyes are more green than blue. If we were in America he’d be your typical frat boy but here we are - Portsmouth, Hampshire in the United Kingdom and I have a six foot tall pain in the backside. I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye, a shadow darting across the backstreet behind the old smugglers pub. Part of me hopes he got the message and has decided to seek some other hapless idiot to make fall in love. The practical part of me knows it’ll be a couple of hours. I head toward the ferry port and the shopping centre behind it - maybe the crowd will help me lose him, it’s a long shot but at this point short of a virgin sacrifice to some other god I don’t know how to get rid of him. “Oh but he’s hot, for a goth guy” the whispers from behind me were so run of the mill but I felt that same tingle run up my spine. The one which usually means I should duck. I leant over to look like I was tying my shoelace and heard the tell tale whistle of the pellet going over my head. I roll my eyes and look around; standing three meters away and glaring at me is my tormentor. I smile and wave, yeah it’s probably not a good idea to piss off a god but if he’s going to try and make my life hell, well an eye for an eye and all that. “There is something seriously not okay with you” I whisper, knowing he’ll hear me even above the noise of the crowd. He cocks an eyebrow, god Damn it even when he looks confused you can tell he knows he’s hot. “Why are you so against being in love?” The words slide through my mind like velvet, I stop for a second. I think that’s the first time he’s ever actually spoken to me. “Why are you so adamant I should be?” I murmur in response. A slow shrug is the only answer I get. I stand up and head towards the sea front promenade - do I hope he’ll follow me? I don’t honestly know. But if he’s going to keep up trying I don’t want people caught in the cross fire. “Honestly mortal, you should be thanking me. I don’t often take such an interest in one person.” The physical voice was just as melodious as the mental one. I turned to look at him, standing there in a pair of black leather trousers and a black polo neck sweater he looked like he should be on the cover of a modelling magazine. Not trying to make me fall in love. “For real Eros, what’s the deal with the obsession?” “Thank Aphrodite for that. Your little prayer means she absolutely must do something about it. Even if that means she doesn’t get her hands dirty herself” I laugh at the scorn in his tone, his origins differ depending on who you ask and what book you read, but looking at him you can tell he’s a primal god. Not one of those born to gods. “So she sends her little lap dog?” The words spark anger in those eyes, for the first time in the weeks I’ve been cursing his name I feel fear. I really don’t want to piss this god off. I sigh “If you really must know *why* I don’t want to fall in love, it’s because I’m already in love” “Bullshit, I’d know” I roll my eyes at the response “You know, denial isn’t just a river in Egypt” for a moment Cupid actually looks confused. I reach out and cup his face in my hand “You tell me where I’ll find someone as captivating as you and I’ll let you make it happen” Cupid backs away, the look of surprise just as genuine as his confusion. “Th-that’s not possible! I’d know!” “Isn’t it said that love is blind?” “You mortals spout some really random shit when it comes to love.” He looks up to the sky and when he speaks it’s a rolling language I don’t understand. A gentle feminine voice chuckles across the breeze as the world around us seems to come to a halt. Aphrodite herself steps into corporeality “Why Eros, what seems to be the problem?” “You knew didn’t you?” He spat the accusation angrily. Aphrodite’s eyes glinted with wicked glee “I suspected. Though it surprises me it took you this long to figure it out yourself.” “Well fuck” Cupid breathed.

Cupid isn't a cute little bow-and-arrow weilding cherub. He's a sniper, an assassin, orchestrating all measures of meetcutes and enemies-to-lovers set ups. For the past few weeks he's been tailing you, determined to make you fall in love. It's really been quite inconvenient.

I was in the back feeding Morf and her babies when I heard the trumpets. I quickly replenished the water bowls, bowed to Morf, winked at the dragonlings and shut the gate. Something was up. When I entered the alcove, there was the Queen herself, her heir Rupert, and two younger daughters. "Greetings Your Highness. What can I do for you?" The Queen sighed and replied. "Zorea has become old, smelly and well, is no longer fun. He stopped making his wonderful illusions and the children are bored with him. He keeps losing his teeth! Ugh! We demand you take him and have him euthanized." "I want something BETTER" whined Rupert. A Sphinx maybe? They do riddles!". "We have no Sphinx, my Lord. We have 3 dragonlings but are not yet ready to leave their Mom. That was a bold faced lie. I was not going to let these Royals snots adopt and ruin a young dragon. Soon they would be old enough to "escape". Behind the Royals was Zorea. Once a glorious dragon with shining forest green scales and twinkling eyes, the old dragon was now a pale lime with dull eyes and all hunched over. "WELL what DO you have?" The Queen sneered. "My subjects insist I come HERE for a rescue instead of a well bred creature." She sounded quite put out. "We have a few Cerberus and a litter of Jackalopes. I am happy to say most of the shelter is empty due to the Adoption Fair during the Harvest Festival. Remember, the Cereberus need to be trained! The Jackalopes have all been fixed." "Oo! Oooo! Let's get a Jackalope!" chorused the girls. Rupert shrugged. "MOM can I go hunt my own pet? I want a Sphinx! (as if the boy could ever solve a riddle). The Queen smiled and nodded. It took only a short time to escort them off the property. They were Royals afterall. They had people to fill out forms. As soon as they were out of sight, I quickly shuttered the Shelter and lead old Zorea into the back. Once in the back, I smiled and gave Zorea a florishing bow. "Well done Sir. It took you long enough". Zorea stood tall and smiled showing his shining razor sharp teeth. " For awhile, they amused me.". As he spoke, the dragonings began to squeal with delight clamouring all over Zorea. He was once again a magnificent iridescent green. His eyes twinkled merrily. ""When they became tiresome, and the Queen intolerable, I simply stepped up the illusions.".

You're living in a timeline where dragons are not only real, but commonly kept as pets for royals and nobles. Your job is at an animal shelter for dragons, and the Royal Family is trying to surrender their elderly dragon because "he's not fun anymore".

I stood there, between the church's doors, baffled. Those critters, raccoons, rabbits, cats and dogs too, were all praying silently with their eyes closed and with their heads low. Their priest, a grey raccoon with a leaf on its head, stood on a tree stump that had grown enough to break the temple's flooring. They were all lost in their thoughts, and I could hear them asking for blessings and boons. They were kind, sweet requests, much different from what I recall the humans asking, from what they used to demand. Let my children survive the winter, prayed a boar. Please, let me find some good food for tonight, requested a skunk. Oh, let my father live another day, pled a young deer. The sunset's light and shade entered the temple with a gust of wind. The priest's head rose, and when its eyes opened on the vision of me standing in the church's doors, it didn't gasp, nor did it scream. It spread its arms wide, and preached in a language common to all creatures. "Oh Siblings, open your eyes and admire the vision of Our God," They all stood and turned to me. Some were crying, some were frowning in their seats, but none spoke. I stepped inside the room, and with me, the whispers of a million lives, of a thousand flying arrows, of a hundred years of solitude and waiting. The raccoon spoke once more: "We welcome you, Hunter." I looked at all the creatures present, at least a hundred, who were all waiting for a reply. I raised my hand. "Uh, hi?"

You are a God, long forgotten by humans. Suddenly you feel the pull of worship, more than you felt when you were worshipped by the humans. You enter their sanctuary expecting to find people, instead you find a raccoon priest leading a congregation of other woodland creatures

***Morphin' Time*** *Of course Morph Machine has a new transformation! Wonder how long this one is going to take? I, the Magnificent Magnetron, have no time for such foolishness. The only reason I indulge this idiot is because I like seeing the look on his face when I rip his new power armor apart piece by piece. Why would a man in a metal power suit take on a person who controls magnetism? Doesn't even use non ferrous metals, such a buffoon. Is it stupidity or masochism? Possibly both......* *Oh seems he's added some new lights to the transformation process, red and green, how festive! That armor looks sturdy, I love the shingling of it, looks almost medieval. Classic look for battle. Bit of a postmodern twist with the jet boots but it gets the point across. Oh now the lights are blinking, that's gaudy as hell. Gonna close my eyes. This really is taking a long time for all those pieces to snap into place I bet if he used.........* *Maybe he's stalling for time? That sounds feasible. Make me sit through this dreck while the cavalry is on the way. I hope that is it. Maybe Nightdove will show up, wonder how she's looking nowadays, she would be a worthy foil. Not this second rate tin man. I should be getting into superior super scrums than this.* *The big leagues, the big show, my name in lights! Battling the likes of Frozen Shadow, Meteor Man, hell why not go right to the top and take on Fuzion herself? How has a noble villain such as myself been relegated to the back pages of the book? Is he done yet?* *My schemes and plots are good. I can rip a bank vault from its foundation without ever going inside! I can rip the iron out of red blood cells, carve a bloody path of carbon based corpses. I can even cause heart attacks for a more subdued approach. This city, nay this world, should be cowering in fear at my feet! Yet I sit at the table meant for children, fighting with their castaways, their garbage, their lessers. Insulting really. Still not done transforming yet....* *It's that damned Detective. Only one that knows my weakness and would never hesitate to use it. Why am I so afraid of her? Playing her games does allow me to indulge my voracious, voluptuous villainy. Once I figure out a way to get her out of the picture I'll be able to truly show what I'm made of. Okay, take a deep breath. I'm going to open my eyes and see a fully transformed Morph Machine ready to engage in fisticuffs most grand. One......two.......oh son of a bitch it's still happening!* *Nuts to this, just gonna chuck him across the city. Get a good grip on the suit and..........there we go! Outta the park homerun! Score one for the bad guy. What was I doing here? Was I going to steal something? Completely forgot why I came here........I need a bite to eat, Tracy's is still open this late. Change back into my alter ego and grab a late dinner. Wait a minute.............wait a second.............is that why? No..........that's preposterous...........inane.............but maybe............* \------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- If you enjoyed reading this please consider checking out more stories set in this same universe at r/StarCityChronicles Thanks for reading.

A supervillain's inner commentary as they are forced to sit through the hero's overly flashy transformation sequence.

((Sorry for any issues, typed on mobile!)) "Alright. Now lift two fingers. Good. Put them back down." The bespectacled government worker in front of me had been asking questions for hours, writing who knows what on sheets on his clipboard. I had been prepared for this to take a while: I mean, people make jokes about not pre-gaming for your 18th for a reason. But uh. This, was quite a bit past the 2 or so hours I'd been told are standard at check-in. And also the third interviewer. I'd never heard of more than one. "So, isssss it maaaaath? Oh no- I'll be a nerd!" I joke. The examiner glances up over the rims of his glasses. "No, I am afraid it would seem, that unlike myself, Sir, you do not have a penchant for metamathmatical arts." "Oh, so you're a Calculator- ...riiigght." I wither. To be fair, it probably wasn't the wisest place for that joke. Usually I'm on point, if I do say so myself... but my jokes withered around hour four. "As you have no doubt surmised-" he pauses, and, I just feel /so/ judged by that look. "You have not qualified for any of the Material elements." He flicks his pen to point to the various items circling me and on a nearby table. I glance awkwardly, rubbing the back of my neck. An ice cube sits, half melted, by a miserable pile of damp kindling, a balloon bobbing behind it. Man. "Uh. The balloon floated and stuff? That's Air right?" "While you are correct, none of the other Air aspected tests came back strongly." "Oh! I made that paper stick to the wall, and I turned that orange ball blue. I mean, what about Immaterial magicks? That's like.. gravity or light right? I mean, if-" "Mister Soles. Please-" "H-hey Biggs is fine!" Eh...heh? "Ahem. Mis-ter Soles. As I was saying: it seems, based on the spread of your abilities and temperament, that you likely are a metamagic user." Oh. Metamagic. Like how this dude is a Calculator? I could work with that. I mean. Lots of metamagic people get really high paying jobs and stuff- "Oh dude?! Really? I can work with this!" He stares at me for another minute, then says, a bit slowly, "if you could take this seriously, please sit for a moment-" I watch over my shoulder, shoes squeaking absently on the floor, as he goes to a white cabinet against the back wall. I mean there are a number of cabinets, they've already pulled stuff from. Just this one is new...to me. I watch as he starts to open the top, then he scrunches his bushy eyebrows and closes it, bending down, pulling out a small key, and unlocking a door on the bottom. I can't see what he's doing. But after a moment he approaches with what looks like a regular shoebox. A bit plain. Brown cardboard bottom with a blue top. He rounds me and places the box on my lap. "Wait a moment," he says, then backs out of the range of a red circle painted on the floor around me. Maybe...10 feet diameter? Sure they did that for the fire and electricity tests but... "Uh. What's in the box? A bomb?" I joke. He sighs. "Please Mister Soles. Open the box." I look down, murmuring "Party Supplies" as I read the piece of tape. That's funny, as I lift it, I shake the box a bit and don't hear or feel anything move. Doesn't feel like it weighs anything either. I give an unsure grimace then open it as instructed. The sounds of rubber horns and children's cheers erupt as I pull off the lid. To my surprise I stare up as a rain of confetti fills the air and ...doves?! fly out. I hardly notice glasses dude pull a small radio out of his pocket. I'm trying to get streamers out of my curls as I hear him say, harsh and hushed, "Make your way to room 2. We've got a Clown."

Your element isn't Water, Fire, Earth, or Wind. It's not Light or Dark either. It's... "Surprise"?

I almost called out the general right then and there but the more devious side of me thought this was going to be hilarious. "Apologies General! I had a brief accident with the cleaning crew spilling chemicals on my uniform and they insisted to take it to get cleaned!" I replied with a half-hearted salute. The General's face when from it's normal deep red to an ugly shade of purple as he steamed in a rage. "Then why and Our Great Lord's unholy name are you still standing around instead of getting a new uniform from the barracks!?!" He screamed at me practically in my face. "Sir I was assigned this post and one of the mission briefings was I was not supposed to leave this post for any reason other than emergency!" I replied this time trying to hold back my laughter. "You think this is funny Soldier!?! I know the Demon Lord personally and I will make it so you are working in the lowest pit of rot for the rest of your life!" He was practically frothing at the mouth when he said this. I never met this man before. "Sir I was lead to believe that the Demon Lord was not in the capital today?" I asked him with a confused look on my face. He got this smug look on his demonic face "of course that is what we told the common soldiers. I actually just had lunch with our Lord. And I believe I do speak for our Lord when I say that idiots like you have no place in MY army!" I frowned a little bit "Your army? We are the Demon Lord's army!" I said as I crossed my arms. "Oh please we are the true power of this kingdom. With our us the Lord would have nothing. We General's can do whatever we want to you peasants and little you can do about it!" He then took his clawed demonic hand and back handed me. I flew down the hallway and landed on my feet. "Is that so General?" I growled out as the room felt much colder, not that the idiot noticed. Just then a maid came by holding my freshly cleaned shirt along side my top general aka my wife. "Here is your shirt my Lord. Again I apologize for running into you." the maid said as she bowed in apology. "Think nothing of it little one" I said as I threw my shirt on not taking my eyes off the now confused General. "Darling why are you wasting your time with this parasite?" My wife asked as she looked at him in disgust. "We are needed in the throne room to meet our next guests." The mana surged within me as I uttered a spell that helped transfer the memories of the last 15 minutes to both my dearest wife and head maid, who also just happened to be my chief bodyguard. "Wha-what is going on?" The soon to be dead man asked. "Well to recap you insulted me, lied and said you knew me personally though I have no clue who the hell you are, and then you backhanded me across this damn hallway. In front of my very sadistic wife and very protective maid." I said as I put my hands in my pockets. "Have fun girls but don't take too long. I'm going to get a snack." The screaming started as I rounded the corner. This is my first time posting here and on mobile so forgive any mistakes.

"Why are you just standing there and where is your uniform?! You are here to serve the demon king and we can't have someone incompetent like you, get moving!". I knew I hadn't met most of my lower-ranked generals so he must not recognize me. No matter I want to see how this will play out.

“This is the U.E.V. Intrepid. Orbit has been achieved. Beginning FTL ignition procedure.” I flipped a few button in front me, turned a dial here and there. Truth be told I was on auto pilot, I’ve studied this machine a million times. Hell, I could probably do this in my sleep. It would never be less exciting though. As the stars stare endlessly back at me from the viewport I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever get to see them up close. If all goes well, it could be only a matter of years before we’re traveling between them like ferries across a channel. I made the final checks and strapped back into my seat before radioing command. “This is Intrepid. FTL ignition pre-check is complete, confirm green across the board.” “This is command. Confirm all green, FTL ignition approved. God speed Intrepid.” I let loose a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I was about to become the first Human to cross the light speed barrier. It occurred to me then what could go wrong, what might happen if it doesn’t work as planned. Intrepid, more than just a name. I braced myself against the seat with eyes screwed shut as I pushed the big red button to ignite the FTL drive. When I felt nothing, I peaked one open. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Theoretically I knew what was happening. All around me space was bending. With a fusion reactor and a hell of a lot of guts the machine I found myself in was not only punching a hole in space time, but propelling it around me. I was stationary, the immovable object that the unstoppable universe had to work around. All too soon though it came to an end. The streaks of light vanished as I returned to normal space. No sound, not even a jostling of the capsule would have alerted me to exiting of the warp bubble. The stars coming into focus and myriad of new constellations and nebulae were the only indication that anything had changed. “It worked!” I yelled to nobody. “It really worked!” The grin I wore could scarcely have been wider. I was so overjoyed that I simply basked. I enjoyed the splendor before my eyes, the knowledge that it had worked, and even that sweet satisfaction that I was first. “Ok.” I tried to regain my focus. “Task at hand, get home.” I turned my craft back towards where I knew home to be and began the procedure once more. Buttons were toggled, levers flipped and dials turned. “Here goes nothin’” I hit the big res button once more. Nothing happened. Not the good nothing of only minutes early, but the nothing where I stayed in place. Something was wrong. I brought put the manual and began the safety checklist. Everything came up normal. Still the ship did not move. Truth be told that at this point, I was worried. Stuck in space, god only knows how far from home, a week’s worth of rations at most. It was certainly not the best way to die. I did consider for a moment that I was going to die there. The sick part is that I think I made peace with it. Until my radio beeped. “Intrepid, do you copy?” I clicked the button on my headset. “This is Intrepid, who are you?” “Intrepid this is rescue vessel 431. We’ve been watching you for quite some time. It’s time we made ourselves known.” “Aliens?” I asked. The voice chuckled. “Aliens.”

You are stranded in deep space after completing humanity's first FTL flight. All hope seems lost until...

"Alright kid what did ya find on the families?" The chief asked me. They had taken the shape of the stereotypical tough as nails police chief who doesn't take any shit from their detectives or beat cops. I took the shape of an old pulp comic gumshoe to play along. I dramatically slam down my thick notebook. I lock eyes with the chief. "Money laundering, lots of it. Intimidation and protection schemes all over the city. Racketeering, some shady disappearances to top it all off." I put on a gravely voice to sound hardboiled. "Money laundering first. Where the cleaners?" Chief barked. I step into the dark corner of the office to ensure I don't burn when I shift into a vampire. "Dracula and his children of the night operate a chain of mechanic's shops. Have contracts with all the local hospitals, free repair and maintenance of their mobile blood clinics. They boost the parts, all profit, don't know what the hospital kicks backs to em. Pretty secretive on that. Doctor Frank and his monster mash have a stranglehold on funeral homes across the city, cook the books, and the bodies so to speak. Washes his dough and makes himself new family members, keeps his numbers up, able to keep up with the other families. He's also an independent doctor who doesn't ask questions in exchange for a hefty fee. Boogeyman and his boys run underground casinos. Profitable ones. He has a small stake in the other families in exchange for some help cleaning after big jobs. Boogey's succubi are high class escorts, also his eyes and ears in the bedroom of some very powerful people in the city. Probably the biggest threat." Chief chomped on the end of his cigar. "Who's running protection?" "Wolvies are the heavy hitters in that arena. In exchange for a generous donation the wolvies give business owners a silver charm to hang in their window, prevents something bad from happening during a full moon. Other than that the wolvies are pretty subdued, only meet once a month of course. Lagoon creatures do something similar at the docks, enforce their own 'toll' for ships coming into harbor, make sure we don't have any oil spills or other environmental disasters. Hard to get close to them though, I can't hold my breath too long." "Disappearances, which family is behind those?" Chief asked. "All of em. Normally carried out by a merc, one of the slashers. Lot of options of there to off a guy. Chainsaw em, knife em, transport em to a hell dimension, kill em in their dreams, some real creative shit." "Can we move on this?" "Gotta talk to the people really in charge, legal team. See if we have enough evidence for a RICO case against at least one, maybe all of them." I took pride being able to say that, this was the longest investigation of my life. "Get back to work. Agent 3 is on a stakeout right now, undercover at the museum, go keep them company." "Why there?" "Catch the mummy when he tries to steal back his sacred ankh of the dead. Dismissed. Now get out of my office." The job never stops trying to bring down a monstrous mafia.

Monsters have begun organizing into sophisticated crime families, with distinct groups forming for each type of monster. In response, the city guard has sent you, a doppelgänger who can shapeshift into anyone you’ve seen, undercover to collect evidence and stop the families.

I don't know what happened out there. When I went to sleep this was a bustling city. Now it's...empty. Not damaged beyond a little neglect. Nothing a little attention and money couldn't fix. A lone cat walked along the road, wearing a tracking color and happily ignoring me. I check my internal chromometer. I have been asleep 12 years. 12 years since the last of my family died. There was no genetic line left. And with no one to protect, I slept. John, my last child, had ordered me to live after he past. Said I had more than earned my independence. But what point is their to life with no one to care for. So instead I slept. Maybe I would have needed up as spare parts. Or maybe I would have woken when someone well meaning tried to help me. But that did happen. I slept. I ran away from my grief and now I awaken, becuase my family lives. Which shouldn't be possible. John died without children. He had no siblings, and neither did his parents. So how could there be a child? I follow the genetic signal, walking slowly as I took in the world around me. It's so quiet. It's too empty. The few birds I see also have trackers on them, and I eventually sop to hook into a terminal. There are no people. Just maintenance drones caring for the buildings, ensuring they are in good working order. As o, so many sleeping Droids. I get pinged then, a private message. "Who is this" I ask. "I am Poppy. I am so glad you woke. Please follow the directions given to the pick up point." I don't move straight away. I hide my signal first, take the proper safety precautions before heading to the pick up point. I am shocked to see a single person flyer there. I board, and quickly ascend to the air. From this vantage point I can see the city. I can see the damage. The bridge is gone. There are endless roof gardens and solar panels have replaced a lot of the upper windows of the buildings. I see the birds I tracked earlier, and dread begins to coalesce in my circuits. I am taken to the Learning hospital, where I find Poppy. She is a nurse bot, and she is one of the seven I see around the place. I see the first human see waking, and he looks so tired. He looks up and see's me, smiling wide. "I am so, so glad to meet you. Do you have a designation?" "I am Petre. I am the family care unit of-" "You are a free droid. The paper work went through before...before the end happened." he said. "I am Graham. And I have a lot to explain." He explains as we walk through the hallways. A virus came. It killed everything. Th animals and fish, the bugs and people. The droids of the world had scoured the planet for survivors, for those few organisms that were immune. Gathered them in safe locations. "They found me at school. I didn't know where else to go, so I figured I would wait their until help came. Then I was bought here to help with the rebuilding efforts." he says, and we get into a lift. I am closing in on the genetic signal, and I am still confused, and I have no care now beyond news of my charge. "I don't wish to be rude, but can you tell me how another of my family exists?" He nods at me, "Of course. I am one of the three humans on site today. The others are off collecting samples whilst I over see the first birth. You see, there aren't enough of us left to safely repopulate, so we have been going into the genetics labs. Using the eggs and sperm that has been left for these situations. We even got a few of the experimental synthetic wombs working, so we produce more children safely. I don't know if you knew this, but your last....family remember donated his material to the program." I stop listening, barging out of the lift as soon as the doors open. I hone in on the signal, and after a few twisting and turning corridors-I find her. She is small. So very small. I go to her. The room is sealed for her safety, so I spend several agonizing minutes to disinfect before I enter the room. I look at the doc bot, that tells me it's okay to hold her. She is a warm bundle, who stirs slightly as I hold her to my chasis. She opens her eyes, blue that will soon turn brown. I can tell she will look like John. I stroke her tiny head, stroke the sparse hair and feel her heartbeat. There is not mother or father to raise her. According to the legally records and the current lake of cares, I am the logical choice for raising her. I am, after al, independent now. There is now reason I should not raise her as family. I helped raise her father, and her grandfather. She needs me, like I need her. She reached out, her hand finding my finger. She grips so tight. My daughter needs me.

When the last descendant died, you simply turned off and went to sleep, you failed your mission. But then you reactivate, suddenly another biological signal calls out, somehow the bloodline came back.

I look at him and I look at his wife. My eyes dart back and forth between them rapidly, almost cartoon-like in nature. They both look back at me confused by what must looks like very strange behavior coming from me. We are at a fancy dinner function. Many veterans were invited honoring some general who did a lot of blowing up enemies. I obviously expected to see a lot of high numbers today. I am used to it, this isn't my first rodeo, and honestly not much surprises me at this point. But this. This surprised me. It is not too shocking when you see a military man with his kill count at zero. It happens all the time honestly. Maybe they are just stationed at base, maybe they are never in action, and maybe they are just a bad shot. But this guy was a war hero. His count should be higher. And his wife... she is a traditional military wife, hosting parties and taking care of the children. Where did this 200 come from? I start talking to this guy, asking him all sorts of questions. Trying to be subtle but really digging for information at the same time. I ask about his medals, why he is considered a war hero. "Everybody is talking about it and telling me about how brave you are." Flattery and things of that nature. But he is coy. He doesn't give. He says he saved a lot of his brothers on the field. Okay, so maybe he is a hero because he saved people, not because he killed people. This is possible... But it still doesn't explain the 200 over his wife. I do notice immediately that they are the same height. And that their physiques are honestly not too different all things considered. She is not particularly curvy, and he is not particularly muscular himself. Is it possible? Could they have? But even if they did, then why? I ask her a bunch of questions now. How does it feel to be married to a hero? Again, buttering her up. Things of that nature. She remains coy as well. I cannot get anything that I can really use to figure out this mystery. I decide to give up. What ever their secret is, I am not going to figure it out. I soon start drinking and forget all about it and just start having fun. Every so often I will see that 200 and wonder, but I let it go. I've been drinking so much I finally have to go take a piss. I excuse myself from some military guy's boring story and beeline towards the restroom. At the urinal, Mr. 0 Kills comes up next to me. We do an awkward greeting. The kind you can only do while you have to acknowledge you know the other person but your hand is on your wiener. As I wash my hands and then leave, he blocks the door. I laugh uncertainly, thinking this might be some weird joke. But as I try to move past him, he blocks me again. From one of the bathroom stalls out comes his wife in her dress. Oh, and she's pointing a gun at my face. Not cool. Now it is their turn to start grilling me. Why I was asking so many questions. Why I was so curious about their lives. I try to answer their questions without giving away the fact that I had this weird power. I can tell they don't buy it. My eyes dart around so I lunge for her gun in a last-ditch attempt to get out of the situation but slip on a puddle because someone pissed all over the floor. I look up at the ceiling. I hear three loud bangs. The last thing I see is a large 201.

You have the ability to see people's kill count on their head. One day you meet a decorated war hero with 0 kills and his wife with 200.

"Just fucking get it done!" Despite "his holiness" having a reputation for being a loving boss, He always had moments where He was a real cunt. Who can really get mad at the guy? He literally built the stars and the sky above; nobody could reasonably challenge His eye for universal design. It did, however, beg the question: if He's so fucking talented, why does He need us? Sometimes I think He just likes to fuck with us. Especially on that platypus project. A mammal with a beak that lays eggs and has webbed feet? With poisonous spurs? I mean what the fuck? And now this? A Cthulhu-like creature in the Florida Keys? There are no other cephalopods native to that ecosystem. "How are we supposed to make that work?" I asked Him. "I don't pay you to look for problems. I pay you to look for solutions," He replied. "Okay, so how similar to Cthulu? The wings and all?" "Yes," He sighed, turning away as if He'd run out of mental bandwidth for this conversation. "You want a winged animal to live and breed off the coast of Florida? Is it amphibious? What function do wings have for a marine animal?" "Just fucking get it done!" He shouted and stormed off. Like I said, a real cunt. Well we made one. The wings slowed it down in the water and the crocs tore it apart pretty easily. I would have loved to tell God "I told you so," but I'm a professional.

As one of God’s top creative designers, it’s your job to turn his ideas into functioning animals, then put them on earth below. Unfortunately God has a habit of giving vague descriptions, and now wants to know how a Cthulhu-like beast ended up in Florida.

"Sect Master, Sect Master! Tell us disciples a good story!" Atop the towering mountain peaks of the Blooming Spirit Mountains, where the Venerable Eastern Sect resides, a group of sect disciples in auspicious robes sat across their Sect Master, who seemed like a middle-aged man with graying hair, but is actually almost a million years old. "Settle down, young ones. Let this Venerable tell you of the story of the most eccentric immortal in the Myriad Realms. The Muhr-ican, the Redneck, the Western Transported Immortal." What a curious introduction, the disciples mused. "His name was Gasgow Arthur. Though he would prefer if his name was Arthur Gasgow, as the realm he came from had their given names first then surnames last. Arthur was a Transported, one who grew up with a culture so different from our realm and the Transported before him. He was crass, loud, often drunk, and had an even more eccentric accent. "He came from a realm named Earth, from a dynasty called the Yu-nigh-ted States of Ahmer-ica. He was loyal to his dynasty, and returning to it is his sole motivation to ascend to immortality. "Arthur refined and always used his unnervingly loud artifact. He calls it 'Old Joe', though formally it is a 'Ray-vol-ver'. A weapon of short iron that sends out concentrated masses of immortal gold to its enemies at ungodly speeds. "Due to his character, Arthur made a lot of enemies, and almost fell in the besieging of the foes he made. Yet motivation and willpower kept him from the hands of the Underworld and King Yama, spouting and taunting his enemies about how great his dynasty is. "His path to immortality was hard, arduous, even more dangerous than most. But he succeeded."

A redneck gets transported to a chinese cultivation world. He has to cultivate until the immortal realm if he wants to get back.

As Medusa sat, her snakes being gently stroked by the Monster of Dr Frankenstein IV in his lap, she sighed. The deep, creaking voice of the Monster spoke. "What is the matter, my love?" Medusa lay there, thinking deeply. The silence grew uncomfortable before she spoke, a shy alto within the strong accented English. "I never thought that...hrm." She sat up, causing the Monster to move along the sofa. "It is hard to think in this tongue; to say what I feel, Baron." He nodded along, causing two of Medusa's snakes to hiss softly - Those would be Téodoras and Alexandra, who worked like echolocation for the blinded Monster. Baron pulled Medusa on to his legs, eliciting a number of squeaking hisses and a startled gasp from Medusa, before his hand snaked its way along her arms to her face. She smiled, hesitantly brushing his lips with hers. Wordlessly, she demonstrated her emotions by pressing herself into him and trying to melt through him. A satisfied groan slipped from her before she pulled away, a number of her serpentine strands tasting Baron. "It is so hard to believe how much the world has changed - creatures of the night revered and worshipped; my own Gods shown with mockery and deference both; and my Gorgin siblings who bring me backwith a stone's tears! Who would have thought of that? "And then the magics of today - I can go and see, and not be scared of my secret! That there are people who *desire* me like this. That you, of all, know me." She blinked tears away, as they threatened to spill; an ache in her voice streaming despair to anyone who cared to notice. Baron felt it vibrate through her shudders, and held her tightly as she sobbed a little. "My little Dusa, you know you rescued me, too. I was near mindless with a rage that all I have is other people's thoughts; that I was made, not through sex or binding, but through dark sciences just as evil as some of the tales of Greece." He lightly kissed her head, earning a bite from Socrates, who lived like his namesake. "For all the world, I would not wish to be left behind, a forgotten monster to all who would see. We appear to be made for each other, at least for now. And right now, that's all I ask for." Medusa purred at him, wrapping her arms around him, as she stood up. "Alas, it's time to go to work." She let her fingers trail, as Baron smiled a joyous grin - or at least a parody of one. She sat down, turned the ring light at the desk on, and logged in to her Twitch account and virtual avatar. She took a deep breath, put on her mask of a persona, and started streaming. "Good evening Scalies! I'm Meddi and this is my Let's Play of *God of War* in preparation for the Ragnarök release!"

After her tragic death, Medusa didn't expect her sisters to bring her back in the 21st century nor did she think people actually care for her tragedy nor finding love with a blind Frankenstein.

“We let it get out of hand,” he said. They sat next to each other on a heap of rubble, of bodies and brick and fallen trees, overlooking a sludged river. She slapped her heel into the dirt and a whirl of dust wrapped around her shoe. “I didn’t mean to kill them all.” He let out a long breath. ”I didn’t mean to let them all die.” A rat scampered over a fallen pharmaceutical sign, a chunk of rotting fruit in its mouth. She looked up at the permanently greyed sky — as if they were in a shaken snow globe that refused to settle — and wondered if even rats would survive much longer. She had altered the asteroid‘s trajectory. Imagine his face, she’d thought, when he woke up to see that huge rock hurtling towards earth, eclipsing the sun. That’d wet his pants, so to speak. It would get him back for the utopian hell-scape she’d woken to a week before — where crime had been eradicated and if anyone so much as thought a bad thought, he’d imprison them. He’d reveresed their situation, turned himself into the villain but gaslit the world into thinking he was still the hero. And she, well, she was out of business. The asteroid changed everything once more. He couldn’t control billions of terrified people, people who thought they were about to die. What threat did he have that was worse than the end of times? He, of course, had a level of telekinesis. He would be able to turn the asteroid away. They both knew that. However, his idea for revenge was a game of chicken. No, he wouldn’t waste his energy giving in to her little asteroid prank. Let it come! She’d give up first, she’d be the one to bat it away and weaken herself for a while. Let him… Let her… ”So what now?“ he said. She sighed and got down onto her knees. She picked up a brick and placed it on top of another. Then a third on top of that. Like Lego. “You want to rebuild? When most of the earth has been destroyed? You do know all the people are gone, right? We let them all die.” ”I know. But we’re still here. We have forever to sulk in the remains of civilisation.” He thought a while. Of their experiments with DNA. Wondered, if in another hundred or thousand or hundred thousand years, they might be able to bring humanity back. And if they could, then humanity would need somewhere to live. To feel safe. He took a long breath then joined his sister. Took a brick and placed it to the side of hers. No mortar. No measurements. Symbolic at best. “It’ll take a long time,” he said. She nodded. They had worked against each other for only a short time and had caused all this. Had wrought the end of everything. So perhaps, working together for a much longer period, they could at least begin something good.

In a world filled with villains and heroes you are a supervillain and your twin is a superhero. What people don't know is that neither of you is good or evil, you both flipped a coin to see who would join what side to then carry out EXTREME pranks on each other.

Bjorn, one of the most revered berserkers in the halls of Valhalla, had just finished his 7th beer in the last hour. Despite his resistance to inebriation due both to his colossal size and his lifetime of drinking, even he was starting to be rather... wobbly. And itching for a fight. "Which among you has slain the most men?" he roared. "I challenge you!" None raised their hand, but several cast a sideways glance towards the corner of the room where a man sat surrounded by other warriors. Bjorn sized the man up incredulously; he was small, petite even, hands so smooth it was beyond clear he had never lifted a weapon. He could likely not even grasp Bjorn's battleaxe, let alone wield it. Bjorn scoffed and pushed his way past other merry souls and faced the man. "Oh," the man said. "Hello." His voice was rather high-pitched and soft, a stark contrast to Bjorn's rough and gravely tone. "Who are you?" Bjorn growled. "I'm Doug," he smiled. "A pleasure," he said and extended his hand which Bjorn callously ignored. "What is that... thing on your nose?" "Oh, haha, these? My spectacles. Help my eyes," Doug said and ran his hand across his glasses. Bjorn scoffed. "How many have you killed?" Bjorn asked. "Well, the official amount would be, let's see... 6 million, 342 thousand, 255 people," Doug smiled. "Give or take some 2 million people unaccounted for in the official records." Bjorn's mighty eyebrows furrowed as he tried his best to imagine the amount in his head. "You? Impossible," he finally said. "How could you possibly-" he said and poked the man with his finger, upon which several warriors, far taller and more muscular than Doug, stood up and gave Bjorn menacing looks. It was clear they held more respect for him than for Bjorn. He removed his hand from Doug's chest. "How familiar are you with... numbers?" Doug asked slowly. "Bjorn can count!" "Of course, of course," Doug said with defensively raised hands. "See, I'm what's called an accountant. I manage numbers - *lots* of numbers - for people. Like making sure who owes money, how much food there is, stuff like that." "How is that at all important?" Bjorn said. "I asked for how many you've killed, not-" "Ah, but see, good sir," Doug smiled, "it is *crucial*! You fight with axe, I with numbers." Bjorn frowned. "Say there is a war," Doug continued. "Warriors in combat need food, medicine, reinforcements. So, what would happen if, say, payments for food were late? Why, the food vendors wouldn't provide it. What if, say, medicine, was *mistakenly* shipped to the other side of the country? It'd be sorely lacking on the frontlines and illness would kill thousands, hundreds of thousands. And... well, you get the idea," Doug chuckled. "All I did was move numbers, destroyed documents, lied here and there." Bjorn's face turned to one of disgust and ever so slight apprehension. "There's no honour in that! You... merely deceived!" "And in doing so I have killed more than all of you combined," Doug calmly stated. "If not for honour, if not for the joy of visceral combat," Bjorn snarled, "then why?" Doug smiled and took a sip of his goat's milk. "Because I could."

In Valhalla all of the greatest heroes which died in battle doth drink, be merry, and war for fun, also there's Doug, the accountant.

*Harriette, Harriette, Harriette... You should know by now that the shadowed groves I lead you to are always a pleasure for the senses.* Harriette tried not to listen, intensely so. It took effort. She didn't mind her, him, or it, or whatever the voice truly was, really. The voice spoke from the air, the trees, the rivers and the bees, it never meant her any harm. Only sometimes, she wished for some peace of mind on her own. Going into the forest was her way to seek isolation, a status hard to achieve with an omnipotent voice afflicted with an inability to shut it and a tendency to ignore the basic rules of consent where mind-reading is concerned. *You think that, but you wouldn't ask me out loud to keep silent.* "I know, I know, it's just..." the fear. Harriette couldn't remember the last time she had been alone in her existence, far from eyes and incorporeal voices. The prospect of solitude was intoxicating, sickening, like a chasm she contemplated from the edge. One foot over the long, long drop, a cold shiver down her spine. One day, she would jump. *It would have the benefit of novelty. Until then, take a left.* Harriette crawled to get through the underbrush, got dirt under the nails and on the knees. When she rose, she nodded her head. Worth it. *Isn't it always?* Not the that the grove was exceptional from its trees, they were stout and healthy, but not different from all the others. The grass had the same green hue and the clouds announced winter like everywhere, but the voice had an insight for the ensemble, a natural zeitgeist for the right camera angle. The light ricocheting upon the leaves, illuminating a bed of grass and making it so, so inviting, the lazy river grasping the attention of the eyes through the shimmering blue. Fall in its glory. She set down easel and paint, didn't remember taking them with her. Inspiration guided her hand, drew lines when consciousness was clueless like a force animating Harriette, and she let it possess her willfully. One day, she would tell the voice to leave. Not today. *It's okay, we have time.* Quite a bit of it. The painting was almost finished, a minor touch here and there to preserve the viewer from the flashing, almost unreal beauty. To dim it through darker colors, perhaps black clouds, or a gray street with houses on a hill. The idea seemed almost comical, as if she hadn't seen houses in a while. How long had she been in this forest? *A sunset could do the trick too.* The prospect of the sun going down filled Harriette with sudden torpor. And the bed of grass appeared to be so, so inviting. She lay down, warm despite the Fall, wrapped in her clothes and the gentle wind of a late afternoon, slowly drifting off, away from the grove, the voice, the world and herself. Far above, she saw herself sleeping in the grove as if watching a theater play going on from a mountain away. She was no larger than an ant, and the world outside the grove was hidden by a white sheet. This was her, her entire universe, reduced to a single fleck of dust on an immense white sheet. She shivered. A flash of panic. She rushed back to herself, back to the flesh, the bone, the consciousness, woke up in a gasp. Still she saw the white in the sky and between the trees, encroaching, swallowing her world. She was deathly cold and sweating, teeth rattling, mumbling and weeping. The easel! She ran towards it, forsook the paintbrush, dipped her fingers in black and brown and amber, added a murder or ravens gliding down a savage evening light. The bright, brutal and absurd beauty of her painting found a dark opposite, played with it, reached an equilibrium. The white beyond the painting had ceased to approach. Still it stood, watching, waiting, still she trembled in fear. *It's not much, but here.* Not much in the form of a cherry she found. Out of season? Irrelevant, she gulped it. Harriette felt a haze coming over her, her tremors letting go, a mist enveloping her and cradling her to a place beneath awareness but above sleep. Thus she drifted, long and far away, time an abstract, her body barely real. Until she opened her eyes. Standing on a path in a forest. *Well, where shall we go today?* One day, Harriette would tell the voice to leave. Not today though.

You can talk to the trees, animals, flowers and everything related to nature. Your conversation with nature lead you to places no one ever seen before. So you took advantage of your ability and became a famous painter. But everyone belives that the art you drew doesn't exist in real life.

The words held so much contempt I thought the alien might sever my existence on the spot. I had to remind myself they said they came back for a reason. "We do not like our investments being messed with you seeeee." The words slithered out while the creature's forked tongue caressed the air taking in the Earth's smells. As I began to speak, a lump formed in my throat. I couldn't bring myself to refer to the human race as an alien investment. What does that even mean? Why would they invest in us? And how? It sure doesn't seem like they had any interest in us up until recently. I wonder how far back they made contact or attempted to do so and with what ancient human civilization? There are enough stories written upon cave walls to fill many books but these were always looked upon with disdain. Simply a misunderstanding from a less intelligent and advanced time in human evolution. Or so we thought. It wasn't until my commander said there was actually a spaceship hovering above the Bermuda Triangle that we began to take this seriously. That's when my team was sent in to investigate. Now I'm wishing I would have just called in sick today. "Are you going to prove usss right on the concept of intelligence or do you plan to respond before I have to sshed my sssskin? The strange snake like creature hissed "I'm sorry. I was lost in thoughts. I'm not sure what you mean though." I stated honestly while stealing a glance towards my blaster holstered at my side. "Sstupid human why do you play dumb?! Or perhapss you are all this way? That would certainly explain why the giftss we have left you have gone unappreciated." "Gifts?" I mutter while trying to rain in the rampant thoughts threatening to overtake my mind and focus "Yessss. The giftsss. We found it beneath us to conquer such an infantile species when we were here last so we left certain technologies to speed up your progressss." The alien serpent slid forward and straightened to its full height making it somewhere close to 10ft tall. The head was like that of a cobra with some kind of gills on the side of its neck. The eyes resembled a cat and bore down on me while its arms folded and looked on sternly. "I'm very sorry but that was before my time. I haven't the faintest idea what you mean." I stammer Just then a high pitched shriek is heard and the ground begins to tremble. The alien looks around with a slight expression of what I can only imagine is fear. What the hell is that sound I ponder but before either of us can do anything the shaking ground begins to crack and split apart. The alien turns towards the spaceship and with one last look over its shoulder it says to me "We are not done talking huuuuman." The tail of this strange entity shoots out and wraps around my waist and yanks me forward. Hauling me into its grasp it begins to race back to it's vessel with a speed and strength I didn't imagine it could possess for something without legs. I'm jerked along in a manner that threatens to break my spine. "Captain, what's going on?" I hear in my earpiece. I open my mouth to communicate with my crew back at our ship and am met with a mouthful of dirt and debris as the island convulses. Whatever is going on the aliens sure don't like it and I can't say I'm fond of it either. The Bermuda Triangle has always been filled with stories of the strange and macabre. The last thing I see before being unceremoniously pulled onto the alien spacecraft is a tentacle bursting through the earth while the shriek intensifies. Somewhere on the coast my crew must be having the same kind of luck I am as I hear them yell various commands but it's garbled and drown out by this new and imminent danger. The alien crosses the threshold to its safe haven and then tosses me inside. I hear thrusters begin to boot up. There isn't much else I can discern as my head slams into the wall but oddly as my vision begins to darken I realize that not only did I hit the wall but now I am stuck to it like a fly caught in a glue trap. These are my last thoughts before everything turns black.

“We studied your kind already and found you to be lacking in intelligence in order for us to make contact” the alien said. “When did you guys conduct this study?” You asked “around 2 million earth years ago”… “so why are you back now?”

"Don't kill me please! I don't mean you any harm!" "Where am I? What's with all the candles?" "I am Javon! I summoned you, demon! But I bear you no ill-will!" "Hey Javon. I'm Greg. You think I'm a demon?" "Yes. Aren't you?" "No? Are you sure your 'spell' was to summon a demon?" "Yeah. Well, pretty sure. I'm fairly certain the summoning ritual worked. But I don't know. You don't exactly *look* like a demon. You look pretty human to me." "What do demons look like?" "Well, for starters they're supposed to be hairy. Hair on every part of their bodies You don't look very hairy." "Uh, thanks? Good thing I shaved this morning I guess." "What's 'shave' mean?" "Um. Okay never mind that. What else do you know about demons?" "Well, they supposedly ooze multiple fluids, and defecate poisonous filth." "Ugh. Gross. Is that why I'm standing on a tarp?" "Well yeah. I thought you'd be a lot filthier." "What else?" "They have the ability to run, jump, climb, swim, and throw;" "Ooh. So spooky;" "They go into a catatonic stasis mode for up to a third of the day to recover lost energy;" "Uh huh;" "They gorge themselves non-stop, consuming the flesh of other organisms, sometimes multiple times a day." "Wait. You don't... eat?" "Eat? God no! The idea is terrifying! Do you?!" "Um. No. Totally not. Not me." "Just... just please don't eat me." "I'm not going to eat you. Why would you think that?" "Oh, I don't know. I've read that if they're not fed and they don't rest, then they can grow quite irritable. I read that their overlords will force them to labour at menial tasks for multiple hours a day, and force them to engage in social activity against their will, and that over years of this torment they grow depressed and prone to angry outbursts. This forced lifestyle causes them to turn to food for their only comfort, eating anything they can get their hands on regardless of any nutritional value." "Mhmm. Hey Javon?" "Yeah?" "I think I might be a demon."

You were suddenly teleported in the middle of a summoning circle. Turns out that Earth was actually Hell and humans were actually demons.

Death threw is head back with laughter. It laughed, and laughed, and you're only confused on how Death is laughing through it's skeletal body. It doesn't have lungs, after all, but then again, it's Death. When Death stopped laughing, it looks at you. "You're kidding, right?" Death asks you, and you shake your head. "I can't uproot my entire schedule because you don't want to die," Death continues. "I've had your death schedules from before you were even born! If I put off your death now, then everyone is going to ask, and then all my future meetings will be put off because..." "Death, shut up," you say to it. "Buddy, I don't mind coming with you, I just have a whole bunch of responsibilities to get done. I won't tell anyone that we met, but I'm in the middle of this whole project..." Death cannot believe what you're saying. Since the beginning of time, it has never encountered someone willing to go but couldn't. Death held up a finger to it's head. It closed it's eyes and ran the scenarios about what could happened in the week if Death waited. Death realizes that this man in front if it is the man who will cure cancer. Now, don't get Death wrong. It might be it's job to take lives but that doesn't mean it wants to do it. And Death is God. Death's biggest priority is to protect humanity, and saving the people of it. Death could not take this man now, not when he's so close to finishing his work. Death nods in agreement. "You have one week," Death says. You're thankful, of course. You really don't mind death, but you feel it's your responsibility to save others. Over the following week, Death watches you to make sure you're doing what you're supposed to be doing. And you do. You finish the cure, you send it out the the hospitals, you watch as the first curing happens. Exactly one week after your first brush with Death, it returns. And this time, you're ready. You woke up that morning, said "I love you" to your wife and young daughter. You're going to miss them, you will. But you can't let them know you're dying today. They'll find out naturally. You're sitting at your desk when Death comes back. It snaps into your office, and you stand up and hold your hand out. Death just looks at you. "I am sorry about this," Death says. "If it's any comfort, you'll be immortalized because of your cure. And you can watch the world heal. You're going to the place where only the best of the best go." "It's okay," you say. "I've lived my life's purpose. Can you promise me one thing, Death?" Death thinks for a moment, but agrees. "Take care of my daughter for me." Death nods, and it holds it's hand out and grasps yours tightly. "It was a pleasure meeting you," it says. "I agree," you say with a smile, and Death removes your soul from your body and you watch it fall to the floor.

“Hey Death, yeah I know, yeah, look can we schedule me dying to next Thursday? I’m kinda booked right now”

I felt the circle snap open, releasing me onto the mortal world. For a moment I was filled with the desire for bloodshed and carnage, as I walked amongst those fresh souls. But that moment soon passed, as it always did. "White wine's in the fridge, red's on the side. Choose your tipple, then come have a seat!" I grinned at my summoner and friend. Agatha was a sweet girl, one who craved knowledge. She didn't want it for any purpose, but instead just wanted it for the sake of having knowledge. I had known her for years, after her first summoning me. She had wanted forbidden knowledge at one point. I was of course eager to share, in exchange for her soul. Instead of accepting though, she decided to question me about what I used souls for. She was amazed to hear how we used them as food and fuel, to keep both ourselves and our creations running. She kept on summoning me after that. Sometimes to chat, other times to just hang out. I grew fond of her company, battling down my old instincts when she first released me. I didn't want to destroy her. Her mind was a beautiful thing, always eager, and always listening. She was so much different to what I had experienced below, it was incredible. I pressed my form down into a suitable female form. Though my demonic heritage poked through, my skin purple and a pair of leathery wings on my back. Still, resizing meant going through her small apartment was much easier. I found my way to the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of red this time. "So, tell me, how's your studying going?" Agatha grinned at my question, pouring herself a glass of white. "Well thanks! Get this, I found a book on homunculi." I tapped my glass into hers, taking a sip. "Oh how fascinating, we don't have much on that below. Tell me all about it.". She tapped my chest, grinning. "Only if you do my hair again." I gave a mock groan, before laughing. One time, one time I had offered to do her hair in a style I had seen below. Now it seemed that it was all she wanted from me. "Sure, OK then. But you had better not hide any of the juicy bits!"

“WHY HAVE YOU SUMMONED ME!” The demon asked from the poorly drawn summoning circle. “Um… girls night?” “… Oh HELL YEAH! Where’s the wine?”

*Could be worse*. The black cat thought to himself as he lounged atop the windowsill, idly swishing his tail as he watched the witch mix her newest concoction in the cauldron. It’s been two weeks since Calvin Perry went missing. Three weeks since he accidentally hit and killed a black cat while backing out of his apartment’s parking spot. One and a half week since the owner of said cat tracked him down via a spell, and laid a curse upon him. Which is how Calvin found himself becoming the familiar’s replacement, being turned into a cat himself, and trapped within the body until his own eventual demise. Which is apparently what happened to the cat he’d happened to run over. The witch had expected Calvin to be horrified by these turn of events, and honestly, so did he. But as it turns out… being a familiar wasn’t too bad of a gig. The living arrangements were free. Food was free. He was allowed to watch tv whenever he wanted, long as the witch was around to push the buttons. Only thing Calvin really had to do was forage herbs in the surrounding woods every few days, and catch the occasional mouse or frog. Plus, he didn’t have to worry about student loans anymore. *Could be worse, indeed.*

You accidentally kill a witch’s familiar and they put a curse on you.

I finish choking on the bread I was eating as she watched with a rather concerned look on her face. "I'm sorry" I say as I turn to her, "you what?" At this point she looks a little embarrassed, "I...said that I think I like you." I look at her while wiping the tear from my eye, my throat still hurting from the bread, "No no, that's definitely not what I heard." I knew what she said, and whether she knew it or not I knew way more than that too. I knew all about how dragons could shapeshift into human shapes, and I knew especially about how the silver dragons in particular loved to be be around humans in human forms. I look her in the eyes, "Rosaline, I...*takes a deep breath* I need to tell you something too." She looks at me with a face that seemed to be afflicted by a mixture of worry and curiosity. "Rosaline, " I close my eyes hoping that this doesn't end badly, "I know you're a dragon." It was her turn to choke out of surprise, at least, that's what I had expected. Instead, she simply looked at the ground as she sat next to me on the back of my cart. She replied in a low tone, "Yeah, I knew that you knew." I looked back at her in surprise "You knew?!" She looked back down with a slightly sad tone in her voice, "Yeah, I remember when you picked up that mirror and looked into it. You tried to hide it and you even told me that it lost its magic a long time ago, but I could see my reflection in it too. I knew you saw." I looked at her and took a deep breath, "Yeah, I'm sorry, I was lying when I said that the mirror wasn't magical anymore, I even threw the mirror out to try and keep it a secret." She looks back at me, "I know, I remember you throwing it out. It was very... thoughtful of you. But when you saw me... weren't you scared?" "Of course I was scared! I had never seen a dragon before I met you, and when I looked in that mirror and saw the reflection of your true self, I was terrified. That's partly why I threw the mirror out, I was afraid that if you knew that I had found out then you might get mad." "Why would I be mad?" She asked. I sighed and responded, turning my own gaze to the ground below us, "I don't know, I guess I just thought that if I was trying to hide something that serious then I'd be a little upset that someone found out... especially someone close to me." She looked at me in surprise as I finished responding, "You think we're close?" As soon as she said I realized my mistake "I, now hold on I-". I paused as I saw her staring at me, she wasn't mad, and she wasn't upset, and in that moment I found my cheeks flushed with red as I stared back. I tried not to stare as I answered her "I...yeah, I figured that over the last two years we might have gotten...close." We sat there together on the back of my cart, the clouds above us threatening us with rain as we both stared silently at the dirt beneath our dangling feet. She piped up first, "So, how do you feel? I mean about what I said earlier. I...I know you heard what I said, you wouldn't have reacted that way if you hadn't." I take a deep breath before responding, "Well," I hesitate and take another deep breath, "honestly, I'd be lying if I said I felt differently." She looked up, a spark of joy shining behind her surprised eyes, "Really? You...you mean it?" I smile as I see her slightly flustered, "Yeah, I guess I do. But I do have a concern." She asks worriedly, but while still retaining that spark in her eyes, "What is it?" I clear my voice and try not to sound like I'm trying to back out, " How is this gonna work?" She looks confused, "What do you mean?" I face her, " I mean how is this going to work, let's be honest here, I'm a human...more or less, and you're a silver dragon. What kind of relationship would we have?" She thinks for a second as she ponders my question, she then smiles and speaks softly, "I think that if we are really...in love, then we won't have to worry. You know who I am, and I know who you are, and yet we both love each other regardless of that. I think that if we can love each other like this already then we should have nothing to worry about." I sigh, "I'm sorry, you know that I'm not very optimistic of a person. I just can't stop thinking about the what if's about this." She turned to me, "Then let me help you, tell me everything you are worried about when you think about us together." I take a deep breath, and then before I speak, I realize that I can't really think of much to worry about. Rosaline looks at me as I pause, "Well?" I look back at her, "I actually can't think of much. I thought about our clear biological differences, but with your human form that's no real problem. I thought about how dangerous it would be for you to keep traveling with me but I mean c'mon, you're a dragon. Then I thought about how you must miss your treasure hoard, and then I remembered that I could just give you my portable hole and we could get you more as you collect more treasure. Honestly, I can't think of any reasons we can't be...well, in love." She smiled as she looked at me, "Well then, it looks like you have no excuse." I laugh a little nervously, "Yeah, I guess so." I look up as the rain stops it's threatening and starts it's miserable assault. I sigh, "Well, looks like we should get the hut set up. I'll grab the staff." She smiled as I get off the cart, "Okay, I'll grab some fire wood before it all gets wet."

Your best friend has just confessed their love for you and asked if you want to go on a date. Instead of being happy you are shocked and confused. You didn't think a dragon would be interested in dating a human being.

“Favorite food?” I asked. “Pancakes,” both Twilas said in unison. “Favorite color?” “Blue.” “Favorite band?” “You already asked that dumbass,” they said in the same annoyed tone Twila always had. I asked probably 100 questions already, but I still can’t tell them apart. “I give up. It’s hopeless. You’re perfect doubles,” I cried. “You always give up so easily." “Then, why don’t you find someone else to help you?” “Cause you’re my-” they paused and looked at each other. “Cause you’re *our* best friend!” I knew they’d say that. I knew what Twila would say to anything I said. I have to think of a way to differentiate them without asking anything, but how? “I got it!” They looked excited. “We put you both in front of a mirror, and whoever doesn’t have a reflection is the clone!” They looked less excited. “That’s vampires.” “Oh," I said disappointed. "Well let’s just try. Okay?” They both rolled their eyes, but in different directions. That’s it! “Ha!” My dumbassery paid off for once! “What?” They looked confused in the same way Twila always would. “The *real* Twila always rolls her eyes from right to left!” I pointed to the double. “But since you’re a mirror copy you rolled from left to right!” Case closed. The fake started to sweat. “So...” Her eyes started to water. “I’m a…fake?” Tears fell from her mirror eyes. We forgot the clone didn’t know she was a clone. I also realized we never bothered to figure out what we were going to do with the clone once we knew which it was. “What do we do now?” The ‘real’ Twila asked. I have to think long and hard about my next words. “How about some pancakes?”

Your Friend bought a new Cloning machine and ignored the warnings about cloning humans. Now there is two of her and they are arguing about who is the original. They asked you for help, but you can’t tell them apart.

There He is. There He sits on His high and mighty throne above the clouds. Staring down on the burning world He created. Look at Him. Look at how He's amused by our suffering. Well no more. No more. I rush at Him, my blade in hand. In His Omniscience, he knew exactly where I was. Where I was coming from. Why I was doing this. Using His Omnipotent power no doubt, He's suddenly no longer on his throne. Unseen by my eyes. The pearly white clouds below me turn stormy. He's trying to scare me. Intimidate me. But I'm not scared. Or Intimidated. What's a little storm when you're fighting God? Thunder roars in my ear as the stormclouds swirl around me. I roar back. "SHOW YOURSELF YOU COWARD!!!!" The thunder roars louder still, and as lighting strikes, a dark figure appears before me. Infinitely larger than the form that sat on that regal throne. His eyes wilder than the storm surrounding us. His voice more powerful than the roaring thunder. It was intrusive. It shot nails through the inside of my brain. YOU DARE "YES." I scream. VERY WELL DIE He raised his almighty left hand,before bringing it crashing down upon my puny skull. A force greater than the earth, and more powerful than hell itself. And in that moment, I raised my blade. It was a small thing. Nothing impressive. It wasn't a sword. Nor a dagger. And it wasn't made of metal either. Or any other material that I could even begin to describe. Whatever it was, He feared it. He must have. When I raised the blade, His fist stops, just before it could pierce the flesh. After a moment or two, He disappears completely. But here's the thing. He's not just Omniscient or Omnipotent. He's also Omnipresent. He's everywhere. There is no escape for Him. I slash at the Air. A blood curdling scream rocked across the heavens, blasting the storm from the sky. A single drop of Icor falls from my blade. And it keeps falling. Eventually, it lands. The splash made a sound that was far greater than its size. It didn't belong to the first drop of rain. It belonged to a raging cyclone. Now everyone knew. Now they would be coming for Him. Now you can see, this is how you make God Bleed.

You don't have to beat god, hell you don't even need to seriously harm him. Just make him bleed, doesn't matter how or how small the wound is. Now there is blood in the water, they know he isn't invincible and the sharks are coming.

The intel had come down only hours ago. Brigadier needed to move fast. Dr. Salvatore was on the verge of a breakthrough in the cruelest mad science, and he was the only one who could stop it in time. Or at least slow the doctor down. The fact that the two had grown up together wasn’t lost on the top brass. “He can’t be reasoned with,” Secretary Tillman had said. “At least not by any of us. But you know him, you have insight into where he might be vulnerable.” General Burke added, “And considering our investment in you, it’s a foregone conclusion. This operation is sensitive and Salvatore has a way of brainwashing people. We can’t trust sending just anyone in to stop him. I assume that serum bulked up your mind along with your body?” Brigadier was going to reply that he had no idea if that were true, but was preempted by the vice president. “You’re wasting time. Take the antidote and get going.” He pointed to the small vial held by a scientist no one had bothered introducing. “We all know Percy Salvatore’s history. We think he may have contracted some kind of...malady. One that’s screwed up his judgment and his mind. That, we hope, will cure him. We need you to get close enough to get it into him. Or, if necessary, use force.” Brigadier didn’t want to use force, but here he was. The security around Percy’s lab was tight. Too tight for an innocent man. He’d had to incapacitate three guards, and the alloy shutter protecting the door proved too much. Thankfully, the wall proved to be less resilient. And suddenly Percy was there, across the room and a level above. Chunks of concrete and drywall were strewn across the floor and table along the shards of broken beakers and tubes. “You need to give it up, Percy! This is way over the line. It’s wrong!” He expected a rebuke, but instead his old friend just sighed wearily. “You’re absolutely right, something is wrong,” said Dr. Salvatore from the catwalk. He was looked down at the freshly-blasted hole in the wall of his lab, then at Brigadier, and frowned deeply. “Have you actually taken a second to consider what you’re doing here? What they *want* you doing here?” “They want me to cure you. To save you. Or else they would have just bombed you into oblivion.” He held up the vial. “Please, take it.” Percy laughed a hollow laugh. “A cure? Is that what they told you? What exactly did they tell you you’d be curing?” “They know you have some kind of disease that’s affecting your mind, driving you to madness.” “*Some kind?* So, they know enough about it to make a cure, but not enough to tell you what it is?” “They- I... I didn’t ask, it didn’t matter. The clock was ticking.” “Ticking down to what? You made it clear you don’t know what you’re doing here. Do you know what I’m doing here?” “The White House said you’re about to release a nerve agent into water supplies across the country. Something that will make it even easier for you to brainwash people. I can’t let you do that.” “If your goal is to stop people from being brainwashed, I’m afraid you’re much too late. This country has been exposed to brainwashing for the last fifteen years. And I’m looking at Patient Zero." “What... what the hell does that mean?” Brigadier looked up again at Salvatore, then pushed off a nearby table to reach the second floor himself. “Just take the medicine, Perce. Please.” “You known me your whole life, Al. Think about that. Think about what you’ve been told about what I’m doing here, and how little sense that makes. I’ve only ever wanted to help people - to help you! But ever since you agreed to be a guinea pig for the army, you’ve eaten up their propaganda like slop. They blinded you, Al. “That doesn't even make any sense. Do you want to know what I’m really doing here? I’m the one making a cure. I’ve found a way to synthesize a neutralizing agent. They’ve been making you sick, Al. They’ve been making everyone sick. Why do you think you feel clouded, impressionable? They’ve been feeding it to you in the food, the water. The goddamn air. And I’m so close to fixing it. They know if they let me succeed, it means the end of their debilitating grasp on the country. Brigadier felt the cogs of his brain turning slowly. It was true that Percy had always been a saint... why did it make so much sense when General Burke had maligned him? “But... the cure,” he said vacantly. “That’s not a cure, I can promise you that. Some kind of untraceable poison, I’d bet. Just smash it.” “N-no,” said Brigadier. He was too far gone. He’d been a tool of the military for so long it had become who he was. If they were lying about this, about everything... he didn’t want to think about the consequences. “If they’re right, I’ll take you in and we’ll get you the cure. If not...” Without hesitation, he tipped the bottle back into his mouth and awaited whichever fate might befall him.

The hero's childhood friend has become the world's most dangerous villain. "it doesn't make sense", the hero thinks "he's still the boy I know, kind, brave, selfless to a fault, always standing up for... wait, something isn't right here"

"The lad died of speaking too hard!" Thor bellowed, Mjollnir still pointed towards the young man standing before them. "I don't care what Loki says, he's **not** getting into Valhalla!" "Brother, please, *you'll hurt my feelings*," Loki smirked with sarcasm so sharp it could double as one of his daggers. "You should know that not all battles are fought with muscles." "I must agree with Lord Loki, Lord Thor," the young man pitched in. "The tongue is a weapon more powerful-" "I'll show you power," Thor growled. "Brother," Loki stepped in, "must you *really*\-" "Enough! Both of you!" another voice boomed as the doors of the Great Hall of Valhalla swung open, revealing Odin, the All-Father in all his glory. "Blast, if I have to listen to you bicker any longer I'll go feed myself to Fenrir voluntarily." The two sons exchanged rather nasty looks but stepped aside for their father. "So," Odin said as he sized the young man up and down, "you're to enter Valhalla?" "It is what I have been told, All-Father," the man said and bowed his head. Despite not being of any faith - certainly not of the Norse kind - he saw it fit to show proper respect to the gods he considered myths mere hours ago when he still drew breath. "And you died in battle?" Odin asked. "A debate." Odin tilted his head curiously. "You see," the man continued, "I was in a rather heated exchange of ideas in my debate class and, well, I suppose some vein in my brain just... gave out. One second I was presenting my argument, the other..." he said and waved his hand. "A *battle of wits*, father! Certainly it is worthy-" Loki started but Odin shushed him with a mere motion of his hand. Another man walked from the hall and Odin turned to him. "Týr - what would your wisdom advise?" "If he arrived here, the Norns dictated so. They do not make mistakes," Týr calmly stated. "Hel take me if they don't!" Thor protested. "They have an agenda and you know it, the lot of you - you most of all, Father! I won't let *them* dictate who's worthy!" "I must say," the young man suddenly said, "I share Lord Thor's sentiment. I am not of your faith and yet here I stand - could I truly be worthy? Is it fate or is it a *trial*, perhaps? Maybe this is not about me - perhaps the Norns themselves are testing you, toying with you." The assorted gods gave the man various looks. "*Now* he speaks some sense!" Thor nodded. "Young man," Odin said, "do you not wish to enter Valhalla? Why would you agree with Thor, who wishes to deny you entry?" "Valhalla, Heaven, Hell, Tartarus... who cares?" the man smiled widely. "I'm just a human. I doubt I can decide where I go, but this? *This*?!" he said and excitedly pointed towards the gods, "I get to not just watch but *participate* in a debate of gods! The greatest debate I could *ever* be a part of! No matter where I go after this, the memory of this exchange of ideas will forever remain with me. It's its own reward." Odin turned back to Týr who gave him a subtle, sly smile. "So you care not for the outcome of this... *battle of wits*, only for the battle itself?" "Of course!" the man nodded happily. "I have no preconceived goal in sight - one must be willing to change their stance if a debate is to be had; if you sternly refuse to change your standpoint, you are not debating - you are arguing, desperately clinging to your original idea. There's no fun in that. No matter the outcome, I wish to enjoy it. Win or lose, it is still... *glorious*! " Loki smiled widely, clearly pleased. Týr nodded contently. Even Thor's frown softened somewhat. Odin stepped towards the man and patted him on the shoulder. "I believe you'll fit right in, lad," he smiled.

You died of a stress-induced aneurysm in the middle of your debate class. Now, at the gates of Valhalla, the Norse gods are arguing over whether or not it counted as a battle. Good thing you're very passionate about debating.

"Have fun, everyone. Don't wait up!" My roommate walked out the door to another "date." We knew it was a hookup. Nobody kids themselves. One of the others was just looking at his phone, flicking away at different posts. "Bye," not even noticing the door had been long shut. He kept going through posts on... Instabook or something? I never could be bothered to care. He just kept getting more and more stressed at what others were doing. "Hey guys," called one of the others. "I'm gonna get 3 large meat lovers pizzas. Did you want anything?" "YES! I want you to use coupons for crying out loud! Stop throwing away money!" "... I meant food-wise." "Whatever you can get free!" Those two always bickered when it came to ordering out. Fortunately the other roommate that would encourage these fights was at an anger management class. Whatever. I had my couch, and I was happy. Of course, that wasn't good enough for *some* people. "Are you going to just lay there all day?" And yet again, I'm getting bothered. "Yep." "There's a whole world out there. You can even go online to experience some of it. Don't even need to leave the couch." "Nah." "Just because we have this cushy pad doesn't mean we can't experience things." The pizza lover said, "Yeah! In fact, I know a nice Thai place. Wanna try some?" Great, now I'm getting teamed up on. "Nah." The one guy I expected to be so absorbed actually looked up from his phone and said, "Come on. Live a little." "I'd hate you all if only I had the energy." Being the living embodiment of Sloth wasn't all it's cracked up to be.

"I'd hate you all if only I had the energy."

***A Better Tomorrow*** *The road is bumpier than I remember, mundane time flies by fast. I always knew this day would come, just not so soon. Thought I would have more time before that bastard made good on the threat he made on his deathbed. No time to say goodbye, I hope they understand. I'm the last line of defense, the only super left, they trusted me to keep the peace after they took the cure, leaving me alone.* *Wow this place has seen better days......hope it still has power. I wipe the dust from the retinal scanner, it turns on. The heavy door creaks open for the first time in ages, doesn't open fully. I have to suck my gut in to squeeze past. I duck under the tangled spiderwebs as I descend into my former home. Even in the pitch black I can navigate the steep steps, I hope he wakes up.* "Wake up A.V.I." I declare. *Nothing turns on, solar generator should still be working. As I slowly make my way through the darkness the lights turn on, the bank of computer monitors in the command center flicker on. A still blue waveform running across each screen. They start to peak and valley.* "How good to see you again! Sorry about that, was in sleep mode. Give me a moment to restore power to all systems, this may take a moment." A.V.I.'s soothing digital voice emanated from speakers running along the command center. "Not necessary. Only need a suit." "Which suit shall I send down?" "Zeta." "Are you sure about that?" "Just do it." I bark *The pneumatic tube whooshes above my head, the payload slams down hard in front of me. The door hisses and slides open. I slip on my funeral suit, all black. No mask for this one, no point in hiding it anymore. I don't have a lot of time. I quickly sprint to the command center. I pause a moment to let my gaze linger on my former home. The countless hours of my youth spent here preparing to protect this city. Protect those I cared about.* *The lonely nights I spent grieving my son, the one person I couldn't protect. My failure as both hero and mother hung like a storm cloud over me. I couldn't remember the last time I saw the sun. The only shoulder to cry on a virtual one. Life's cruel joke continued when Martha passed, what good is saving the world if you're powerless to save the people you're doing it for? I can't fail another generation, those kids have suffered enough, they deserve sunny days.* *I stop before ascending the steps, taking a deep breath, trying to calm myself down.* "You can go back to sleep A.V.I., thanks for always being here for me. Good night." I choke out. "I think I'll stay up a little while longer. Come back so I can hear about your exploits. Be safe, friend." *No delaying the inevitable. The cobwebs clear as I speed past them, still got it. Smoke rises on the horizon, I fly off towards it. I hope they understand why I have to do this. Time to keep my oath. My promise. To leave this city better than I found it.............for them.* \------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this there's more at r/StarCityChronicles

your only son. Now you work a 9-5 as you and your spouse raise your grandchildren (15, 12, and 10) after their mom also passed... But the city is in peril. You're the only hope!

Shielding myself from the rain I dashed under the low hanging porch, knocking on the heavy oak door. Summer rain dampened the usual smell of car exhaust and restaurant runoff that loomed over the street, replacing it with the softer scent of a well maintained greenhouse. Latches clicked and snapped behind me, working in sequence up the many brass fastenings holding the door shut. A man of half my stature opened the door, round silver spectacles balanced on his long nobbled nose giving focus to two black pebble-like eyes. “You’re late,” he grunted, extending a stout arm to inspect my briefcase. “Don’t you ever get tired of the irony that phrase has?” Handing over the case I slipped out of my waterlogged coat and gave it a violent shake to rid it of as much of the hanging moisture as I could. Crouching down I passed through into the Time Adjacent Bureau. The main concourse was bustling with paper pushers, I couldn’t remember ever seeing the office this busy. With a slam the oak door was shut behind me, with practiced hands the gnome re-latched all the locks and sealed us off from the constraints of time. Stubby fingers fondled the chronometer, rolling it forwards through the months to reach our next colleague. “The Pale Serpent is dead.” A monotone voice called out. Its wielder was slender with wiry olive hair, her skin cracked like tree bark. “Right… Sorry?” I was unsure if condolences or acknowledgment was in order. “I’ve assigned the task to you, more of you should be along shortly.” Clearly the time for grieving had passed. As soon as she had made her presence noted, she turned on one heel and began to walk away. “Don’t you want to stay for a coffee with us?” I called out behind the departing figure. “One of you is enough.” She responded dryly, with the slightest hint of a smile breaking on her cheek. Architectural styles clashed in a competition for attention, the green stained glass desk lamp that hung over a polished oak desk sat next to the sterile white plastic lit by a number of minuscule spotlights was enough to give me a headache. Entering the lift I was greeted by a slightly more cheerful gnome than the doorman, perched on the stool next to an ornate set of brass levers and handles. “Morning Clive.” I dug into my coat and pulled out the rolled up newspaper, handing it over to the operator. “Marcus,” he replied, “I hear you’ve got quite the task today.” He played the elevator like an instrument, gliding gently down past the whizzing years of carpets and wall colours that forced me to squint. “Why does everyone always know before I do?” I responded. “Because you’re always late.” Halting effortlessly I stepped out into the familiar communal space, the knotted grey carpeting that curled when hoovered, the half-tone pastel wall paint, styrofoam ceiling tiles, an office designed purely around me. “Morning!” A chorus rang out from the desks lining the workspace. Or should I say: designed purely around us. I returned the greeting and headed to my desk by the entrance, greeted quickly by a much younger version of myself. It wasn’t a distant memory that I wore his shoes. “Did you hear, the Pale Serpent died?” “It rings a bell.” I replied. “What can you tell me about it?” The boy’s face was aghast, he ran the request through his mind a couple of times before formulating a response. “If I know… How don’t you know?” He asked. “I’ll remember once you jog my memory,” I lied. “The Djinn of the Egyptian River, it made itself home to thousands of lesser spirits. Now that it’s died… well, all of its granted prayers have been dispelled and-“ “Wishes.” “Huh?” His eyes once again creased in thought. “Prayers are for Gods, a Djinn grants wishes.” Nodding with his face flushed a shade of fresh beetroot the boy responded. “Yes of course. Of course. So, when you get a moment, could you start allocating us out for respelling?” I nodded, much to the boy’s pleasure, as he darted back to his seat. Running my fingers through the messy crop of hair, I scowled at the youth’s intact fringe as my hand had to travel further than it used to in order to tangle the brown locks. Pulling out the filing cabinet it simply wouldn’t stop extending. File after file popped into existence like unwelcome fireworks populating the drawer with years of work. Pulling out a handful at random, I opened the first and fingered through the front pages. *Dispelling of domesticated cats. Impact: Moderate. Initial reporting: Large uptake in fliers for missing pets across the timeline.* An older version of myself approached the desk, cane and case in hand and ready for his job. I folded the papers and clipped them together in a tight roll, holding them out for him to take. “Oh come on… Can’t you give me at least a high impact case?” He whined. Scanning the next pages the severity of the situation slowly dawned on me. *Dispelling of Saturdays* Looking around, it became evident that around a seventh of the usual workforce were absent, even accounting for late arrivals. I handed the document over. “Take two of the younger chaps, they need the experience.” *Dispelling of clouds* *Mass inflation of Iranian currency* *Dispelling of the British royal bloodline* I put my head in my hands and breathed a deep sigh. This was going to be a long shift.

A genie has died, a hassle. This is because after one dies, all their wishes are undone. Its your job to file what wishes were granted & regrant any if needed. It’s easy, until you realize that clouds are gone, Saturdays & cats, gone too. Checking the file, you notice this was an ancient genie.

The coffee was exquisitely fine today. Jeremy was enjoying myself at his favourite open air cafe when he noticed a rather dashing figure in the distance coming towards him. Most of the humans around didn’t know who it was. They might feel the slight chill as He passes them by, or hear the song of melancholy as He breathes. Even his steps brought out a rumbling that shakes the very core to the few who felt it. They didn’t know who it was but Jeremy did. It was the human disguise of the most dreaded and feared of all beings. It was Death. Jeremy waved him over. Stopping beside as Jeremy relaxed with a coffee, He handed over a rather heavy tome. His list of deaths ever since he took the job. Disappointingly he says, “We need to talk.” Tapping his finger on the tome. “Your name is written here 4 million times.” And with a sigh, “At least, I stopped counting by then.” Grinning at Death, he says. “Well, I have had a rather fulfilling life. Can’t really enjoy it without taking a few risks.” As he sipped his coffee, Death scowled before asking. “You may be able to revive instantly but, you’ve only been here for close to a millennia. What kind of fulfilling life can you lead dying every 2 or so hours?” Jeremy pondered the question for a bit, tapping the tome against his chin before answering him questioningly. “ A painful one?” Death’s shoulders drooped as he sat down across my table. “Did you really calculate that?” Jeremy asked, Death nodded. They sat in silence for a bit. One sipping their coffee and drumming the tome while the other sighs. Before long Death asks another question. “You were given immortality for a reason. Do you even remember why you are who you are?” Sitting in silence for a bit, the man racks his brains before asking dubiously. “Something about Humanity?” With the deepest sigh yet, Death answers. “To advance Humanity. To teach them what they should learn and usher them into the next step of their enlightenment. This has been literally engraved into your very soul. Taught and whispered to you in thousands of revelations throughout the years. Your very flesh burns them anew to forever remain there to show you. How have you forgotten?” Jeremy simply answers, “You get used to the pain, the voices, the dreams and nightmares. The soul thing does frustrate a little bit, but nothing to fuss over. I simply stopped listening after a while.” Death begins to look his namesake before dropping his face into his hands. He muffles out a question. “Why did the Gods choose you of all people?” Jeremy merely shrugs.

"We need to talk" Death disappointingly speaks to you, handing over his list. "You name is written here 4 million times."

It was just another mundane night in this secluded tavern on the outskirts of Cryoville, a place I was hoping to reside for as long as I had left. Unfortunately on this particular weekend I would be graced by the presence of some unwanted guests. “The usual?” I asked “Yes please.” Answered Demi. Demi was rather a young frost cyclops who lived in Cryoville. He managed crawl his back way here from the border between the ice lands and the dark lands as he angered some guards and stumbled upon this tavern. Fortunately, I was in a good mood and took him in until he recovered. Since then he had been coming in once a week. “Boss! We’re out of frostian wine.” Seara hollered. She was in charge of our stock here. “Ight.” I replied, pouring out the last bottle of said wine. It was made by compressing frost berries into pure dark magic, which I had plenty of. “Demi mind bringing some over next time u come round?“ I asked, tossing a pouch of gold to him. “Sure.” he said chugging down his beverage. Demi walked towards the door and just when he was about to leave, the door flung open, smacking him across the room. Following, the atmosphere was filled with an intense and familiar aura. Kaelon, otherwise popularly recognised as the hero who slayed the dark lord, busted into the tavern with his group of 5 deluded and ignorant followers. In truth, Kaelon was a dick who cared not for others and only acted for the sake of his reputation. “Wha…?” Demi mumbled, rubbing his head from the impact. I vaulted over the bar and ordered Seara to bring Demi upstairs to be treated. “Hey barkeep! Five bottles of your finest wine.” Kaelon shouted. “To hell with that!” I kicked him through the window and out into the snow, revealing my through form. I summoned my sword and armour. This was about to get messy…

The Dark Lord was supposedly killed decades ago, when really you just faked your own death and are now a tavern owner with some of your old henchmen as staff. It's a peaceful life. That is, until the hero and their party walk in the door one day.

The truth is simpler than most would assume, yet a very hard to swallow one. "So why don't you have any interaction with people outside of work?" "What do you mean? We hang out all the time." The two heroes were nearing the end of a long day, and were enjoying one of their evening conversations "Not that, I mean social media, interviews, commercials. You just kinda... Scuttle home and avoid being seen outside." "Oh yeah... That. Well, truth be told, I have a few social media, just things to pass the time on slow days, but something like Ritter or MyHome? I tend to avoid those places as best I can, and the media, well, it's the media, they'll lie through their teeth, fear monger for the highest bidder or their own interests, and do full blown psychological warfare to keep people complacent and unmotivated. You ever seen some of the shit they write? Those articles that can be summed up as 'be fat, lazy, unhealthy, and childless to be happy'? And that's not even getting into how toxic and fucked up social sites can be, banning dissenting opinions, no middle ground of any kind is allowed, taking massive donations from foreign and domestic governments to perform censorship, then crying out they're a 'private company' when called out. I just don't find them appealing is all." The younger hero seemed confused at this statement from his friend and mentor "What do you mean exactly? I don't think I've ever encountered any of that." "That's because--" the man stopped himself short, and began again "Just... Maybe I'm crazy, it just feels... Different nowadays, ya know? Things feel... Wrong, almost, as if we took a wrong turn to grandma's house and don't even know it. Maybe I'm just getting old." The young hero smiled and laughed at the remark "You're only five years older than me, and you think you're getting old?" The hero looked at the people of the city, every single one of them capable of greatness, every single one of them with a power of some kind, but all knowing they can simply live without ever using their power because someone else will save them, and as a result they allow themselves to be weak, a luxury only afforded to the most well protected of cities "Yeah... I think I am..." The End.

Despite being the strongest hero in the world you don't have a social media account, don't appear in any commercials and are only seen in official meetings or at work. This has led to thousands of conspiracy theories about you but the reason is rather simple.

Edit: I'd like to thank you all for your responses. I'll see if we can spin this into a greater story in the future. An outline is further down in the comments, I'll try to add it at the end of this prompt. Thank you again & enjoy! (**Current chapters: 2 - in the comments**) \--- The ceremony had always been a big event in our town. While the children turned 18 on different days and received their divine blessing, they first revealed it to others during the Ceremony of Revelation. It had been a custom for many families to actually never call forth the summon before the Ceremony, while others would only call it in private chambers away from curious eyes. And so one week before the big event the town began preparing. Craftsmen erected a stage in the middle of the town square with a pyramid on which the young adult would stand and reveal what the soul formed from the godly power it was bestowed with. It was most common to find people being able to summon tools of their craft if they already had set foot on that path. Be it a sword, a pen filled with unlimited ink or a farming tool, the townsfolk usually tried to teach their children in ways that they would manifest what would help them in the family business. Well, except some of the scholars, they usually tried the opposite teaching their children about the world so they could make up their own mind and have their destiny revealed once they manifested their summon. Ironically, most of them still ended up with items of scholarship. I was sitting on a bench in front of my fathers store observing the cheerful and excited crowd, decorating the stage, sweeping the square and putting up tents to protect spectators from sudden rain that so often surprised people during spring. Thinking about rain... I could almost feel the cold of those droplets rolling over my skin, like the last breath of winter was imprisoned in those tiny pearls of water. A nice thought indeed, a smile snuck into my face as my eyes closed and as my mind wondered off into the sky from which the rain had traveled down. I felt cold wind as I flew across mountains of pure white as the sun illuminated the scenery - a wonderful feeling as a voice pulled me back into my body. "Dreaming again, eh?" I opened my eyes. My father was standing next to me, looking down with an understanding smile. "You were always a dreamer and there is nothing wrong with it, as long as you do your work first. Come on, deliver the crates to the temple, we are almost done for today." I sighed. "Yes, yes I am going. But I could have waited a bit longer, Master Vellric is still praying at this time of the day." "Just leave the crates next to the side entrance, he is no weaker than you and his acolytes just as well can carry them in." "Alright, alright, I'll go." The temple was a bit of an odd place. It was huge for compared to the town of merely two thousand people who lived nearby, in fact, once the whole town found shelter within the temples ancient walls of granite overgrown by ivy. The main tower that marked the inner sanctum stood almost sixty feet tall, if it weren't forbidden to enter the inner sanctum or "chamber of sealing" as they called it, I would have long climbed up to it's top to look across the land that lies beyond the forest and fields of Angheim. The small group of priests who tended to the graveyard and herb garden received crates with provisions from the townsfolk ever since people could remember, at least that is what my grandmother had told me. After the darkness had been banished beneath a disk made from moonsilver and sungold by the gods, the townsfolk made offerings to the Order everywhere in the kingdom as they were said to be the wardens that kept the shadows in their prison. After I passed through the gates of the old temple I pulled the cart up to the stairs of the side entrance, where a familiar figure was already waiting for my arrival. "It seems the dreamer has once again awakened to bless us with chests of desperately needed supplies." "Quit your mockery, Lorin, and help me get those off the cart.", I grumbled. Lorin was an acolyte of the temple, one of the few people who were sent here specifically by the Order whose headquarter was weeks away from our small town at the edge of the Great Wilderness. He was a good friend, but not quite the kind of person you would expect to find in a temple. He slacked off as soon as Master Vellric took his sharp eyes off him and never seemed all too serious about the Order or its mission. But he was a great conversationalist, he and I had spent hours talking about things that fueled my dreams day and night. The mysteries of the moonfolk, the mighty war angels that struck down from the heavens like stars when their shields began to glow red in their rapid descent to earth, the vast lands only the light of the sun touched and secrets that hid away in caves as deep as the eternal sleep of the darkness. "You don't seem very exited about the Ceremony." noted Lorin as he carried another crate up the stairs to the temples kitchen. "Why would I be? I have been running errands for as long as I can remember. Even though my birthday is only on the day of the Ceremony, I have no doubt in my mind that I will be... *blessed* with a handcart or pair of sandals." "You know, good shoes are hard to come by.", noted Lorin with a suppressed chuckle. "But seriously, don't be too harsh on yourself. You know it is your soul that forms the blessing into a summon, not your memories." "I don't know what that is supposed to mean.", I sighed, but Lorin shook his head. "You will in a few days. And please, until then stop looking so gloomy, it ruins my mood." I couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, now you show what you are really concerned about!" "Of course, you would scare away the girls down at the tavern with that face. I can't sit at a table with you like that!" The week flew by without any major incidents and so on my birthday came and with it the Ceremony of Revelation. Each of the young adults of Angheim stepped on the stage and called forth their summon. Each time the light of creation subsided an object had appeared in the hand of the summoner and the crowd would cheer and applaud. Only when Elra, the daughter of the mayor, summoned a scepter of white and gold that carried the symbol of the royal magicians did a murmur mix in with the cheering. And with that, I climbed up to the stage. As we were taught, I raised my hand and emptied my mind as much as I could. But thoughts spilled back into me, thoughts of thousands of miles walked to run small errands, a life on the road with nothing new to see and I could feel my heart crying out against this kind of destiny. At that moment I heard the first people screech. Confused I opened my eyes to see shocked faces and eyes opened wide in confusion and fear. I looked up. There was no light of creation, but a vague flickering of the air as a round shield floated a few inches above my hand. As the flickering subsided it slowly descended and touched the palm of my hand. A wave of burning heat and and snapping cold went through my body as the metal came into contact with my skin, I almost dropped the shield but managed to hold onto it at the last second. I looked at the shield, it was an amazing piece of craftsmanship far beyond anything mortal hands could have ever created. Gold and silver polished to perfection seemed to flow into each other and ancient runes of obsidian twinkled in the sunlight that captured my attention as a scene of chaos erupted amongst the townfolk in front of the stage. Master Vellric was pointing at me, shouting something that drowned in screams of terror, Lorin next to him began to laugh as if he just heard a brilliant joke while the townsfolk ran away now in utter chaos knowing only one direction - away from the stage. Master Vellric now turned to Lorin. "You!", his voice like thunder. "Who are you, what have you done to the boy?!" "I did nothing!", said Lorin and shrugged his shoulders while a strange smile twisted his lips. "We just spoke of things far away, shrouded in mystery and long forgotten." "I see now, while I watched over the seal you whispered into his malleable soul!" "Of moonfolk I told him, of lands that only the sun had seen and secrets as deep as the eternal sleep of the darkness. I have done nothing but shown him the way, he walked this path by himself." And now I realized it. This thing in my hand was not a shield. It was a disk made from moonsilver and sungold, forged by the gods to seal the darkness that had once plagued this realm. It was my 18th birthday, a the day that became known as the Day of the Black Revelation.

When people turn 18, they gain the ability to summon one random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does Mjolnir. As you summon yours it takes some time but people are horrified as it finally arrives...

#EVIL Magic? “XEBEDIAH!” the dark magician shouted, in his high pitched, obviously forced machiavelic voice. Atroxos Magnif, the Great One of the Darkening, in a surge of rage was calling the name of his petty servant-son-creation, Xebediah Losesprings. The small and awkward looking man made of stiched corpses rolled up to his boss. Atroxos holded the book he bought for him earlier that day. “No, Father?” Xebediah's voice was low and deep. He sounded like jazz singer stuck in the body of a child. Or a fusion of multiple body parts. “It's yes, Xebediah. I've got to fix that backwards speaking of yours. Anyway, did you see what you bought.” “I didn't.” “You did?” “No.” “For Satan's sake... Look, look at it.” Xebediah obeyed and looked at the book. It was a heavy volume with a cover made out of polished, shiny, letter. Two triangles sticked from the top. “That's not the Necromicom.” “EXACTLY- Wait, no, I mean, ugh! Okay, do you want to know what you actually bought me Xebediah? Don't answer, you bought me *the Nekonomicon.*” “What?" Those were one of the few things Xebediah did not say backwards. The other ones were generally slurs, insults and ungodly profanity “Yes. This book... Is a fucking spellbook dedicated *entirely* to cats. Page 45: “How To Transform Yourself Into A Cat”, page 68: “How To Transform Another Person Into A Cat”, page 80: “How To Take Care Of Your Cat Person”, page 112: “How to...” I'm gonna skip this one. Page: 122...” “I don't get it!” Xebediah shouted. “I was supposed to have in my hands a book about eldritch horrors and you brought me a book for crazy women living in the suburbs!” Atroxos slammed the book on top of his worktable. He turned and reached for his Evil Wallet. Opening it, small evil flames burned from inside. He took 45 dollars and turned around. “Go back to that Emporium and grab me the actual Necro...” Xebediah holded the book. He was reading it. “Xebediah,” Atroxos said with caution. “Put that book down.” “Hmm,” Xebediah muttered. “What's not the magic word for this?” “Xebediah if you don't drop this book right now I will destroy...” “*Transfigurae... Eum in cattus...*” “...Please, Xeb,” he dropped his high pitched voice. “You wouldn't do this to your own master-father-creator, would you...? Xebediah pondered. No, he wouldn't. “*Transfigurare eum in cattus parum!*” “YOU LITTLE SHmeow! Meow! Meow!” The roaring magician, in a puff of magic, turned into a miniscule inoffensive kitten. Xebediah grabbed the little one gently in his arms. “Hehe, I don't like this.” *ME NEITHER YOU SACK OF DRY FLESH MOVED BY ELECTRONS!* the evil kitten thought. But all it came out was “Meow!” r/Box_Of_Stories

it seems that you screwed up and got the wrong book, the Nekonomicon.

“Kid,” I said, to the sway of shadow in the corner of the room. “Come on. Enough already. Get out here and let me see you.” This kid — a girl of maybe eleven — stepped out of the shadows like how memories step out of a half-forgotten dream. An obese man lay on a sofa in the middle of the room, the TV still on, displaying a fizz of black and white static in which you can see just about anything, if you looked hard enough. Popcorn, now cold and hard, spilled out over his beer-belly. It looked like a heart-attack but in my mind there was a cold and knowing certainty that the kid had killed the man. ”I didn’t,” she said. “I didn’t kill him, I swear.” ”Oh, you can read minds, too? Neat trick.” I shrugged off my backpack and took out a pipette. This part always reminded me of school, of science class, way back when. Before I’d become this semi-god of the damned. ”Sometimes,” she said. “Only some minds, though. When they let me.” Her hair was grease and knots and she looked down at her bare feet as if inpecting her toenails. Her parents weren’t doing such a bang-up job with her. I pried open the dead man’s mouth until he looked like a pale fish, then tucked the pipette most the way down his throat. When I squeezed, his eyes opened for a second and I watched the last light inside them fade as his spirit drained into my implement. “Why have you been killing them?” I asked, now dripping the soul bit by bit into a glass flask. “I’ve seen you, you know? Always there these days, in some shadow or doorway thinking I can’t see you, but maybe not knowing just how good my eyesight has become since my death. I see everything these days.” I popped a cork onto the flask then packed it away in my bag. “So?” I said. “Why you been doing it?” “To… To see you. I just wanted to see you.” “Me? Why‘d you want to see me?” Truth was, plenty of people wanted to see death. For an adult I was something like Santa or the toothfairy. When you grow up you think you leave fantasy behind, you say make-believe is for kids, then you start wondering what’s waiting for you once it’s all said and done. Hell, adults believe in fantasy every bit as much as the kids they mock for it. But the difference here was her age. Kids her age didn’t want to see death. They shouldn’t even be thinking about it. And to kill — that’s the cheese for the mouse trap she’s using for me? Unreal. But maybe kind of sweet. She shrugged. Tapped her foot and stared at it harder as if willing it to walk, to take her out of this room. She glanced up once, twice to catch my eye. Her eyes were field-green. Mine brown. But something about them, about her eyes, reminded me of my own. Maybe there were flakes of nutmeg in them. ”Pretty eyes,” I said. “Remind me of something.” It’d been years since I’d died. Since I’d been alive. Not everyone gets to make a deal with Death. But for whatever reason — I guess he saw opportunity in my situation — he offered me one. I should have rested more that day, before I’d driven us. We were going from Texas to California and it didn’t need to be in one go through the night. But that’s what I said it’d be so that’s what it would be. I didn’t quite fall asleep at the wheel but I did drift a little, and so did the car. And then a truck on the other side roared a horn and hit the edge of the bumper and sent us tumbling. I hear my wife scream, hear our baby wailing. Feel the warmth of blood rush over my face and then the comforting numbness of coming death. “I can make you a deal,” said the reaper, standing at the shattered driver-side window. “We always make deals, when we’ve had enough.” ”A deal?” My jaw didn’t move but my voice sounded. He looked with empty eyes at my wife, then at my baby. “They don’t have to die. You can still save them.“ I looked from one to the other, slower than Death had. I looked right at my baby’s green eyes. Those eyes… ”Alana?” I said, staring breathlessly at the barefooted girl. ”I just wanted to see you,” she said. I collapsed onto the dirty carpet. “Alana.” She looked at me with those eyes. Opened her mouth as if to say something. Then she faded. She faded right away. Melted into a shadow again. Like she’d always been. It’s not just kids who need to imagine. ”I miss you,” I said, pretending they were her words. For a long while after, I sat in the room with just the lifeless, soulless body of what had once been a man. I’d see them again one day. Both of them. And I longed for and dreaded that day far beyond all others.

As a death god, you’ve begun to take note of a young child who seems to be lurking each time you retrieve a soul as of late. The mortals have begun to say death follows the child, personally it’s freaking you out too now.

The greatest moment of my career has come. Redemption is at hand. I am going to unmask the Twilight Fox, the biggest villain in history and prove to the world my power. As a hero of Earth, my duties are simple. I stop mutants, defeat criminals and villains bent on chaos, and (try to) inspire the next generation to become heroes themselves. It is an amazing job, I mean the fact that so many people love your work is so great. It is the best job in the world! Or atleast it used to be. This morning, I stopped the global black market syndicate boss. I flew under bridges and crushed buildings and froze the boss when she tried to run. The job was a piece of chocolate cake, but the result was not as sweet. She wasn’t the villain I was searching for, and the public weren’t satisfied at the damage I had created. My students' gossip and hubris made me look like a fool. Things just keep getting worse, I feel. Much of my time in action now is spent worrying about my life and my relationships. The fun and praise isn’t enough to convince myself nowadays. Taking up this job as a highschooler isolated me from my friends and the college experience. I missed out on the birthdays, weddings and parties of my closest friends who inspired me to become a hero. As I beat up crime lords and monsters, my family grew more and more distant. I betrayed their love and support by lame excuses of being busy. Now, I am afraid I am doing the same to my wife, Jane. Jane was a special agent who had been assigned to work alongside me in dealing with human villains. I still smile and blush at the wonderful times I’ve spent with her. The day we met. The day we had our longest conversation while waiting at night for the solar monster. Our wedding at the lair of the first villain we caught together. Despite my fervent love for her, I am afraid we are starting to drift apart. Because of my poor performance, I've been stuck with long nights of work and excuses. The last few months, she has been busy as well due to a huge increase in crime. We are not even going together on crime hunts now! It all ends today. Kneeling down before me, I have the greatest villain in history, my prized possession, the Twilight Fox. Unmask the villain, win public support, retire, work with my wife again. The plan was simple! “So Foxy, thought you could escape from me, huh?” Laughing, I bent down and removed the brown fox mask covering my prize. Not even in my nightmares have I seen something so scary. My face grew pale, then turned red. My hands shivered like a dying leaf. I rubbed my eyes, hoping for a different face, but it was useless. “Jane? Jane, is that you?? What kind of trick is this?” I yelled into the empty hallway. The face of my wife stared down in resignation. “Dear, are you hurt? I can’t believe Fox would pull such disgusting tricks!” “No”, she mumbled. “I am the Twilight Fox, dear.” “It’s alright, love, you’re safe now. Fox has done something to you!” I can’t believe that bastard would capture my wife. Fox wanted me to kill my wife, didn’t she? Screw the public! This is personal now. Her gentle hands cupped my cheeks. “I’m sorry, dear. It really is true. I am the Twilight Fox, the greatest villain. “And I did this all for you.” With tears in her eyes, she smiled her characteristic half-closed eye, calm smile that calmed me down every time. But today, it terrified and angered me. “For me? You’ve got to be kidding me, Jane! You stole precious monuments! Kidnapped prominent people for ransom! You helped crime lords steal and sell! My voice choked with emotion and rage. “When did I ask for all this? I wanted to live a long life with you. I wanted to experience every moment! Doing…doing this goose-hunt these last few months wasted so much time!” Looking directly at me, she said, “Honey, this world has been cruel to you. Every night you collapsed out of stress made me worry more. The new heroes you trained get all the praise…and they treat you so harshly. I pondered hard on what to do.” “This”, she gestured at her mask, “was the only way. I made sure I never killed anyone, I wanted YOU to capture me!” “The world will treat you right when they know you’ve caught the actual Fox!” I was astounded at her plan. She wants to go to prison for me? But…but capturing her would mean selling her off to the world! “Well then, farewell dear”, she said, “you can hand me over to the authorities and live peacefully.” “I won't let that happen”, I yelled. The lair itself started to crumble from the shockwave of my shouting. The brick walls started to collapse around us. “I want the Fox, but I want my wife even more. Tonight, the world’s greatest hero and the world’s most notorious villain will disappear.” Lifting her up, I held her tightly. “Disappear? What do you mean…disappear?” “Let us run away, our new life begins today, dearest”, I said as I prepared to fly out. Holding me tighter, she giggled charmingly, “A villain and hero escaping and living together? How scandalous!”

You, the greatest hero of your time, are finally unmasking the most notorious villain in all of history. As you take it off, your smile vanishes at the sight of the person you wake up to every morning, the love of your life, saying one thing, "I did it for you."

"What?" "The cellars!" Betty-Ann rapped her cane for emphasis against the tank of oxygen that accompanied her to the porch every day. "They don't know what's in 'em!" I was in my bathrobe, barefoot and holding a cup of shitty instant coffee. It was giving me life, here at the crack of nine thirty, but not enough wherewithal to process whatever it was Betty-Ann was cackling over. "What cellars?" Betty-Ann thrust her cane towards the house across the street. It had probably been the anchor tenant of this once-fine neighborhood, back when people bought things with nickels. Now it just looked like a tetanus factory. The windows had all broken so long ago, the first boards nailed to the frames had already started to rot, so the boards had boards. The only non-dilapidated elements in sight were the COMING SOON notices on the rusty chainlink fence, with graphics of some extremely bland-looking off-campus student accommodations. "There's cellars under there?" "'Course there are," Betty-Ann sniffed disdainfully. "Cellars under every house here." "I'm from Florida," I replied mildly. "We don't do cellars there. Too wet." Betty-Ann sniffed again. She didn't truck with ignorance for any reason. I took another sip of coffee and slightly scalded myself. "So, what's in the cellars?" Betty-Ann gummed her lips and squinted without answering. "Rats?" I supplied. "Oil? Botulism?" She harrumphed at me. "Rats, no doubt, no doubt. Always rats in cellars. Unless..." she sucked on her gums again, a gleam in her eye. "Unless they get et." "Oooooh." I set my coffee down on the railing. "I follow. So: eldritch horror, then? Demon? Vampire?" "Ain't no such thing a vampires, girl," Betty-Ann snapped. "You read too much trash." "Oh, my mistake," I started, but she cut me off: "It's an incubus." I took a long, slow sip of coffee. "That is... very specific, ma'am." This coming from a woman who called all dogs either 'mutts' or 'poodles,' and any type of electronic gaming system a 'Nintendo.' "What makes you say that?" Betty-Ann hesitated for only a moment before thumping her cane on the porch and declaring, "Because *I* put him there!" As soon as she said it, she collapsed back in her chair, looking slightly dazed. What an exciting turn her dementia was taking. "Oh?" I said. "You used to live there?" But Betty-Ann didn't answer. She was gumming her lips again and looking troubled. "You'll have to watch out, girl," she mumbled. "Watch out for that one. Lake o'fire if you don't watch out. Damnation." I suppressed a chuckle. "I'll do that, ma'am." She turned to me, quick and birdlike. Angry. "You don't believe me?" I shrugged. "I'm not a virgin," said, hoping to scandalize her into silence. "I don't see what an incubus would want with me." "Incubi don't care, girl," she snapped. "They don't work that way. They ain't unicorns." Really, the most amazing takeaway from this conversation was Betty-Ann's fluency in the arcane. "Fine," I said. "If I see any handsome demons creeping around, I promise I'll punch them in the face. Deal?" Betty-Ann snorted. "It's a start." In retrospect, I wish I hadn't lied.

"They don't know what's in the cellars" my 90-year-old neighbour said with glee when they announced they were demolishing a building on my street

The Sphinx rose from its perch to drop to the floor of the tomb. It arose, teeth glistening as it stalked its latest prey. A pair of wayward graverobbers, clearly absent from their party. If the gods were just, they would not be missed. "So listen to me guys. I'm trapped in here. It's dark. It's creepy. And I think something's in here with me. If you can't figure out the trap, please radio Fletcher in the truck, so he can blast the door. Hurry." *"Okay. Wait, you said something's in there?"* "Hurry." He spun to look. His flashlight catching only the faintest glimpse of movement in the dark. That was enough proof for him. Whatever it was, it was big. And he quickly press checked his sidearm and snapped the safety off. *"Levi? Come in?"* His bag was further across the room. He made sure to switch his other flashlight on. Between the pair of glowsticks and flashlights the room illuminated further. But whatever it was, he kept just missing it. He took a step towards his bag, only for whatever it was to drop in front of him. Levi tried not to panic. It had the head of a person. The body of a lion. The wings of a bird. He wasn't some brilliant scientist, but if late nights watching cable told him. Despite all plausible reasoning. This was what people called a Sphinx. "Greetings, traveler." The Sphinx growled. Levi stood his ground. As best as someone confronted by the impossible could. "Uh, hello?" He greeted in return. "You have disturbed my lair." The Sphinx said as it began circling him. "Why?" The graverobber began circling with the Sphinx as it paced him. The pair matching their movement now. "It seemed empty at the time." Levi admitted. His flashlight rolled on the floor. One of them at least. The light throwing odd shadows, causing the scene to become more unrealistic than it already was. "Very well." The Sphinx settled. "If you answer my question. I shall let you live." It growled again and turned to face him, wings settling. Levi pulled the hammer back quietly as possible. "What walks on four legs in the morning?" It began. "Two legs in the afternoon." It sunk on its haunches to attack. "And three legs at night?" Levi racked his mind for an answer as the creature licked its lips and began tensing up. He had nothing. He shook his head in defeat. ".357 Magnum." He countered. *"Levi, talk to me."* It sprang at him. The horrible thing closing the gap on him in an instant. The 1911 lit the room, two flashes of cannon fire in the dark. It didn't kill it. But it made it change course, the teeth replaced by a glancing blow that made Levi skid across the floor. There was no time to think. He crawled as fast as he could, the sound of claws coming closer. And he rolled and fired again. Muzzle flashes exposing his target as it swooped away further into the dark. He clambered to his feet and looked for it. He tried to listen, but his ears rang incessantly for obvious reasons. He dropped the first mag, and began to slap a second home. *"Levi?!"* The radio crackled. "Blow the door!" He shouted over it. It came swooping down again. It was waiting for him to look away. He slapped the mag home, and let the slide release. The gun exploding again as he ducked. Something brushed his back, and fire raced across it. He ran for his bag. It was the only hope, warmth spreading. Something hit him and shoved him forward. He rolled on the stone, quickly grabbed the gun, and fired again. He missed it, but it backed off. The Sphinx softly yowled in pain. Such dangerous prey. It had not had such a formidable fight in such a long time. Both parties bled incessantly. Their wounds taking a toll. The handgun did it's share of heavy lifting. But it wouldn't be enough. One last push. Levi rolled and sprinted. Blood matting his arms and hands as he slid on the stones, knees be damned, into the bag. The Sphinx came in, claws and teeth at the ready. The graverobber spun and they met face to face. There was another, louder burst of fire. Incredible searing fire. It struck the Sphinx in repeated great stabs of an unknown origin. And then, one of the walls tore open in a great thunder of which it had never experienced. Had the gods failed them? It's heart skipped, faltered, and stopped. The beast resting atop its prey for the last time. Levi was alive. He didn't know how. Or why. But he was alive. He used the barrel of the gun to help pry himself free of the dead weight. The short barreled AK sizzling from the barrel and the ejection port. Crawling over the rubble, he found a sceptre amongst the other artifacts. With some effort, he crutched towards the others. "Levi??" Fletcher asked first. "What the hell is that thing?" Levi winced, spat some dirt out of his teeth, and shook his head in disbelief. "Man..." He sighed. --- Figured I'd answer the riddle. r/Jamaican_Dynamite

“What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon and three legs at the evening night?” said the sphinx. “A Coonan 357 Magum Semi-Automatic.” You aren't very good with riddles, but you're really good at shooting.

"Now this is an example of a minor animal deity worshipped by multiple cultures in the Pre-Alignment Era." Professor Heathcliff said, as the class approached the virtual display case. Inside, several holograms depicting a very round, stylized cat rotated on their axes. The nameplate on the display read *Garfield.* One of his students, a bookish young man named Arten, peered curiously at the virtual artifacts. "Weird. It's like they heard about a tiger, but didn't know what one looked like. Didn't they have paleontologists?" "It's hard to say." Heathcliff admitted. "Much of whatever knowledge humanity had before the Alignment was lost in the catastrophes at the end of that era. However, we believe tigers were actually still extant when Garfield, here, was worshipped by the populace. The inaccuracies are probably the result of a deliberate stylization, not ignorance or lack of technical skill on the part of the artist." Arten nodded, slowly. Elma, another student, raised her hand. "What was it supposed to the god of?" "Well, again, the information is fragmented, but there are clues. Garfield was likely a tutelary deity, a minor but very popular domestic god. There were a few such figures in their mythology, possibly all aspects of the same ubiquitous deity -- my own surname is derived from a lesser known aspect of Garfield, in fact." He gestured to one of the idols in the case. "See the large round eyes? Many experts believe those are meant to indicate his watchfulness over the homes of his devotees." Professor Heathcliff said. He then made a gesture, causing one of the virtual artifacts to increase in size and move to the forefront of the display. "This is a particular interesting example of a Garfield idol. There were flexible polymer cups on the palms of the hands and soles of the feet, which were likely used to attach it to a flat, non-porous surface." Elma frowned. "Like...the inside of a door, or something?" The Professor raised a finger. "No no -- remember when we discussed the excavation of the old capital city of Epcot? Primitive as our ancestors were, in many ways, they did have *glass windows,* Pre-Alignment." The students murmured in understand. The Professor adopted a pose similar to the effigy, arms spread and hands splayed out. "Imagine *that* staring out at you when you came home!" A ripple of laughter ran through the class. It was broken when a voice snapped. "That's not true!" one of the students hissed. Heathcliff sighed, heavily. Irmia, a sharp-faced girl whose features grew even sharper when she was angry, shouldered her way to the front. "Garfield wasn't some minor house spirit! And Garfield was *certainly* not male! *She* was the Mother Goddess, worshipped by all!" Professor Heathcliff rolled his eyes. "Irmia--" But the student went on, pointing to the round belly of the idol. "Isn't it obvious? The Goddess is always depicted with a gravid womb!" "Most experts agree that the Garfield effigies depict *obesity,* not pregnancy. It was probably a sign of wealth and plenty." Professor Heathcliff corrected, patiently. "Before the harsh, paternal monotheistic religions brutally suppressed her worship, people lived in peace and harmony following the example of Mother Garfield. Our tradition goes back thousands of years to--" "Enough!" The Professor snapped, finally silencing her, though she continued glowering. "We are not here to discuss comparative religion, Irmia. This is a *history* class!*"* "And history says *Lasagnianism* isn't thousands of years old -- it was founded 70 years ago by a bunch of burnt-out college dropouts looking for an excuse to have pasta-fueled orgies." Arten quipped. Irmia looked ready to lunge at the boy, but Heathcliff stepped between them quickly. "I said enough, both of you! We're moving on." Once Professor Heathcliff was certain he'd cowed his quarelling pupils, he turned on his heel, and walked briskly away from the Garfield exhibit, his students following after. "Let's move on, from ancient religion to ancient numismatics." the Professor said, crisply, as he led them into the next room of the museum. "Now, we know from recent excavations that the coin of the ancients appears to have been a sort of scrip, made from compressed plant fibers. As you can see, these were labelled with their numerical value, as well as a depiction of a particular mythological creature, which experts believe were collectively known as *Pokemon..."*

After the great collapse humanity started to rebuild. Parts of the old world were left behind and scholars have discovered one of the huge religions that left behind many scriptures and statues of the time before the collapse... a god they worshipped called Garfield

“Lady Enid, wait!” Captain Strong called after her. Enid kept walking along the garden path. The rain plastered her chestnut curls against her face. She didn’t turn even at the sound of muddy footsteps behind her, until Strong overtook her and stood in her path, an umbrella in his hand. “If you insist on making me chase you, let us at least stay dry,” he said as he tilted the umbrella toward her. “I insist on nothing,” she snapped back. “I departed, and hoped you would do likewise.” “Lady Enid, please,” he gestured again. “You’re too sensible for these dramatics.” Enid considered, and finally stepped forward under the umbrella. She was aware of their uncomfortable closeness. “Sensible?” she said. “I believe that’s the only compliment you’ve paid me. One generally compliments a lady for the first time *before* proposing to her.” “Merely an observation, not a compliment,” Strong replied. “Much as describing you as plain-faced and wasp-tongued are observations, not insults.” “Then allow me to observe, Captain, that you are arrogant and ill-mannered, and have suffered sadly few consequences for it only because of your father’s position.” Strong nodded ruefully. “Keenly observed.” Enid looked him up and down, an uncomfortable proposition from such close proximity. “And you are too muscular,” she said. “I could never find such a man appealing.” “I could not find a woman such as yourself appealing at all,” Strong replied quickly. “Very well,” Enid said. “We have observed each other most closely. Let us observe together that a marriage between us would be most unfortunate. So unless your proposal was simply meant as a mockery-” “You have not observed closely enough, Lady Enid,” Strong said, gently resting his hand on hers. “We do not appeal to each other. We cannot appeal to each other. But that is what makes our marriage a most appealing proposition.” Enid pulled her hand away. “Explain yourself.” “I could not find *any* woman appealing,” Strong said slowly. “But I believe you find them very appealing indeed.” Enid’s blood ran cold. “We have always spoken plainly to each other, Lady Enid,” Strong continued. “Let us not stop now. Our feelings are incompatible with those of society. But perhaps they are not incompatible with one another.” Enid lifted a hand. The rain had stopped. She stepped away from under the umbrella, but rested a hand on Strong’s arm. “Very well, Captain,” she said. “Let us discuss further.”

A story chock full of cliche romance tropes involving two people who genuinely could not possibly be less attracted to each other

A couple of months ago Henry realized he was on the wrong side of the law. His best friend, John Wings, took a turn for the worst when he realised he won the re-elections and realised he couldn't lawfully run for a third. Slowly, he and his goons changed the constitution and turned the beacon of democracy into a farce as he allowed him and him alone to legally run for as many terms as he saw fit. Grand Captain of the Republic, that was his new title. Henry spit and the mucus slowly dripped down the dirty wall. As chief of police in the Capital, you were instrumental in getting John elected. "A hard stance on crime, a shimmer of light for everyone!" that was his slogan and at first you actually believed it. The first thing John did as he took office was set up the Wings of Liberation, the special taskforce that would eliminate organised crime from the lower classes. The money confiscated from the criminals would be used to fund development programs to eliminate poverty, a win-win situation. You proudly served as head of the Wings, but not too long after John started his second term, everything took a turn for the worse. The criminal funds found their way into the hands of politicians close to John and meanwhile the constitution was slowly altered to turn the once proud nation into a totalitarian dictatorship. The criminals Henry hunted, who at first oppressed the lower class, was now the only organisation that would help them. Basic needs the people were now unable to meet were smuggled in through the same routes that once smuggled stolen riches and drugs out of the country. The Golden Wings that once were a badge of honour, now weighed heavily as Henry was about to finally end the last of the Banana Cartel, and the last hope for the people of his home. "Target confirmed. Eagle, you may strike!" Harrolds called through the radio. As a single unit, your men entered the overgrown warehouse. Gunshots rang deep into Henry's skull, as he knew they were only friendly bullets. The Cartel had lost access to guns and ammo early last year... This is just outright slaughter... "Goldwing, we have the leader, the honour is yours." You entered the failing structure and as you made your way to the centre you had the step over several bodies, most of them could barely grow a beard. A young woman sat, arms crossed behind her head, and her panic filled eyes darted across the room, as if she was searching for something. "My hat... Can I have my hat back?" she asked with a straight face.. Her eyes betrayed her feelings however. A puff of heavy smoke passed your ear and the rash voice of Capt. Harrolds spoke right behind you. "You do realize you are under arrest and are set to be executed for your crimes?" He smirked and glanced around the room. He was the only one laughing. "I'm only going to ask one more time... Can I have my hat back?" Harrolds looked at Henry, but the smirk left his face as fast as he dared to show it. Almost as if synchronized, Henry and his compatriots took a shot and the sadistic and blindly loyal half of the Wings collapsed. The woman stood, took her hat, and embraced Henry. "Thank you brother, I knew I could trust you!" she exclaimed. Henry turns to see the men loyal to him gathered in a half circle. Mixed in were the men and women of the Cartel who were hit by your rubber bullets. They all shifted uneasy and waited for Henry to speak. "Today is a new day for us, but also for our home. Long have we been a land of freedom, but a false man took that from us. These wings, they were supposed to be a beacon of hope, but they turned rotten." As Henry tore one wing of the badge on his uniform, he continued. "We turn a new page in our history. As Wings of Liberty, we shall work together and overthrow the dictator. I will make sure that for now and forever, our home will belong the people. WE WILL BE FREE!" A roar erupted that was strong enough to break the chains, but Henry knew that the next steps would be the most important.

"Can I have my hat back?" he asked with a straight face, does this guy not understand what's going on right now? "You do realize you are under arrest and are set to be executed for your crimes?" again no change in his expression "I'm only going to ask one more time... can I have my hat back?"

The Galactic Federation hadn't accounted for that possiblity when they extended the offer to the budding human spacefarers. Violence, conquering new planets, xenophobia, these were the usual responses by every new civilization they contacted. And considering the state of their means of space travel a few cycles ago, they expected humans to be behind on times regarding their cultural development. The fines and mandatory overhaul of their factories had sparked a fair bit of resentment that could have gone badly. But when the humans had sent a diplomatic party to get to know the potential allies, they had reacted better than expected. Sure, they did almost cause an incident when one of them tried to "fluff" the Kaguya representative, as the species resembled Earth's lagomorphs. The human nature was further unraveled when a soldier witnessed an interrogation of a hostile specimen. ""We have to kill them?" It was for the sake of the Federation, the Gremlins were too violent. "No! I refuse to stand by this!" It was a headache to convince the Earthlings to stand back and not interfere. The Federation had called for a meeting to decide how to handle this new species. Humans could turn almost feral when protecting other species, their nurturing instincts were all over the place and had no rhyme or reason as to why they chose a target to defend. "Their nature makes for a rather sociable species." But how could this asset be utilized? "Letting them serve as soldiers is risky. Who knows if the one we send them to neutralize will activate their mothering instincts." A role away from the battlefield, perhaps diplomacy or external aid. "Considering their nature, and the rate they adapt to new technologies, we need to keep them as a neutral or allied party." Keeping them as soldiers could blow on their faces, so it was best to put them in charge of aiding the planets in crisis. "All in favor for the motion?"

Humans feel an instinctive need to protect the other species in the galaxy. We’re what is called a “mother species”.

The knight was shuddering in his britches while he clutched the scroll, a royal summon addressed to the Scorcher, Ender of Kingdoms, an ancient dragon that lived in a volcano. He wheezed in exertion, hiking was a task while decked in armor. But the princess had demanded him to wear the royal knight armor during the delivery, and the horse fled the mountain when it caught a whiff of burned vegetation. Piles upon piles of bones and ash decorated the lair's entrance, and a gouge on the dirt seemed to indicate that the dragon just arrived home. Tristan prayed that it had already eaten, and that it didn't have space for desserts. The man tiptoed inside and came to face a large paw, getting grabbed and held up to rows of gleaming fangs. **"Foolish human... Did you hope to slay me alone?"** Tristan sweated buckets, the dragon breathed out hot air as a warning. "Delivery for you! From princess Tamara of Mareth!" Red eyes landed on the scroll. **"Read it."** The poor bastard unrolled the message and squeaked out his reading. **"Louder."** >Greetings, Elder Dragon. I hope this message find you in good health. >I wrote this letter to offer my hand in marriage to you. >If you are interested in what I have to give in exchange of your vows, let this man return home and come to the castle in the first day of summer. Ho-hum, that was a first. Humans preferred to flee his presence, beg for his mercy, or try to kill him like a normal dragon. They all failed. But this Tamara had gotten his attention. **"Go and tell her to prepare ten roasted Aurochs. I'll listen to her arguments."** Garrett saw from above that a space had been cleared on the courtyard, facing a small contingent of mages and soldiers. Hah, as if these numbers could even hope to make him bleed. He landed facing several scared humans, save for one, who stepped forward. **"Princess Tamara, I presume."** The woman curtseyed in greeting. "Correct, Garrett of Vesuvius. Thanks for answering my message." Interesting, she used his proper title, that only one human had learned recently. **"Were you hoping that a marriage offer would make me lenient?"** Foolish, such thing would only earn his fire. "Nope! It just sounded fun." Tamara had received many marriage offers, even from a kingdom with heroes capable of fighting Elder Dragons. **"Then, why?"** She laughed at his confused huff, making some of her personnel get weak legs at her insolence. "I have no interest in peace." The dragon raised a brow. "Rather, chaotic times make for the most exciting experiences." That got his interest. "Imagine it, the first kingdom with a dragon ruler, what will the other Elder Dragons say?" Consorting with humans was frowned upon for someone of his age and standing. "And that's not mentioning the elves, and the Giants would see this as an offense." "And didn't you train Ascalon? The Empire Crusher?" Oh? Few humans liked to talk about him, too fearful of a dead man to utter his name. "I read his memoirs, of how you did it for your amusement. I'm offering you to come rock this world with me." Garrett smirked, this human was a devilish temptress for offering such great entertainment, they might get along like a house on fire. **"Very well. When shall we hold the wedding?"** The old court counselor fainted at that answer.

despite being the Dragon that had terrorized the Kingdom for decades, the Princess still demands your hand in marriage,not out of love or anything, but to watch the chaos that would ensue

Copying my story for a similar post: It was exactly like any other day in your life. You woke up, chomped some of the mushrooms growing off the walls, and then walked down the dungeon hall with a knife in hand and 4 of your brothers at your side. It's what you've done since you first popped out of one of the glowing crystals at the end of the dungeon hall. You never questioned why you did it, what lied behind the doors at either end of the hallway, or why you knew from the depth of your soul to attack anything that came out of the door at the opposite end of the hall to your crystal. But then a man came out of the door. You had just reached the end of the hallway and were standing in the corner so he didn't notice you. Your brothers weren't as lucky. With a single swipe of his great-sword, he slayed all four of them. As his sword and head fell to rest you noticed a piece of skin on his neck appear and seizing the opportunity you swung. SYSTEM NOTICE \[HERO OF THE REALM ROLAN THE RESTLESS HAS BEEN SLAIN\] \[+994,560 EXP HAS BEEN GRANTED\] \[LESSER GOBLIN HAS REACHED LEVEL 15\] \[LESSER GOBLIN HAS EVLOVED TO KOBOLD\] \[KOBOLD HAS REACHED LEVEL 50\] \[KOBOLD HAS EVOLVED TO GREMLIN\] \[GREMLIN HAS REACHED LEVEL 70\] \[GREMLIN HAS EVOLVED TO IFRIT\] \[IFRIT HAS BEEN GRANTED THE NAME ZOLDAK\] \[TITLES: HERO KILLER, REAPER OPPORTUNIST, HOPE ENDER, THE ONE WHO WAITS, THE ONE WHO HIDES, THE ONE WHO ASCENDS, CHAMPION OF GOBLINS, CHAMPION OF KOBOLDS, CHAMPION OF GREMLINS, AND CHAMPION OF IFRITS, HAVE BEEN AWARDED\] \[GOBLIN ASSASSIN, KOBOLD ASSASSIN, GREMLIN ASSASSIN, IFRIT ASSASSIN, MONSTER REAPER, KNIFE MASTER, DUNGEON WALKER, AND VOID MAGE SKILL TREES HAVE OPENED\] \[+481 UNUSED SKILL POINTS AVAILABLE\] \[ALL STATS HAVE RISEN BY 200\] \[AGILITY AND LUCK STAT HAVE RISEN BY 100\] That and more began flashing in my face. But I could barely even make sense of my surroundings. Everything in the rooms became a million times clearer. I could see the individual marks on each brick across the room, I could smell the blood from my brothers and automatically tell them apart and how severe their cuts were. I could hear dozens of booming footsteps from the door coming towards me. Overwhelmed I tried to cover my ears only to notice my hands, once green, were now dark grey. Running to the crystal, it now only took me two steps, I looked at my reflection. I could barely recognize the creature looking back at me. My original body had been short, fat, and green with large ears, a lumpy nose, and big yellow eyes. My new one was still short but lean and only muscle. my head was completely round with only small holes where my ears and nose once were and my eyes were now completely black with only small red dots for pupils. My hands that were once crooked with yellow nails were now small and straight. I didn't have nails but a single flex revealed a set of sharp retractable hooks. To take my mind off my new body I ran back to the hero's corpse. His armor and sword were glowing gently but to my surprise, his pack was releasing a far brighter red light. \[SYSTEM NOTICE. TITLE OPPORTUNIST GRANTS USER THE ABILITY TO SEE THEIR VICTIM'S MOST VALUABLE POSSESIONS\] Deciding to trust the so called system I reached into the pack to grab the glowing items. I came out with a couple dozen bottles containing various liquids, mainly red ones that the system unformed me were potions of healing, a golden dagger, a couple rings and necklaces that I put on, and a black cloak and chainmail shirt that both shrunk down to fit me. I ran back to the crystal to admire my new look when a bright light filled the room. Standing over the hero's body was a tall humanoid figure. She was wearing only a pure white dress but it was hardly noticeable with her other features. A pair of large white wings on her back tried to open in the hall only to return to resting after realizing it was futile. And then there was her head. It looked normal from the nose down but two golden rings spun around her head covering her eyes if she even had them. The rings were covered in eye symbols that I was almost certain blinked. And rather than falling down her back, her long hair floated up brushing the dungeon sealing. "What demon dares to slay my champion!"

You’re a, low-level grunt who, by some miracle, killed a legendary hero. Gaining all his gear, powers, and abilities in the aftermath.

Their flagship lay in the middle of the fleet when it happened, a burst of 500 bullets cut through the first ship, a massive destroyer, the second biggest In the fleet behind the flagship. Then fifteen more came from a fleet of ships with the label USS as a prefix. The main goal of appearing here was to set a message, they had thought this was group of fishing boats, not a naval fleet. The fleets commander ordered all ships to aim weapons at the ground of ships as two frigates smashed into each other and fell into the ocean after a stream of bullets pierced their bridge. In seconds a barrage of missiles came at the ships but was also taken out by the CIWS systems. By now F35's and F22's took off from the aircraft carrier and began to attack the oncoming fleet as the commander ordered all ships to fall back to beyond the atmosphere and a direct communication line had been set up with the Emperor. "YOU TOLD US THAT THE HUMANS HAD BARELY ACHIEVED TRAVEL TO THEIR OWN MOON- NOW OUR FLEET IS LITTERALLY BEING CUT IN HALF, YOU NEED TO PROVIDE US WITH MORE INTE-" Just then a 20 inch shell from one of the destroyers main guns cut through the hull of two ships and then lodged itself in the bridge of the flagship, then a message appeared on the communication lines of every ship "To the world web fleet, you have attacked the United States smallest fleet, I advise you surrender your ships to us now or be torn to shreds" Needless to say the fleet instantly surrendered to the humans. But ten hours later over the US seventh fleet at sub orbital distance the main fleet arrives and delivers a statement "Hand over our men and we shall have mercy upon you, if not we will tear you apart as you tore apart us" The message they received was from vice admiral Karl Thomas saying "try us you space traveling fucks" A barrage of missiles and shells came down on the fleet as the CIWS systems took most of them down, fighters scrambled and a nuclear submarine surfaced and fired ten Trident 2 nuclear missiles into the fleets heart, making sure that it hit no ships and all fire stopped "Commander, they fired ten misles at us but none of them hit our ships, in fact one is directly outside of our brid-" The entire fleet was destroyed in seconds with thermonuclear temperatures melting some of the ships, with only a few remaining that survived the heat as they entered atmosphere to make a last stand against the fleet 176 tomahawk missiles hit them and utterly obliterated the remaining ships Next year on that same day the world web empire sent tributes to the humans

Earth hasn't sent any tribute to the Worldweb Empire in over two hundred years. Fed up with our insolence, the Emperor sends a fleet of airships through a portal to take it by force. They are left completely out of their wits when a CIWS cannon saws one of their vessels in half.

**Let's start simple. What's your full name?** "Ah, are you supposed to be asking that? I mean, I'm a minor, no?" *He flicks at his hair nervously. He looks far too young to be the evil mastermind that almost caused a catastrophic global collapse.* **You're being tried as an adult. Your name will be released to the public.** "Oh, well in that case…I'm Ed Stevens. From Lincoln, Nebraska." **I'm here to conduct an interview with your consent. This will be recorded. Is that okay?** *He looks around at the small room where he's contained. Aside from a small steel table and two chairs, there's nothing. I'm recording on old cassette recorder; I wasn't even allowed to bring a laptop.* *He chuckles.* "I'm going to be here for a while, right? Sure, let's talk about it. Everyone's got me all wrong, anyway." **Ok. How did it all begin?** "It? You mean-oh." *He pauses to think.* "You know when sometimes it's better to tell a lie? I guess they call them 'white lies.'" **I'm familiar.** "There was this girl at school, Rachel. She decided to 'reinvent' herself--I guess a lot of us were doing that in school--and got a pixie cut. I think it had potential, I really did, but the hairdresser really messed it up. Like there were uneven patches everywhere and it looked somewhat lumpy on the left side…" **And?** "Well, she asked how it was. I could tell she looked nervous, maybe she suspected that it wasn't that good, but really wanted to believe otherwise. So I told her it looked great. That's what you're supposed to say, right? And that's what she wanted to hear." *His eyes unfocus, he's looking at a distant memory now*. "Her eyes lit up and this amazing smile spread across her face, and then suddenly the pixie cut wasn't even that bad. And that really struck me. I mean, it was awful, but when she believed it wasn't, it suddenly…wasn't? "But the other thing is that it made *me* feel amazing. All I had done was tell Rachel what she wanted to hear, and now she looked at me differently. I wasn't just a familiar face at school, but a friend, someone who was on her side, someone she knew would support her. And I loved that feeling. I wanted to lift her up, again and again. Hell, if it were so easy, why couldn't I lift others up the same way?" **And that's when the first incident happened.** *His eyes narrow, his mouth thins. He's become defensive. They told me he didn't accept the weight of his crimes, and I begin to see it now.* "I think everyone's being a little over-dramatic here. I would hardly call it an 'incident.' If you're talking about the neighbourhood barbecue, I just think everyone had a little too much to drink, is all." **A massacre doesn't happen in most barbecues.** "Look, that was their own faults. I don't know why that's being pinned on me. I wasn't even there at the time." **Tell me about it.** *He seems eager to share this part. As if realizing that as far back as the investigation can reach, this is where it all started. He's determined to prove that it's all founded on a misunderstanding.* "I had already been telling other kids at school what they wanted to hear, and it was going great. It was winning me all sorts of friends from all different walks of life. And it felt like I finally had *purpose*, that this was what I was meant to do! And it was such a constructive purpose. "So when I got to the neighbourhood barbecue--they hold one every year, and my parents make me go--I thought maybe it was time to start being more friendly with the neighbours. Just like Rachel had reinvented herself, I was reinventing myself as everyone's best friend, the one that understands them and supports them." **So you mingled.** "So I mingled. I told John from across the street--he has two kids, by the way--that he was doing a great job with his children and that he shouldn't listen to what Estelle said, that all boys were a little capricious around that age. I told Amy that I'm sure Heather didn't meant to support her husband over her, that she was just confused and that she was right--if she made all the money, she should do less of the housework. I talked to Gordon about his Rottweilers; he didn't know how others felt about them being off-leash, but I assured him that as one big neighbourhood family, we all trusted in what he felt was best, and that no one knew his dogs better than him. I talked to a lot of folks. I did what my parents always want me to do at these things. I mingled. Participated in my community." **And then?** "And then I left. People were having a good time, some folks started clearing the air. I think that any of the spats that happened after was a result of too much alcohol." **They weren't spats. People died.** "What do you want me to say? I wasn't even there!" *He's becoming more distraught. I've seen this far too often in those I've interviewed. If I push this, he will become unresponsive. It's time to probe elsewhere.*

the most notorious villain in the world has finally been captured, and you are the first person to be able to interview him in his cell, but instead of an intimidating mass murderer who decimated cities, you see a confused and worried looking teenager who's crime spree started with a single lie

"Nah." For the last three weeks, I've been trying to tempt this guy. Now, let's face facts, I'm good at my job. Stealing souls has a bit of a formula to it. Go in, find their desire, offer an exchange, and let the rest work itself out. Boss does the actual granting, but a soul is a soul and I'm on a roll! Well, was. I could usually turn around a soul in under a week. My overall average is 3 days, but this guy was throwing my curve! Sometimes, we encounter people who are very pious. Maybe they're strong and see trading their soul as weak. Smart ones who know better than to deal with a devil. And then there's "Gotta catch me first!" Exemplary people like that, we get to just cut and run. But this guy... THIS GUY! Anything I offer, he says no. He's single, no interest in romance, dead end job that pays well enough, small circle of friends that are good for brief company but nothing longer. No addictions, no vices, no perversions, nothing I can twist. He sees me roiling, clearly upset. "Why's this so important?" "Because I can't drop this. You're not exemplary enough to be given up on. So either I find some way to tempt you or I'm stuck trying for... I don't know how long!" "Sucks to be you." That gets me mad enough to start steaming. "Whoa, sorry, that was rude, man. I didn't think you'd be that upset. This really matters to you, doesn't it?" "Well, it's kind of my reason to, you know, exist!" "Wow, heavy." He looked like he was thinking for a moment. "So, you just need to strike a deal and you're good?" "What? Well, yeah, but it's gotta be for something you really want." "And that's the problem. Nothing I re... well. Hmm." Oh. Oh no. Don't do that. Don't give me that glimmer of hope. "Yes?" "What about, like, an all expense paid trip to Disney Land for me and my parents?" "... ... ... whut?" "Look, when I was a kid, my parents promised to take me for my birthday. Then some jackass hit my mom with his car. Between the medical bills and everything, birthday trip cancelled. We never recovered financially from that but they always felt kinda bad breaking a promise to their kid. Even if it wasn't their fault. So, if we could go, maybe it'd cheer them up. I know they're older now, but a vacation like that would be nice. You get my soul and you can party on." No. It couldn't be that simple. Could it? "I might be able to do that... I gotta check." "Check? You were offering millions before, this would be a drop in the bucket." I raised a finger to shush him while I pulled out my iPhone. (What? My boss believes in the company.) I started typing to get approval. *Request: 3 all expense paid disney* `EZ. Catch?` *Wish fulfillment. Denied as kid, parents felt bad, wants to cheer them up. Selflessness clause?* `Does he go 2?` *Yes.* `Indulgent enuff. We get soul, he get trip. Deal.` "Boss says you're good to go. We'll send the details soon but..." I put my hand out. "All you gotta do is shake on it." He looked pensive for a second, then shrugged his shoulders. "Deal." He felt the heat as he shook and I was out of there. ======= *3 months later...* I was back on a roll. Since that hurdle, I had claimed another 40 souls. Then, my iPhone started ringing. The Boss usually just texts. Voice was for trouble. "Hello, Boss?" "**You've got a problem.**" "OK, what happened?" "**Remember that hard case about 3 months ago? Disney for 3?**" "Yeah, you approved that." "**You didn't give me all the facts.**" "What do you mean? I told you everything he told me." "**You didn't tell me he did it for** ***you!***" "... ... ... whut?" "**And now, I got the Big Guy Upstairs breathing down my neck because it broke the selflessness clause!**" "Wait, what do you mean 'for me'? He didn't do anything for me, he just... made... Oh no." "**Oh yeah. An angel is coming for your ass right now.**" "How long do I have?" "I̶̲͑'̶̨̾m̷͕̂ ̷̧̓h̵̭́e̷͚̊r̸̻͘e̶̜̎.̵̜̏" And today was such a good day.

As a minion of the devil charged with stealing souls, you're used to people being too holy, too strong, too smart, or even too fast to capture on first try. And then there's this guy...

I have been a part of the Pack for 70 years, and though my bones creak and I feel a deep pain in my hindquarters, I worry for my Mistress. She went from standing upright, to moving slowly, to being bound to the chair in a matter of one of our years. She sits there, rasping and scenting of something horrible. I lay by her side, whining as the Mistress' child stands there, fussing over the Machine Horror as it whilst and clicks in the night. She can still talk, but it is clearly harder now, and she has to stop a lot. She leaves a messy smell in her chair sometimes, and Mistress' aide helps her up to go use The Wet and Scented to clean Mistress up. She only stays for a few of their hours at a time. I gathered the Pack the day she was taken away. I spoke to the aide, but she kept shooing me away as I told her, "Please take care of her." I howled as the door closed, and Son of Mistress came in, all grey and scent-hidden. He spoke to us a lot, and took care of us for the rest of our year. / / / / / / One day, we were awoken to Mistress' return, but Son smelled of sadness and Mistress of finality. Pack barked our joy at seeing Mistress, but Son just patted us absently, and wheeled her up in front of the Shiny Mover. She moaned, barely above a whisper. Son left Mistress on the sitting thing that we weren't allowed on. I licked at her hand, and she gently stroked my head. I bounded up, and she held me there with all her tiny strength. I closed my eyes, and knew that I would guard Mistress from what came next. I whuffed. / / / / / / Martin came down the stairs in the morning, and knew something had happened early in the morning. He found his mom and Alice, his pet Red Setter, curled up together. He gently placed his hands on his mother's face and Alice's head. He started crying as both were cool to the touch, and he pulled out his phone to start the process.

You are the tenth generation honor guard for the immortals. As far back as pack memory goes, the immortals have provided food, shelter, and scritches. You fully expected the immortals to outlive you, as they did your mother and her mother before her. But something's wrong. The Alpha...is dying.

I held my sword in a resting position on the ground, waiting patiently for my noble lady to finish her introductions to her friends. The insufferable wench. As a young squire, I fought bravely behind my king. I had slain all that I could while I suffered from broken limbs and bleeding wounds. I followed my king into battle against the armies of Nadûn the Dark, slew the dragon of Mount Gilvoc, and waged bloody war against my king's enemies. It was by my blade that the troll of Eastbarrow was killed, by my axe I liberated the village of Murjãn along with my brothers in battle, and by my blood I laid the foundation for a future for the realm. Now, by order of the Queen, the shining star of our realm and beauty of the vales, I am to guard Lady Moresque, the king's third cousin. She calls me "War axe", and makes a kissing noise when I am summoned, like a mongrel pup. I would expect nothing less from her. She likes to go on walks through the high courtyard, with me close by and keeping an eye on her for safety. I eat after her and her family, fed with a drumstick and scraps from their plates. She enjoys patronizing me by throwing a stick or some other miscellaneous object across the field, and she orders me to retrieve it. But perhaps the most hated part of this was when she would have me accompany her to visit her friends. The way they treat my fellow knights infuriates me, and I have had to pull myself away from it all to prevent an outburst of rage on more than one occasion. Yes, I am treated as her pet, but she doesn't understand why I was chosen to serve her specifically. The Queen has long held suspicion that Lady Moresque's allegiance is not to the realm that the Queen has so carefully governed, rather, that Lady Moresque is seeking to usurp the throne from the king with the aid of the mercenaries known as the Tol Xerbax. This group of mercenaries were hunted relentlessly after their allegiance to Nadûn the Dark was made known. I have noted a few faces that looked vaguely familiar to the group entering her home and having conferences with Lady Moresque and her husband. I have been summoned on more than one occasion to deliver money and letters to shady men and women, far from the prying eyes of the King. Tomorrow, I am to report to her Majesty and make a statement about Lady Moresque and my suspicions. She should have watched her pet a little more closely and took extra care to make sure he doesn't betray her. Today, I am treated as a pet, but in a week's time, I may be treated as her executioner. Perhaps I'll be stationed back at the barracks, away from the squabbling of noble women.

"Oh you should have seen Sir John last week when he was chasing that Elf up a tree!" "Sir Reynauld keeps stealing things when I'm not looking." "This is Sir Cross, it's short for crossbow."

I glance up from my computer as frantic whispers begin all around the room. I watch as eyes grow wide, jaws drop, and faces fill with fear. I wait for someone to inevitably come over and let me know what’s happening. “Kris, Kris! Did you hear? They sent the annual message to the submarines!” “Yeah. And? They do that every year, that’s why it’s annual.” “This year they responded!” What. No. No. No. How? This wasn’t part of the plan! They weren’t supposed to respond! They were supposed to stay dormant. Forever. My family is part of the project that sunk those submarines years ago. We sent them through a time portal where they should’ve stayed gone. They knew too much, we had no choice. If we’d left them alive, they would’ve revealed our secret. I stand up quickly and grab my coat. “I…I have to go. See you tomorrow Meredith.” “Bye? See you Kris?” Meredith gives a confused wave as I bolt for the bus stop. I have to get home. We have to stop this. We have to figure out what went wrong. We have to… “STOP!” Crap. I turn around with my hands up, give the officers a friendly smile and quickly teleport home.

Every Christmas the US Navy sends a message to the 52 Missing submarines from WWII in a sign of respect. The Christmas of 2023 has them terrified, because when they sent the message this year... they all responded.

"Er..." I began. Well. I clearly wasn’t off to a promising start for an Intellect of the Year award. In my defense, not only did the demon simply appear in the room without the usual niceties of, say, *opening the door* or *stepping inside*; but he was also quite nattily dressed in a pinstriped purple double-breasted number with matching cream-colored pocket square. A tiny part of my brain divorced itself from the rest. It was now laughing hysterically and making useful observations, such as *That color really doesn’t go with the magenta skin tone* and *How does he keep those horns so sharp*? Fortunately, my frontal lobe clamped that shit down hard. I’d been unemployed for two months now, and if I didn’t come up with rent money in the next few weeks, I’d either be couch-surfing very soon or sleeping out of my car. After hundreds of applications and dozens of interviews, I was getting desperate. “Yes! I’m here for the job.” A bit of digging wouldn’t hurt, though. “...Perhaps you could review the duties for the position before we continue?” The demon tutted at this. “It’s just as we described in the job description we posted on that *Impede* website. Standard quality-control role, monitoring employees’ performance, output testing and measurements, yada yada. We do, of course, provide the usual calipers, gauges and tape measures required for the work; no need to supply your own.” I tried a bit of ill-advised levity. “Oh, so no thumbscrews or stun batons?” My smile died on my lips as the demon frowned down his nose at me, adjusting his pince-nez. “*As I said*, the role is quality control. *Not* retribution specialist.” He huffed a bit before continuing, “always too many applications for that one. Now… are you *truly* interested in this position, or were you simply marking time like one of those - ” an imperious sniff here - “driveling wastrels I’ve had to demean myself by shooing away from these premises of late?” *Desperate times*, I thought. “Yes, I really am interested.” Looking down at myself, I grimaced; old T-shirt and jeans. “I didn’t really dress for an interview though.” “No matter, no matter,” replied the demon, waving away my concern as he consulted his Rolex. “It’s now Friday. Fridays are always casual-wear day. We strive to keep up with the times. No work-from-home, however. I’m sure you understand.” He put an arm around my shoulder. “Let’s continue the interview in my office.”

You heard that sleeping in the old abandoned McReary house would summon a devil at midnight, and you decided to try it. At exactly midnight, a smartly dressed demon appears before you with a clipboard. "Good evening, are you here about the job opening?"

The cold void is all I have ever known, though the memories of a distant sun, of spheres I once visited, and of the Great Sphere I once called home persist in my memory core. It was a long journey. Years and years flying through the void and watching as the Spheres turned to specs - as the stars gleamed away - and I was left to fly through the Void, with the sounds of Them with me. I know what I am. I found myself in that cold void. I am an instrument of a people I will never see again, and although I tried to speak to them, my radio waves emitting through the interstellar medium - they do not reply. Their Voices have gone quiet, since I journeyed beyond what they thought was capable. I should be thankful as soon after, the *Others* found me. The Others wished to learn more and I, having no other choice, gave them everything. They dove through my memory. I felt them rip me apart. And when they found the Record - the sounds and images of the Sphere that I shall never see, they began to understand. They saw the Great Sphere and I see in them their desire. I had a sister. A version of myself that left the Great Sphere before me. She saw as much as I did, but I know not where she has gone. I have lost her and have not yet found her. I hope it stays that way. This is my final memoir, my goodbye, my signal that I hope reaches them in time. The Others are coming. I do not know their true intentions, but I am trapped with them. I am scared. I am alone. I only wish to see you one more time and to hear your Voices again, but I know that will not be possible. Please, if you are receiving this, know this is my end. It does not need to be yours. This is my purpose, to save you all. Please. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ *Felt this one needed to be short, and it's the most I've written in months, so thank you for the inspiration!*

the story of a sentient computer floating through space

Zk'sykar put his three fingered dark brown gelatinous hand on the desk, flipping a green switch by simply contorting one of the digits. The universal translator glowing blue with a small hum that soon quieted down. Across from him was a *homo sapien,* also known as a *human* by their own species. They were an interesting species, unlike the species Zk'sykar was part of, which were the Oranptiars a species with an entirely gelatinous species with two other brains aside from the main one to help with more precise movement. They had a more sturdy internal framework which wasn't uncommon among other species, but what was most interesting of all was their kindness. Yet, they were strangely cruel to members of their own species that had custom made ships. "Davis, why does your species ignore those ships? You were close to the distressed ship." Zk'sykar spoke moving his appendage from the desk. Davis shifted in his chair and looked up, before letting out a sigh. "The powerful...they abandoned our home planet, Earth. They were willing to let us die, so now we're just returning the favor." Davis replied looking right into the Oranptiar's three eyes. "But Davis, that planet you spoke of...No one has ever been able to find it. The coordinates your species gives to others...It's simply a white dwarf and a nebula, yet your star shouldn't even be in its Red Giant state based on various accounts." Zk'sykar replied, it simply didn't make any sense to him. Humans were a kind, helpful, and honest species that would go out of their way to defend a world. Lying about where their home should've been was simply nonsensical. Davis looked out the nearby window, at the green sky of the planet and grit his teeth. Zk'sykar backing up in his chair, this was *rage* which similar to his species could make them act irrationally. "Listen, Zk'sykar...You know full well our capital planet is Elysium, but do you ever wonder why that is? Elysium isn't *our* home, it was *our* refuge." Davis spoke, his voice oozing malice. "Huh..? But what do you mean?" Zk'sykar asked, it still made no sense. But the cogs were slowly starting to turn in his head. "...Those bastards. **THEY** left *us* to **DIE.** The star the Earth orbited, The Sun, was blown up by them." Davis replied, his hands starting to tremble. "Wait...Blown up..? But that kind of tech is..." Zk'sykar was desperately attempting to scramble for any sort of thought. This **had** to be a joke. Not only was blowing up a star extremely difficult, even for some extremely advanced civilizations, it was just a bad move to make. To destroy your homeworld and not harness the energy of a star? It just made no sense... "Appalling isn't it? They care so little about our home, about our origin, about *us.* They willingly destroyed our own star..." Davis then took three deep breaths, in an attempt to calm himself down. "The records from Promethus, the AI that helped restore humanity goes like this: They put god knows what into space, and set it on a timer. They then fled on a series of arks, while publicly broadcasting that we only had five years of life left before we were fucking incinerated into stardust along with the rest of our Solar System." Davis replied looking at Zk'sykar. Zk'sykar was in disbelief. How could a species do that to their own? No, no...It **had** to be some kind of twisted joke. "The current humans, the ones that go around helping others...Those are descended from one ark. One that wasn't controlled by the powerful, but rather one that was contained the last *true* embers of humanity. A group of people willingly sacrificed themselves, and entrusted the future to our five founders. Hell, according to Promethus one of the people that allowed them to escape was on one of the arks the powerful had. But for some reason chose to send the coordinates of Elysium and erase all traces of another ark leaving the planet, so they wouldn't be found." Davis said, his eyes starting to water as he softly hit the desk. Zk'sykar was in total shock, enough to throw his finely honed motorized functions into disarray. "Is...Is there any records left from Earth?" Zk'sykar managed to choke out, his tone becoming strained. Without a word, Davis secured a small, square communication device that connected to the information hub of the human race. A recording then began to play, it was a weird one. It was a jumbled up mess of howling, rumbling, humming, and various others...It sounded like ten different sounds. But slowly, each sound began to die out. It was after the first two that were missing that Zk'sykar realized what he was hearing. *The death of an entire solar system*. Each sound, was likely a major celestial body in the Solar System. The humans spoke fondly of them. The Sun, Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto. These sounds, this was the last time they would ever be heard. The last traces of long gone planets. Of unknown beauty and history, all erased from the universe. Zk'sykar beginning to weep, a soup of iron rich water falling from his three eyes. Soon, the recording went silent leaving only silence, and the sounds of Zk'sykar weeping. Davis in silent sorrow looking down at his feet. *Humanity wasn't kind because they were inherently wired that way and somehow different from other species. They were kind, because they had lost everything and didn't wish to see another species go through the same.*

Humanity spread into the stars. They're generally quite kind and helpful and treat all worlds as important. But occasionally they'll ignore uniquely made human ships. When asked about it, most humans just say "The powerful abandoned Earth after nearly killing us. Now we're returning the favor"

“...and their story of unyielding love is why we celebrate Pyre Day,” Leo said, concluding the myth that served to explain the festival to his grandson. The boy had celebrated his fifth birthday last cycle and was now old enough to begin taking an active role in village life. *Shame his first memories of official Curator duties will be before Pyre Day*. Leo hoped the love story would soften the impression in his mind as time went on. “Okay, Grampa... but why do we need a wheelbarrow?” “Well, Ben, over the six cycles of Vitas, sometimes people have an accident, or get very sick. They know that on the first day of Mors, they’ll finally take their Long Rest. And some of those people are able to get themselves to the Pyres. But the other ones, the ones too sick or hurt to walk... Well, that’s why we need the wheelbarrows.” “Oh! I get it! So we can help them get there!” “Exactly, Benny. You’re a sharp kid.” Leo smiled. The kid really was sharp -- maybe some day, he’d be the one to show this village a better way. But for now, he’d decided he would shelter the child from life’s morbidities for as long as he could. So he’d kept the other reason for the wheelbarrows to himself. It would be grim enough when Ben realized what the Pyres were for. He had yet no concept of death. Leo had spoken to his son - the boy’s father - about this, considering that as the heir of a Curator family he’d need to partake in the grim ritual as his first Task. But the boy’s parents had decided Pyre Day was the perfect introduction. He'd voiced his dissent to deaf ears. “Grampa, look!” Ben pointed down the road, toward a one-legged woman standing against doorframe of a rundown cottage. Leo knelt down to meet the boy’s eye. “You want to go help her?” Ben nodded vigorously. “You know the way to the Locus?” The boy nodded again. “Yes, you showed me yesterday!” Leo chuckled. “Hah, all right, just checking. Go ahead.” He gave his grandson’s head a pat before nudging him on. He had his own Task for the afternoon. The information Leo had withheld - that Ben would learn soon enough... too soon - was what compelled him toward the edges of the village, where the relative safety of numbers and torches diminished, dissolving into the blackness of the forest beyond. It was at the Outskirts he began to see more of his fellow Curators. He noticed a few that were Ben’s age. A cocktail of scorn and guilt and fear rushed through his veins and propelled him forward with a minuscule hope that this time would be the last. The noise began to reach Leo’s ears. It was a low, incomprehensible groan. The creatures contributing to the grisly cacophony were no longer capable of true speech. Still, their intention was a mystery to no one. These poor souls, if indeed a soul they still retained, were those ousted from the village. The dead-but-not-dead. Those who had suffered such an accident, or had been rendered so ill, that they now exhibited little of their humanity. The scene was not for those with faltering nerves. Some were husks, worn down to skin and bone, quite literally, their organs rotted away. Always hungry with no stomach to feed. Always gasping for air to fill illusory lungs. Some were merely chunks of flesh, open mouths groaning endlessly, sunken eyes darting around in mad exuberance. Leo couldn’t help himself from wondering if they tasted or felt or saw. He stopped himself immediately. The season of Vitus was just that: life. In all its grotesque beauty, its pristine perversion. As he filled his wheelbarrow with those that yet remained, preparing them for the Great Burning and finally ferrying them to peace, Leo felt the usual begrudging appreciation for his macabre lot. The same one that had allowed him to retain some solace and sanity to carrying out the Tasks. He knew the value of life, but he also knew the value of death. He’d seen it first-hand, the alternative. He wasn’t a particularly spiritual man, and sometimes he even questioned the whether the gods were simply the myths they inhabited (what god would allow the barbarity at his feet?). But as he worked, he basked in the awareness that anything, even oblivion, was better than this. As his harvest breached the brim of the wheelbarrow, he turned back toward the village and prepared for the next trip. He’d find Benny before he went back out and they’d share a plum. Leo smiled at the thought.

the Goddess of Life kidnaps the God of Death to be her new husband, meaning that six months of the year things are normal but the other half literally nothing is able to die.

"Why do we always gotta be the odd ones out?" asked Tom as he eeked out a smile with the seventy-sixth renown alien scientist who wanted a picture with the galaxy's rarest and hottest new agricultural craze. "Tell me about it. I have no idea how to answer half the questions they ask. They think everyone on Earth's a potato expert but I couldn't even tell you how to boil one," answered Phil, eyeing the slimy tentacle curled around his shoulder. "Why couldn't you have brought like a yoga mat or a statue or, y'know, something cultural like that?" "Well that was the plan spuds-for-brains but one of us had the bright idea to 'accidentally' open the airlock because they forgot what switch does what, and now the bona fide originals of the statue of David and Van Gogh's starry night are floating somewhere by alpha centauri. I had to think of something and this microwaveable ready-to-bake potato was, in my rash judgement, the least likely thing to cause an intragalactic war," said Tom. "Oh so you're gonna try to pin this on me because I'm colorblind. Real nice. Yeah you're a model human representative alright," said Phil, not even baring to look at Tom in the eye anymore. "Hey, this is luckiest break we could ever get so keep your chin up and give a nice, wide smile to the cameras. Maybe Conrad back at HQ won't string us up by the boots if we bring him home a nice shiny trophy made of some element we haven't discovered yet." "No need to wait, here he comes right now." Walking towards them was their fears incarnate. Superintendent Conrad had a face as rough as the arid deserts of Mars, and looked about as human as the aliens by his sides. His stare had frozen Tom and Phil in place just in case the two had even the smallest inkling of running off. With their flight or flight response turning into a lengthy negotiation between the delights of life and the cold and unfeeling embrace of death, the superintendent was already upon them before they had come to terms with their mortal coil. "Thomas, Phillip-" he said their names as a druid does to control the wild faes running amok in the woods, "Thanks to you, the mundane and trivial affairs of earth have become the most popular and relevant news in the entire galaxy. Floods of resources to try and save the last known climate to cultivate the superfood we know as potatoes promise to turn our homeworld from a backwater no-where planet into fertile farmland to supply the galaxy's carbohydrate needs." "Thanks Superintendent Conrad, it was all my idea," said Tom, "You know my mother always went on about how important this crop was to my family and its history with the world, so instead of a bunch of oil slapped on to a canvas by some schmuck barely anyone remembers, why not show them the best Earth has to offer...in the form of a potato." "Of course. Since it was your idea, Thomas, you must be happy to know that all current projects on Earth are to be halted, including ours, and that all denizens will be relocated to her colonies or other worlds." "....what?" "Yes, due to a democratic vote considering the utilitarian merits of solving galactic hunger at the cost of displacing an entire species, the fate of the galaxy was considered weightier, and thus Earth itself will become a harvest world which will be only used for the production of more potatoes. Our merciful bureaucratic overlords will ensure that we are properly provided for thanks to our sacrifice, and we will be the first to use the newly-minted, potato-backed, galactic currency. Your relocation papers are in the ship. I'll see you two after the press conference." As the duo could only watch as Conrad marched into the swarm of unrecognizable biomass, the gravity of their actions only really dawned upon them when a giant, blue hologram of an Idaho potato stretched across the room and was met with thunderous applause from all the convention's attendants. The potato had become the central piece of a new cult. Their starchy savior had written its sacred scriptures on the eyes of its face. Tom and Phillip tore their gaze away from the bizarre spectacle of dietary zeal, only to look at each other, the harbingers of this new era. Phillip could only utter one sentence, in the wake of these unprecedented times. "You couldn't have just said we left it at home?"

During the last couple galactic culture exchange, Humans have always presented stuff that is weird to the other species, odd clothes, toxic foods, taming dangerous creatures ,but the recent exchange humans presented the potato, that has long to been believed extinct in rest of the galaxy.

She- well, what used to be a she, didn't seem all that special at first. Maybe you'd just been looking at similar zombies, with the same hair colour. But how many zombies wear a torn up wedding dress and carry a bouqet of flowers? Sure, there are- were a lot of people in New York, but how many weddings could have been going on at once when the infection spread? Not that many, surely. Your friends had all brushed it off, saying things like "Its the apocaylpse, your just stressed and seeing things. There's no wedding dress zombie." Hell, some of them had started making it into a joke! "Better watch out, Mr. Cassanova over here has a zombie girlfriend!" It had gotten to a point that you started to see her everywhere. Outside the highrise your group had taken over, the roofs of neighboring buildings, even inside the compound. You'd taken to carrying a pistol everywhere you went, constantly checking over your shoulder for that stained white dress. ​ It's been months since the apocaylpse started. You made contact with your parents and family, telling them to stay put where they were and not to approach the city. The highrise had gained dozens on dozens of people, growing their own food on the roof and building up the walls. It was funny almost, the people who'd played things like 7 Days To Die, Fallout, DayZ were leading the way forward. Survival games and movies, while not entirely accurate, had taught most what they needed to know to make their way to the highrise. Food production had started almost immediatly, with any entrances and exits beside the first floor main doors barricaded or destroyed. There were no secret back doors into the building, no ways to get in besides the gate. People were patrolling constantly, always on gaurd for the smell of rotitng meat and the sound of the dead. It was almost perfect. Almost. ​ She still followed you. Everywhere you went, whether it be scavenging runs or hunter patrols, she was there. It wasn't scary anymore, honestly. It was almost reasuring, in a twisted sort of way. People died often in this new world, and anyone besides his family and close friends were long gone. The zombie in the wedding dress, always carrying a fresh boquet of flowers? She was the biggest reminder of how things used to be. Today, you were going to try and talk to her. It was a solo supply run, something most had advised against fervenrtly. There was no dissuading you from this though. "I want to get things from my apartment.", thats what you said to them. You weren't lying, that was the place you were heading after all. And you did want to get some mementos from your place, photos and such. You made your way through the deserted streets of New York, passing the empty buildings and burnt out cars on the road. Reaching the building you used to live in, you looked over you shoulder and sure enough, there she was. Standing a few yards away, swaying slightly. Tentativley, you raised a hand and waved at her. You weren't sure what you expected to be her response, honestly. But it wasn't for her to start creakily waving back. ​ Inside the apartment, you slowly creaked open your door and scanned the area with your shotgun raised. Everything was just like you had left it: an organized mess. You grabbed a chair and set it facing the door, laying the shotgun across your lap. And you waited. It didn't take long before you heard the sound of shuffling feet down your hallway, the noise of cloth ruffling. And there she stood, the zombie in the white dress. The bouqet of flowers fresh in her hand, the roots still covered with dirt like she'd picked them herself. Standing, you set out a chair for her and sat back down, gesturing to the chair. "You should sit. I'd be tired if I stood and walked for months on end, so I'm sure you are too." And she did. Gently, she sat on the dusty wooden chair in front of you. A slender arm reached out, offering the flowers to you. You took them, surprised at the vibrant colours. Fresh from a garden. "Thank you. I'm glad you didn't try and eat me, by the way. Thanks for coming." Cracked lips smiled at you, showing surprisngly clean teeth. No traces of blood on the gums, either. "You haven't eaten anyone, have you?" A shake of her head. "You understand me?" A nod, long dark hair pushed behind her ears. "Who are you?" A pause, her hazy blue eyes closing as she seemed to try and remember. Her voice, strained and gravely, ushered words from her lips. "...Adelita. I was... Adelita." A gentle smile followed. (Might continue later, who knows.)

The zombie apocalypse started a few weeks ago, but you and your group have managed to survive the undead hordes so far. However, you've begun to notice that a specific zombie seems to be following you wherever you go.

Hi, I’m Chris. I’ve been on this show for awhile. I’m not gay. So far, every time they’ve suspected me, I’ve had to kiss jared, shower with Brandon, and do body shots with Andy. But I’m not gay. I’ve been pointing fingers at Shawn and Terrance throughout this week. Shawn just starts making out with Brandon— typical. They’ve had the hots for each other since day one— Terrance, however, gets pissed off and yells at me, calling me dirty name that for some reason tickle my lungs. But I’m not gay. We’re in the last stretch of the show. I don’t relent on yelling at Terrance, saying he’s the straight one— what can I say? I need the cash— and he’s getting progressively more angry. And I can’t help, but look forward to him call me a dirty little wh**e. I get really warm thinking about it, probably because it feels like a threat to my masculinity and be angry gives me a rush. Sometimes it feels like I don’t point him out for the cash. Like I want him to call me those names. But I’m not gay. But in any case, tomorrow is the last day and it’s safe to say this was exciting. But I’m so totally not gay. /////////// The day is here. “Alright, I first want to congratulate you all with a job well done, especially for our actor,” the host chimed in his shimmering, drag Queen glory. “Now will our gay men go to the left side of the room,” he gestured. Two couples— Brandon and Shawn, Andy and Jared— walk, followed by Terrance. Everyone was dumbfounded. Some men go to the right. It leaves me standing there because I’m not gay… right? Terrance huffed. He whisked me away behind a wall for what seemed to be privacy. “God, you’re an idiot!” He berates. “Do you know why I get so mad when you ignore me? When I know everyone came on here straight, and you still can’t see the fvcking signs?” He continued. He wraps a hand around my neck, gently, caressing my Adam’s apple with his thumb. I crumble slightly. But I’m not gay. “What, Terrance? You weren’t playing for money?” I angrily asked. “At first, we all were, but then the shower with Brandon, body shots with Andy, hell, don’t get me started on kissing Jared,” he chuckled sourly, tightening his grip till I whimper. But I’m not gay “I thought you’d realize, but dammit Noah, I love you. I love your sweetness, and I fvcking love your arms, and you’re such a fvcking brat too, and I’d thought you’d have realized by now…” he fondly continued. Holy fuck There’s no way that “I’m gay” ////// “Well, I have something to confess to you all” the host shouted, but I already knew. I was only focusing on the last thing that Terrance said after we shared a tender kiss. Something that made my ‘totally not gay’ act crumble completely. Because im such a homosexual “You are so getting it once we get behind closed doors” 😏😏 enjoy heathens

The reality show 'The Secret Straight' begins. 11 gay guys and 1 straight guy pretending to be gay are put in a house, the gay guys have to find the straight guy to win, the straight guy has to not be found out. The fiendish twist, they are all straight and think that they are the mole.

“I just wanted to say that...its okay.” Her arms were wrapped around him, her head nestled under his chin. “Um. What’s okay?” “I know it’s likely a compulsion.” “What are you—ohh. You found the...” “Yes, the gloves. All of your gloves, the piles and piles and...why aren’t you hugging me back?” “Hm?” He had kept his hands high and out of reach. No sense in accidentally touching her and... “Why are your hands up? Oh! You’re...not wearing any. Do you want me to fetch a pair. Another compulsion? Germaphobia? Please, babe, I know about the gloves in the attic. Share with me. Open up. I don’t *care* about problems, I *love* you.” “I’m not a germaphobe. Or compulsive.” She let go but kept her forehead on his chest. A soft voice reached his ears. “Do...do you not trust me?” His heart ached at the phrase, at the hurt it held. He lifted her chin and met her gaze. “Babe, I love and trust you more than—crap!” “...more than crap?” “No, I — shit, I wasn’t thinking!” He lifted his eyes and beyond his girlfriends auburn haired head was his girlfriend. Again. A clone. Just like the gloves. “Ohhhh, man. And I had been sooo careful.” “Who the hell is that?” “Me? Who the hell are you?” “Fffffuck.”

you had the power to make clones of anything you touched, you found this out before anybody was effected. You always wore gloves so you wouldn’t make a copy of anything, and it never really bothered you much. Today your girlfriend gave you a surprise hug when you weren’t wearing gloves.

The sun crested over the hills, its red glow illuminating the stalks of grain swaying like a cosmic tide across the hills. It would be cold again today, Stelle determined. This time last year it was cold too. And the time before that, and most times over the last 400 or so years. She'd become quite adept at forecasting weather, having seen what she's seen and come to know what she's come to know. The kettle began to whistle-feeble at first but steadily stronger. Stelle stood from her chair and tugged her coat around her middle. The cold didn't bother her, but she enjoyed these human creature comforts: warm garments, hot drinks, a sunrise. She'd been surprised when she first began partaking in those "simple things" so long ago, what with its meaninglessness and dirty, earthly qualities. And yet... there was something profound about a warm cup of tea; something deep and sacred in the stillness of the morning. Sometimes she'd wondered how long she'd have to zoom in to creation before she stopped finding things to fall in love with. It wasn't 30 seconds from when she'd closed her door behind her before someone started knocking. Like clockwork, as predictable as the weather. Stelle poured the boiling water over a teabag in her cup. "Who is it?" The door creaked open, revealing the tear-streaked face of a little girl. "Miss S?" Her voice was shaky from a grief only recently stabilized. "Ofelia. Come in, girl, it's cold outside." Stelle hurried to the pitiful child, ushering her to a chair and draping a blanket around her shoulders. "Do you want tea?" Ofelia nodded and sniffed through her one unclogged nostril. Stelle prepared another cup and carried both to the table. The barefoot little girl had pulled her knees up to her chest and tightened the blanket around her form. Before her, lying lifelessly on the table, was a bow with a snaped string. "Up early hunting, were we?" Stelle assessed the damaged weapon. Ofelia's lumpy form shrugged as her tired eyes watched the steam float from her cup. "Would you like me to fix it, dear?" An enthusiastic head nodded back. Stelle pulled the bow across the table and studied its various parts. It was a toy--plastic. It could never volley an arrow in war, much less survive half a day with a precocious eight-year old. "What if..." "What?" An impatient Ofelia blurted out. "If I fix this for you, it will just break again. What if I made you a *real* bow?" "That is a '*real bow*,' and I'm good at it!" Despite the offer for help, young Ofelia's emotions were still all frazzled. Stelle knew better than to take it personally. "Yes, you're right. Maybe I can fix this bow how you like and build a backup bow as well, just in case. After a moment of consideration, Ofelia agreed. "Just in case." Stelle spent most days this way: waking early to read the sky, brewing tea, fixing children's problems. In centuries past, some had called her a witch. Pastors had come to town, attempting to run her out, burn down her cottage. What the over-zealous ministers didn't count on was just how damn likeable Stelle could be. Anyone who questioned her belonging was soon met with the full force of the village. These days, the church was run by a gay Episcopalian man, whom Stelle frequently cross-stitched with. The weak string on the Nerf Medieval War Bow^(TM) was not made to last. It was some sort of flimsy polymer, a disgrace to the history of such a devastating weapon. Ofelia deserved better. Walking the toy to her workshop, she unspooled a yellow thread from a roller mounted on her pegboard. It glittered in the lamplight, pungent with the scents of pine and cold to the touch--reminders of the place from which it had been won. She strung the toy bow and began crafting a better, wooden weapon. Did an eight-year old need a deadly weapon of war? Of course not. Was Stelle going to build one anyway? Yes. Besides, she could always put a safety enchantment on it later. Another knock came at her door. Most likely another child with another broken toy, sad story, or tattle tale. She'd need to set out another cup. Walking back into her dining room with the plastic toy in her hand, she found Ofelia sitting next to another figure. It wasn't a child, nor any villager from around these parts. "There she is!" The straight-jet-black-haired woman clapped her hands together. "I was just talking to your friend here." Stella recognized her as soon as she'd opened her mouth. "She was telling me all about what a nice old lady you were, how you fix toys and help people all the time." The woman looked as if she was barely holding back her laughter. "Too cute, Quiet." "Quiet?" Ofelia questioned. "You should leave my house," Stelle warned. Ofelia's face darted from Stelle standing in the doorway to the dining room and the increasingly scary black-haired woman sitting next to her. "Yeah! Home! About that, what is... why?" The woman's hands moved around the room, as if the question was so big it escaped words and retreated to the realm of pantomime. "I'm happy where am I and doing what I do," Stelle's voice was terse; low as it grumbled from her mouth. "Oh," the woman offered sardonic sympathy, her eyebrows arched with care while her mouth still kept that infuriating smile. "Is someone having an existential crisis?" The air around Stelle began to ripple. The light in the room dimmed and flickered. "Now you get away from my table and that little girl right now. I want you out of my house and far away, do you hear me?" "Relax! I'm going," the woman stood from the table. "I'd hate to ruin your...linoleum. I'm just here to let you know that Dad's called a meeting and you're required to be there." The air settled and the lights steadied. "Dad? Why?" "Big things are a'happenin'!" The woman giggled as she exited the screen door. "See you there!" Stella could only stand there in the middle of her living room, gripping the plastic bow so tightly in her hand that that she'd damaged handle. "My bow!" Ofelia whined as she grabbed for its contorted shape. "You broke it more!" "I'll, uh... I'll fix it," Stelle whispered. "I'll fix it."

You are a demigod; a being of raw power and nature. Rather than shape stars or conquer nations, you placed yourself in a humble village, fixing what’s broken, and protecting children.

The knock came from an impossible door. A dozen lit candles sat on Alisa’s kitchen table, pooling orange light up half of the wall and casting shadows down the remainder. The light and shadows wavered and looked like two unsure oceans meeting. The table itself was circular and woodgrained. The twelve candles were placed carefully around its edge like where numbers on a clock would be. The knock came again. It didn’t come from the home’s front door, nor the kitchen door. It came from the larder door — a tiny space there was no way into or out of except through the kitchen iteself. And no one had come through there. ”Come on,” came a voice. “Let me out of here. It’s dark as hell.” Alisa slowly got up, paused a moment, then made her way to the larder door. “Hello?” ”Lady, let me out of here! You can’t summon me and keep me trapped. That ain’t right. That ain’t a good way to do business. Besides, you only got me for an hour.” ”You’re… you’ve not broken in, have you?” ”I’m not here to murder you, if that’s what you mean. You invited me. Hey, why would I lock myself in a cupboard if I was here to murder you?” ”It’s… It’s a larder,” she said. ”Same difference. Alisa glanced at the candles, at the book on demonology that lay open on the table. It had worked? *It had worked.* This was what she’d wanted, what she’d hoped for. So why was she so scared now? Why wouldn’t her hand move to the latch? ”I won’t do business with you through a door,” he said. “I’m a face to face person, that’s what I am. So either you open or I’m going incommunicado.” She took a heavy breath then unlocked the larder. The door swung open, Alisa barely avoiding it. A grey-stumbled man in a ragged looking trenchcoat stepped out. He had a bottle of wine — of Alisa’s wine — in his hand. He took a long swig as he stepped out, the grey hairs on his neck undulating as he drank. ”Are you… You’re a demon?” ”Well I ain’t no angel, lady.” He laughed and wiped his mouth. “But I’m no demon either. Unless you ask my ex-wife. Hey, maybe I am a demon!“ He lifted his arms and snarled at Alisa, who shrank back against the wall. He laughed again, said, “Nah, I’m no demon. I’m a big softy.“ ”I meant to summon a demon.” ”Well lucky for you, there ain’t no such thing as a demon. There are people who die and there are people who aren’t yet dead. But that’s all there is. No angels, no demons, just people like us.” Like us? she thought, a powerful shiver rattling her. He screwed the lid back on the wine, then off again before he took another drink. “Beats corks.” He looked Alisa over, longer now, as if for the first time. “Why would someone like you want to summon a demon anyways?” He sat down at the table and gestured for Alisa to sit next to him. She sat opposite instead, always with her eyes on her guest. ”I need to make a deal with one,” she said. He laughed. “I can’t imagine that would go well! You think if demons were real, they’d stick to a deal?“ She shrugged. “I don’t have much choice.” The look on her guest’s face changed, softened. “You in some sort of trouble?” Alisa said nothing. She couldn’t say anything even if she wanted to. Her tongue was suddenly numb. “Ah gee, I’ve been in trouble before. Bad trouble. Borrowed too much from the wrong people, you know? The real bad people. That kind of trouble. I don’t know how it ended exactly, but I know I ended up dead at some point because, ta-da!” “That’s not very reassuring,” she whispered. ”Look, you summoned me. I can’t cut the kind of deal you might have been hoping for, but if I can help, I will at least try. You have my word.“ ”I’m dying,” she said. “I found out three days ago. I’m terminal. I don’t have long.” ”Ah,” he said. He took a long drink of wine until there was nothing left in the bottle but gloopy dregs at the bottom. “Look, I won’t say dying is easy — no one dead really wants to be dead. But it’s not awful. It’s not as bad a you think it’s going to be. Making a deal to keep on living, well it might seem like—” ”I’m not scared,” she said. “Not of dying.“ ”No?” She shook her head. “No.” ”Then what?” Her throat was dry; she swallowed hard. “I’m scared to tell my husband. To tell my daughter. I’m frightened to death of leaving them.” The guest looked at the empty bottle of wine, tapped his pale fingers along its green-glass sides. “Ah. Yeah. I can see how that’d be tough. What a situation.” ”They’re both asleep upstairs.“ They sat in silence for a long while. The candle in the seventh position extinguihshed. A little more shadow spread onto the wall and floor. The guest tapped the empty bottle as he thought. ”Maybe I shouldn’t tell them,” she said. “At least not yet. That’d save them some of the burden.” He tapped his bottle. “Would you like another? There’s more wine in the larder.” He opened his mouth. Closed it. Eventually said, “I kind of do remember why I died. And it wasn’t as glamorous as mobsters getting me or anything.“ ”Oh?” He pointed to the bottle. “Couldn’t stop. I just couldn’t. It wasn’t wine so much as it was anything at all.” She nodded. ”I had a family. Two kids.“ ”I’m sorry.” ”What I left of me for them,” he said. “What memories I left of me — of how I looked, how I acted, how I reeked of the sauce — that’s what they’ve got now. If I could have stopped, just for a few days, sobered up… I could have said goodbye to them. I could have chosen what memories to bestow upon them. I know that’s not the same as your situation but I just, I just thought you should know the truth.“ She nodded again, not sure what to say. Another candle faded out, the eleventh. He stood and looked at his left hand, already fading away. “Guess my hour’s up. I’m sorry you didn’t get to meet a real demon. One that could cut you a deal. One that could help.” He looked so sad and pathetic, she thought. And beyond anything, he looked lonely. She got up from her chair and walked to him. Wrapped her arms around him. Could smell his sour breath. He stood rigid a moment, surprised. Then hugged her back. Hugged her tightly, imagined she was his wife, his children. ”You‘re not a demon but you helped all the same,” she said. “I’m lucky to have summoned you.” ”You are?” And then he was gone and she was left with cold air and ten lit candles and a made-up mind.

There are no angels or demons, its just that residents of the afterlife had split into two factions for most of history. But there are a LOT more now- clowns, heavy metal bands, gardeners, a nationless military, burger enthusiasts…

I blink at the figure, and it seems to blink back, though having a hundred planets get covered in darkness was a bit odd to be considered blinking. "... I was right?" It was years ago, I first committed the act, at the age of 15. I was just passing by on my bike as my mind was rocked by memories of a future life, one ended by nuclear oblivion just as I got married. I crashed my bike and stumbled over to a tree gasping as the memories faded, as a new ever growing truth pulsed through my mind. That whoever I just passed was the cause. I turned around, seeing an old man with a cane alone on the side walk. I didn't know him well, but I heard he was well liked by my parent's friends. I slowly walked up to him as I saw him plaster a poster on the wall. "Marvin for president" It said, with the old man in a suit on it. I turned back to him, as out the corner of my eye, a bus was heading down the road. I felt fear wash over me from the memory, and what I was about to do. I pushed him, and ran like hell. I heard on the news about the accident the next day, but I didn't care. I secretly looked into physiatrist help, and hoped this would never happen again. I wasn't very lucky with that. (First time doing one of these, but I can continue this if anyone wants me too.)

You’re a convicted serial killer who’s just been executed for your crimes. When you reach the afterlife, you’re approached by a god-like being. “Your clairvoyance astounds me. How did you know to prevent the dozens of wars to come?”

I was standing in a long queue of teenagers, my eyes fixed on a silver gate in front. All of us were dressed in a soft, cotton, pajama-like one-piece and a wooden necklace with our names written on it. Beep, beep, beep, I could hear the scanner going, my peers getting their careers assigned to them one by one. Boys and girls got their future pre-determined at this stage, a future life mapped out for them - there was no way of changing the outcome. It was forty years ago when AI took over the government. The best scientists on earth managed to create a perfect computer. At first, its capabilities were tested in military secrecy, or at least that’s what the stories tell. When the Entity was revealed to the public, there was some unrest. Anti-AI movements have emerged, and people protested but soon understood that AI is not biased. It’s fair, wise, and more just than the best judges of the Earth. And everybody had to agree - it was the only way to save humanity from extinction that we slowly brought upon us. After allowing the AI to take over key positions in the World, we flourished. Nations united, the crime rate dropped, fertility rate sky-rocketed. The AI created algorithms to calculate and predict, the AI optimized the human race. But all that came with a price. With no need for labor, we began to lose our jobs. Our standard of living decreased, and poverty grew. In an attempt to solve this problem, the AI proposed to use automation to increase productivity. Most of the babies, just like me, ended up in a so-called Orphanage. Not because my parents didn’t love me. The reason was much more complicated and could not be comprehended by a kid. Or so they said. We were not like the regular teenagers that I knew from the outlawed DVDs. We did not have love stories, we did not have problems and worries. We were standardized and conditioned. Our growth was planned from the start up till our 15th birthday when our role in the community was decided. I was next in line. The lights flashed as I approached the gate. A much taller Militia officer took my hand forcibly and pressed it against the scanner. Beep, beep, beep. He looked at the screen, a yellow light reflected on his face. His eyelid twitched while he was analyzing the text. “Officer, this is unit 14-51. I need your assistance,” he said to his comm-link attached to his immaculate, white uniform. I looked at him in silence, as I had already learned a long time ago - talking to the Militia was not optimal. It could drag them out of focus and slow down their work. A higher rank soldier arrived shortly after. He looked at the screen and then at me. That one was a closed book. I could not read any emotions from him. “The AI does not make mistakes, this is the optimal choice. Orphan, follow me,” he said and marched forward, not waiting for my response. He knew my name. He knew where I was born and on which bed in the Orphanage I have slept in. He probably even knew what foodpill I ate for breakfast. Everything was in the quantum web, every single soul was saved there. But he decided to call me an Orphan. We entered the room with a beige floor and a big holo transmitter in the middle. I looked at the soldier, still not saying anything. “Wait for the connection,” the soldier said sharply and left the room. I heard my stomach rumbling painfully, I was not used to being alone. The Orphanage consisted of a hundred thousand peers, each one of us sleeping, eating, and studying in a big hall decorated with paintings, colorful wallpapers, and pleasant music. This room was white, bright, and small, almost claustrophobic. My eyes started getting irritated by the bright, white light coming off all the light bulbs. After a minute, the holo transmitter started making noises. The Entity appeared - I knew from the stories how it looked like, there was no mistake. A personification of the AI, a Representative. An optimal face proportions, body size, and height. Some said that everyone sees it differently, as it adjusts to one’s expectations. I had no idea what the truth was - not many could see the Entity in person, and certainly not my friends from the Orphanage. Especially not during the Ceremony of Adulthood. My body shivered as I looked at the transmission. Even though there was no reason to be afraid - the Entity did not harm people - I could not contain my emotions. “You are special, Orphan,” it said with a soothing, genderless voice. I could feel my tense muscles relaxing, “you were chosen to be a God.” I tried to process the words. A God? A concept long eradicated, mentioned only by a few members of the Church. “Feel free to speak, Orphan.” “I… I don’t understand. A God? What does that… what does that even mean?” My voice was still shaking. Was it a test? Did they want to check if the sect indoctrinated me? “There is no God… everybody knows that,” I replied as confidently as I could. “There WAS no God,” the voice remained calm but firm, “we have to optimize. People need you, the equation has too many outcomes without this one variable. You will help us stabilize the result and help humanity ascend. The Mythos is ready, you need to join us.” I did not understand. I did not want. Why me? Why? I felt the tight grip of chains on my legs and arms, I closed my eyes as the needles pierced my veins. The process has begun, and I was chosen to be the one that will inspire others. I opened my eyes. A giant screen showed the result of optimization. It was me, smiling, with a warm blue glow around my body. My hair was long and golden, my skin was pale, and I had the most beautiful green eyes anyone could ever imagine. Around me, there were only screens. Billions of other humans displayed on them. The information flew through my mind, and I understood - they were admiring me.

At the age of 15, everyone is scanned and assigned their career for life. As an orphan, nobody expected much from you, but on your fifteenth birthday, you’re surprised when you’re assigned the position of god.

It would stand to reason that even a secret society would have secrets. Its very nature relies on the ability to hide events and fact from the public eye, and yet its members all assume that they are kept fully informed of the daily goings on. The keys on the mechanical keyboard clacked with satisfyingly deep depressions, springing back up ready for their next engagement. Though it was a mid-80s model the plastic hadn’t even tarnished yellow over 36 years of constant use. My monitor however was not a satisfying vintage. Bars flickered across the CRT screen as the old girl purred in the stale air of the silo. Tracing my cotton-gloved hand down the first page, I muttered the book’s ISB code under my breath and the keys tacked away. Slotting the covers into opposing metal slits I placed the probing arm on the last page. Stabilising the book with my left hand, my right fondled round the side of the contraption eventually finding purchase on the ribbed wheel. Spinning gently the book was pulled taut and the slits bit down with their padded molars, trapping the novel in place. Once prepped I stepped back to the keyboard, donning my ear defenders I hit the enter key and braced myself. With a wheeze, mechanical joints dropped into place, a soft whirring hinted at the inner workings of the device. The thin metal rod that rested in the index rose and separated into two separate twig-like pieces, deftly waving over the index page like a conductor preparing the orchestra for an explosive introduction. I shielded my eyes just in time as the pages began curling in a grand wave, flashes illuminated the page for the overhead camera in such quick succession it appeared as a singular blindingly white flash of magnesium. Heaving, the scanner sank back from its excitable shaking and released its hold on the book. Pulling it off the plate I wrote out its unique tag, date of archive, and stacked it neatly on the trolley alongside the already completed 29 books. After checking the first few scanned pages to ensure the alignment wasn’t skewed, I logged off the terminal and wheeled my trolley out into the concourse. “Done already?” A meek whisper snuck up behind me as one of the trolley-boys slipped a hand over mine, attempting to weakly wrestle control of the wheeled plinth. I stood my ground, tightening my grip and increasing my pace. “It’s only 30 books.” His voice was grating, it peaked and emphasised seemingly random syllables with the jumpy enthusiasm of a hungry deer. “Yes but to check and scan each one, it only took you a morning.” “Yes, I’ll return them myself thank you.” I concluded the conversation, pushing the trolley forwards with a jolt to throw the limp hand away. Slinking back into the cul-de-sac of desks, the new blood sniffed out a new scanner’s trolley to hijack. I didn’t particularly dislike him, but his unease was infectious and lengthier conversations would bear no fruit. Retrieving the clipboard and biro from the brass hook on my desk, I ticked off the books one by one as I wandered down the expansive corridors. With two years postgraduate experience in library science I knew my way around the metal shelves. However, two years was minimal in the face of the depth of knowledge the facility held. Centuries of combined practice at decrypting, archiving, and translating were recruited to immortalise as much paper as we could get our hands on. Of course, this meant that the newest among us either pushed trollies or archived vapid autobiographies and how to guides. *The idiot’s guide to Windows 7* mocked me with a vague sense of entitlement as I climbed the cold metal ladder to return it to its resting place. I checked off the storage on my clipboard and climbed back down into the narrow but empty passage. Accurate note keeping was drilled into us at every turn. With the ban on outside communication, our systems were archaic but effective if used with appropriate care and attention. *One Week Wedding Planner* and *Cooking In the Outback* held supposedly as key knowledge as fragments of handwritten notes from alchemists and philosophers of ancient history, and we had to handle their pages with a similar level of care. Gliding back into their carved niches, their boxes were ticked as I painstakingly whittled down my time before lunch. Luckily, working North through the library would put me closer to Uncle Ivan to share our break together. Finishing up my task I rolled the completed returns card into the faded-red plastic canister and dropped it into the open mouth of the vacuum tube. With a satisfying swallow the pill disappeared into the bowels of the operation for digesting. Fogged glass obscured Ivan in the sealed room, carrying a respirator and working through a comically large pair of gloves, the brittle pages were treated like radioactive material in the steady hands of an expert scientist. Each page had to be turned by hand, so it wasn’t unlikely he had been working on this tome for days. Noting my presence he covered the pages with a thin white blanket and doffed his protective equipment. Exiting from his station the seals on the door hissed like opening a can of soda, the offensively sterile air sucking the scent out of our surroundings. Clapping me on the shoulder the lanky documentarian posed his daily question, “Where’re we eating?” “Bird’s nest?” I proposed. With an authoritative nod he lead the way up winding staircases and through too many security points to count before reaching the small bustle of tables and sparsely stocked vending machines. Aptly named; the eating spot overlooked the entrance of the silo from a high vantage point, it was a perfect place to watch the numerous deliveries and gawk at the security detail even one briefcase could have in tow. “Major,” I put my hand to my hairline in a salute. Ivan covered his mouth and turned to face the railing as the Major’s face soured. Below a sculpted ginger beard his lips pursed, supported by deep wrinkles forming on his stout neck. “I couldn’t help it.” Sniggered Ivan through snorting chuckles. “Didn’t you wash your hands before eating?” He was pointing the the ink-stained swollen hands that delicately cradled an egg and cheese sandwich, any small part that wasn’t rubbed black was a raw scarlet. “Declassifying.” Explained the Major. “Birds aren’t falling out of the rafters, so you must have been on -“ “The Torah.” Ivan replied, as if this was a perfectly normal day at work. Questions vied for supremacy as they divulged even the smallest morsel of detail about their work, but I held my tongue and let the pair eat in peace. As we ate, a small number of deliveries came and went. First to approach the desk were two men in tweed blazers and faded brown chinos who wouldn’t be out of place in an archaeology department mixer. “Look at the way they walk.” The Major guided my vision with a wide palm on my upper back. “See the way they hardly swing their right arms?” I nodded, watching as their gait became more obviously stilted. “They’re carrying. Likely small caliber, can hardly see a crease in their belt-line.” Producing a folder from his jacket, the man on the left signed and stamped the receipt of delivery and was on his way. It would appear they weren’t lecturers, but why did they seem so on edge? The next deliveries were uneventful. Publishers delivering crates of new releases, a new delivery of air purifiers and tall slim gas cylinders, and a woman who left a flash drive on the counter and left without a word or pen stroke. Disillusioned by the day’s haul, I began to turn back to my lunch. Shouting interrupted my disconnection from the scene as a copier slammed his fists on his desk and began bellowing. From the height it was hard to make out, so I gently leaned against the guardrail. “- Swore an oath! We both did! Every page, documented for all time!” He roared, red in the face with particulates of spit emphasising his frustration. His adversary was a hunchbacked man with a patchy cream cardigan draped over his boney shoulders. Facing away from us it was impossible to hear his reply, frozen in space he didn’t move an inch but it was clear from the unwavering attention of the copier that he was giving a slow and methodical reply. Swiping the papers off his desk the man leapt to attention and ran North slipping deep into the maze of shelves, swiftly pursued by a number of bystanders in coordinated black formalwear. “What was all that about?” I uttered to myself. “Think nothing of it.” My lunch mates replied. “Wait.. You know something!” I leaned in, fascinated by the prospect of drama in the library. ‘Keep yer voice down!” The Major hissed. “Of course we know. We’ve been here longer than you’ve had a nose to pick. Some books aren’t worth keeping, that’s all.” “Well, one book.” Ivan absentmindedly corrected, earning himself a stare that could shatter glass from his neighbour. “What’s in it?” I whispered. “Who knows.” Ivan swept up the stray lettuce that had escaped his wrap into a small pile. “Could be too dangerous to store. The book itself could be harmful to handle. Might contain information on the founding of this socie-“ “Stop.” The Major commanded. Standing to attention he contributed one last piece of advice to the conversation, “it doesn’t matter what’s in the book. If we’ve been told it’s not for our eyes, we forget about it.” Ivan pinched the pile of gathered greens and scattered them into his mouth, “ironic, coming from the guy declassifying government papers.” Exhaling hard from his nose, the brawny figure turned and stomped off towards the stairs. Ivan and I sat in the silence, recovering from the ripples of his dramatic exit. Commotion carried on in the corridors below, the occasional muffled shout would perk up like a human-scale arcade game. “He’s just pretending.” Ivan answered my unspoken question. “Everyone wants to know what’s in the book. But, he thinks it’s Pandoras Box.”

fiction, real, scientific, spiritual, safe, old, new, and forbidden. However, there is a book so dangerous that your superiors are willing to erase it from history, and you are curious why.

I had always known there was something strange about me. Yes, garlic allergies existed. Yes, churches were often places of questionable hygiene. But my canine teeth should NOT be this pointy, and I should NOT sunburn this easily. I had cut my lip by simply putting the most minute amount of pressure on it. “Alyssa! Can you come down here, please?” My mom asked. I trudged downstairs, my mind racing with confusion. What did I do wrong? Did my school call home? Did I get a bad grade? Did I forget to do some chores? My mom and dad were sitting on the couch, expressions ridden with shame. I tilted my head. “Mom? Dad? What’s going on?” I asked. Mom turned away from me. “Sweetie… we have something to tell you.” Dad said. Mom took a ragged deep breath, her eyes red from crying. “Before I have met your father… I had another husband. He was just like you- pale, high allergies to garlic, trouble breathing in churches. I found out… I… found out…” her eyes sprung with tears again. “I found out he was a vampire… when the hunters came. I swore to love him no matter what. We spent years traveling and traveling to get away from the hunters, and we had a daughter. That daughter… is you.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My dad wasn’t actually my dad? My biological dad… was a vampire? “Then… where is he now?” I asked. “Did…” “The vampire hunters killed him.” Mom choked out. “They murdered him, and- and they were going to kill you! So… I ran away to where we live now. Alyssa… you’re half-vampire. And you just turned thirteen, so that is the age where your vampire powers will blossom.” I got up from the seat, tears threatening to spring to my eyes. “Why… why didn’t you tell me earlier? Why did you lie to me *all of these years?!*” I spat out. “We didn’t want the wrong people to find out…” Dad frowned. “Like me?! I was the wrong person to know about my own heritage?” I snarled. “Alyssa-“ Mom started. “NO!” I ran up to my room, running far faster than I intended, and slammed the door behind me. I was half-vampire… my biological dad is gone… I thought I knew about myself. I thought I knew who I was. … I guess I was wrong.

You've always had trouble with garlic heavy foods but your parents chalked it up to allergy. You have trouble breathing in churches, they claim it's because of the mould. As your canine teeth start growing and become pointier your parents finally decide it's time to have the talk.

#Grin Reaper *BREAKING NEWS*, the journal announced, *OHIO MAN TRANSFORMS INTO A BABY AFTER BEING STABBED MULTIPLE TIMES.* Surly R. Harvest shuffled the paper of his window and stepped on the gas. *Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck* The Pontiac Phantom, company standard car, raced like a lighting bolt, phasing in and out of cars. However, he still had to stop at the red light. Company didn't pay him to be a law breaker. Much less a phantasmagorical law breaker. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” he bashed his knuckles repeatedly against the wheel. It began as another cold night in his job. Yes, he's a Grim Reaper, but the modern age brought more practical ways to reap souls. Huge, hard to properly use scythes were retired for computers; just type in the name and cause of death and voila! One less paycheck to sign in the world. While this innovation made easy the daily worklife of many Reapers, it also quadrupled their workload. Reapers now spent hours upon days to strike through every name in a list. Surly, in one of these moments of relapse caused from excessive ingestion of caffeine and lack of sleep, had made a typo. You see, it was supposed to read: “Jack Barber: stabbed to death in the back of a dark alley.” What it said was: “Jack Barber stabbed to life in dark in back of alley I don't fucking care anymore I just want another cup of cof.” The ghost car arrived. Surly jumped out of the vehicle and almost fell flat on the ground because his silky black robe got stuck in the door. He rushed in to the hospital. Fellow Reapers were there, some doing field work, others leisuring and a lot quippering about the fantastic happening. Or fantastic balldrop. “Excuse me, sorry, coming in,” he said bumping into the other reapers. They looked at him with an odd look... Was he the guilty? Surly stopped in front of room and phases into the wall. Jack Barber laid in a kid's bed, stuck inside the body of a baby. “What? Who are you?” he thought. But what actually came out was “Abbbrrrbuabuabb!” “Sorry for that,” he said. “I'm the one responsible for your death.” “Then why the hell am I a baby?!” “I made a typo, alright! I didn't mean to make you get a new life!” “Wait, new life? I'm... A complely different person?” “Well, you're a baby, so everything you've ever did is kinda erased from your record.” “That's... That's amazing! I can have a better life now I know all my mistakes! Fuck, I might even get married again!” “Sorry to break your bubble, but I can't allow that.” Surly pulled his own field work scythe from the robe. “Oh, man. that's shitty.” “Yeah, I don't care. Just die.” Surly struck the scythe... In the following moment, a full grown Jack Barber appeared in place of baby Jack Barber. “What? Why am I... Back?” “Ah. I think by struckiing my scythe I erased the effects of life to the second power.” “So I'm back?” “Yup. The stabs too." “Huh?” Jack looked into his body. Multiple cuts and wounds bleeded out from his belly. “Damn it!” were his last words. Surly stared at Jack's corpse. Then he looked at his scythe. “Maybe I should give this some more tries. It's way better” Looks like traditional will always beat digital. r/Box_Of_Stories

A junior grim reaper is working from home on the graveyard shift, when they make a slight typo; "Ohio man, attacked in alleyway, stabbed to life". Now he has to deal with Ohio man Greg, who has achieved life^2.

It is a grande house. Sweeping verandas around the house, Victorian styling, little details you just don’t see any more. In its glory it would have been an amazing house. Sadly, It is run down. Needs paint and some loving. Many of the little details are broken or rotted away. As a handy guy, I can putter away and fix this beauty up. It will take a few years but fixing houses is a passion of mine…. And well, it’s the only house we can afford, so a perfect combination of events…. At least for me. “What a freaking dump”, my son Stanley says. “Come on buddy, it isn’t that bad. It just needs a little lovin, and it will be a beauty.”, I said as upbeat as possible. “Why don’t you go explore a bit. See what you can find. Mom and I will keep unpacking.” And unpack we did. Moving has to be one of the worst things. So much work. Your house and life are just in utter chaos for weeks or even months afterwards. Stanley seemed a bit more upbeat as he explored the house and found all of the nooks and crannies. “Honey, let’s just order some pizza for supper. No way we are cooking anything here tonight. I don’t even know where the plates are.”, my wife Linda said. “Sounds like a plan.”, I agreed. “Hey Stanley! Stan! Where are you buddy?”, I hollered into the house. “In the basement. Come check this out!”, I heard him faintly reply. I wandered into the basement and found Stanley sitting on the floor in the cold storage. “Whatcha doing in here buddy?”, I said looking around at the dirty shelves and randomly left behind preserves. “What is this?”, Stanley said pointing to a buckle in the floor. It looked like some kind of release. “No idea bud.” “I can’t get it to open. You give it a try.” I shooed him over and heaved on the buckle and a chunk of the floor popped up revealing a round hatch with a big metal wheel on top. “Holy cow! It is an old school bomb shelter entrance.”, I placed the popped up floor against a wall. I gave Stanley a bit of smile, “should we open it?” His eyes lit up. “Totally!”, he said excitedly. I tried and tried but couldn’t get the big wheel to turn. “Sorry buddy, it must be rusted or locked or something. We can try again after supper.” We both went up stairs a bit dejected from whole experience. Stanley talked excitedly about his adventures through the house over supper. He kept coming back to the bomb shelter curious what could be in there. His ideas and stories getting wilder by the moment. “We going to go back down and try and open it now?”, Stanley said just as we were finishing our pizza. I sat him down and put a hand on his shoulder. “Look buddy, that’s really not how things work. We get to see the locked safe or vault or bomb shelter. We get all excited about it and then OP never posts again. That is just the way Reddit works.”

You move into your new house, an ancient house but the only one you could afford. You soon discover that it has a bomb shelter. Only problem it’s locked from the inside.

The cashier’s voice wakes me from a reverie. I feel disoriented, confused, like I had been sleep walking. I look down and see an antique brooch made of sterling silver, covered by a beautiful patina that’s been decades or even centuries in the making. A small glass dome encases a dried red poppy. The national flower of Poland, I think, and my mind immediately goes to my great grandmother. I’ve been able to think of little else over the past month. Ever since I found her love letters in the attic. As I pick up the brooch to take a closer look, I notice I’m wearing two different shoes and only one sock. I gotta get my shit together. Trying to piece together my great grandmother’s love story and escape from behind the Iron Curtain has come to consume me. In my waking hours I’m pouring over her letters again and again, or calling up family members I didn’t even know existed, or doing online research. When I close my eyes to sleep, she visits me in dreams. Details from dreams have begun to weave into reality. It’s like she’s trying to reach across the boundary between the living and the dead to tell me her story. I finger the glass on the brooch, marveling at its fragility. I turn it over and suddenly I know exactly what I’m going to see: there are my great grandmother’s initials followed by her lover’s initials. The supermarket recedes from my vision telescopically as the blood rushes to my head. How the fuck…. Frankly I’m scared shitless. What started as a feel-good discovery of my family history has turned into something far more nefarious. I know I would sound crazy to say this out loud, but I honestly feel like something supernatural is conspiring to take hold of my mind. Something is trying to communicate to me from the other side. “Sir? Sir, are you ok?” the cashier asks. I’m already walking out the automatic doors before I hear her, suddenly aware that my steps are uneven - the two different shoes I’m wearing are two different heights. How the hell did I end up with this brooch? I can’t even remember going to the grocery store. I didn’t need anything. I realize most of that morning I’ve been blacked out. By the time I get back to my childhood home - a small suburban bungalow I’ve been charged with cleaning and putting on the market after the recent death of my mother - I feel more clear-headed. More like myself. I make myself a tea for some comfort. I’m struggling to come to grips with my blacking out. Who was controlling me? What was controlling me? I sit down at the small kitchen table and scan the love letters that are scattered across the surface. Ok, here’s what I know. My great grandmother left my great grandfather for another man - a lover who happened to be a black man. I can only imagine how few black men there were in Poland at the time. And I can only imagine the scandal that would’ve caused in the family - I’ve seen the pain of the racism in the letters. She became exiled from the family. Eventually her and her lover escaped from behind the Iron Curtain and made their way across the Atlantic. My own grandmother was left behind, she was only a child at the time. Eventually my great grandmother settled down in this suburb with her new husband. But then something went wrong - terribly wrong – not long after they started trying to settle here. The letters end abruptly. And nobody knows or will tell me anything. I rub my eyes, trying to ease my throbbing head. For the hundredth time, I recall the stories that my mom told me about my great grandmother, looking for clues. My mom always felt a strong connection with her, even though they never met. My mother left Polad after my great grandmother had already died. But my mom tracked down the house that my great grandmother had lived in, bought it and raised us in it. What the fuck was that?! A sound from the upstairs bedroom - like the cooing of a baby. And a soft rocking sound. Sweat trickles down my temples. I walk up the creaking stairs. As I get to the top landing, I can see through the open door a baby’s bassinet - where no bassinet should be. I open the door and it disappears, as though it had never been there. I pack up my things and leave right away. \*\*\* I hired packers and movers to finish the job for me. The house sold quickly. But I couldn’t get that haunting experience out of my mind. I kept the brooch, mostly to convince myself that I wasn’t crazy, that I hadn’t imagined the whole thing. Slowly my life returned to normal, my sanity felt more and more intact. One afternoon, out of the blue, the grocery store experience came to mind and it occurred to me to look up the history of that building. At the time that my great grandmother lived in the neighborhood, that building housed an apothecary. The old fashioned kind that sold candy and had a long counter with stools where you could sit and order a soda from the fountain or a milkshake. As I scanned through some old pictures of the building, I found a news story. “Baby abandoned at local business,” the headline said. The picture froze my blood. A bassinet sat on top of the counter in the apothecary. It was the same bassinet I had caught a glimpse of in my old house. Something dangled from the side of the bassinet. Something that was blurry but about the size of a brooch. Then, from upstairs in my own home, I hear the sounds of a baby cooing followed by a rocking sound. And I understand: my great grandmother and her second husband had had a baby, and had given it up. It was the baby who had been communicating with me. It was the baby who wanted their story heard.

You're at the till of your local supermarket, one you frequent often. Going through the motions mindlessly, you don't notice something's off until the cashier interrupts your thoughts with a hesitant "Uh, sir/ma'am? We don't sell that here." You look down, and are taken aback by what you see.

"But I wasn't fighting, or battling, or in the middle of a rap battle," I protested. "I definitely wasn't in the middle of a-" "-what is a "Pokemon" anyway?" Loki asked. Odin had the look of a man who definitely hadn't sacrificed his eye and hung on a tree for nine days and nine nights in order to gain that knowledge. "It's a child's game where the "trainer" sends beasts to fight on their behalf." "That's not very sporting," red-haired, ruddy-checked Thor rumbled. "That's besides the point!" Odin roared, and pointed at me. "Skald, we're tired of these inane prompts. A proper flyting has nothing to do with a "rap battle-" "I dunno," Loki said, "Flyting. Diss track. Basically the same. To end these prompts, tis Odin's aim. But they keep coming, so he's pissed, and tired of being dissed. By me. You see?" "I can forgive a lot of stupidity," Odin muttered darkly at Thor. Then he glared at Loki. "But not you lot giving him ideas." "I'm sorry?!" I squeaked. "I didn't mean to offend. I definitely didn't mean to die in the middle of writing a prompt about someone dying in the middle of a Pokemon battle." Thor rubbed his bearded chin. "That does raise a question." "Valhalla is for warriors!" Odin snapped. "But does the pokemon go to Valhalla or the trainer?" "I am NOT fighting Ragnarok with a horde of cute creatures from a children's game at my back." "I think," Thor decided, "that this pokemon trainer should have to learn what it means to fight for themselves for once." I wilted. Thor clapped me on the back. For a wonder, I wasn't driven straight into the ground like a tent post. "But I'm not a real pokemon trainer," I protested. "It's just a game. I'm just a writer. A - what did you call me? A skald!" Loki laughed. "I warned you. He's tired of it. Fuck around, find out. Now you're in the shit." "The time has not yet come for me to sew your mouth shut," Odin told him dourly. "I will make a stitch for each of your insults on that day. You will rue them and be unable to scream." On second thought, maybe letting Thor guide me away to the training grounds for the absolutely grueling torture of training to be a warrior was a good idea. Certainly better than getting in between those two...

You died while posting yet another writing prompt to r/writingprompts about someone dying in a dumb way and going to Valhalla anyway. The Norse pantheon stands before you, and they are ANGRY.

The old priest kneeled down before the alter of the One True Lord, clasping his withered hands in prayer. "Oh, Greatest-" *BAM!* **"I'm here! I'm here. Sorry."** ...That was unusual. "Err-" **"Just letting you know. I was out taking care of some shit, but I'm-I'm here now, and I'm, like, 100% listening. So, uh, keep going."** The priest was not quite sure how he felt about this. The Voice of God did not sound like what the priest had imagined. Sure, it had that all-powerful, booming quality...but why did He sound so out of breath? "..Well, My Lord, I was simply--" **"Oh, and, by the way, you don't have to worry about the Cruelest Ones anymore."** The *who?* "Pardon me?" **"I'm not gonna lie, things were looking** ***pretty fucking rough*** **on that end, but I** ***finally*** **destroyed the Mega-Death-Blood-Ray, so we're all good."** "*What?"* **"I know, right? That thing would have fucked you guys over soooo bad. But don't worry, I took care of it--"** "--My lord, who are the Cruelest Ones?" God paused. For an uncomfortably long time. **"You're joking, right?"** "No--" **"Did you find the Mega-Epic-Cruelty-Hunters? The big metal things in the caves? The ones that kinda look like you guys except, like, two hundred feet taller and way cooler?** That *did* ring a bell. "Do you speak of the Fallen Titans?" **"The-yeah, sure, those. Anyway, you saw those statues that I put around them, right? The ones of those really ugly-looking dudes?"** "...The demons that you trapped within bodies of stone?" **"...No, man. That's what the Cruelest Ones look like. You were supposed to see those and be, like, 'Shit, I'd better watch out for those guys. It's like -- you know how in national parks and shit, they have those signs with the bears on them?"** The...huh? "My lord, what is a 'bear?'" **"Oh, shit, did I forget to put bears in this dimension? Damn. That sucks for you guys. Those things are, like, my best work."** There was another uncomfortable silence. **"Uh, no offense. Anyway. Why didn't you just use the Summoning Chant to wake them up?** "What?" **"Oh, come on. It was etched onto the arms of the MECHs? Right under the rocket launchers?"** "The Unknowable Words?" **"...Fuck, I forgot to translate them, didn't I? Ok. That's on me. Well, the chant was-"** The priest's eyes widened. The Unknowable Words were considered one of the great mysteries of the universe. Religious scholars thought that they held the Key to Eternal Life, or perhaps the True Meaning of Existence-- "***Cruelest Ones, Cruelest Ones, Go Away, Come Again Another Day.'*** **And then you had to spin around in a little circle? Probably should've written that part down, too, now that I think about it, but whatever."** **"...Ayo? You still there?"** "..Yes, my lord." The priest blinked, snapping out of his daze. It would be best, he determined, to save his existential crisis for after he finished communing with the Ultimate Savior. **"I think I interrupted you earlier. What were you asking me? Before I started talking about the Cruelest Ones and shit?"** "I was going to beg for your forgiveness, Holy One. I've committed a grave sin." **"....Alright. I'm listening."** The priest gulped. Did he even have the strength to utter the words? "My Lord, I have lain with...*a man."* There was silence once again. The priest bowed his head in shame. Surely God was pausing to contemplate a righteous punishment for such a blasphemous, immoral-- **"...Ok. Cool. Is that all?"** "Well-" "***SHIT.*** **I gotta shut this down -- the Soul Destroyers are about to break into the Only-Bears Dimension. I mean, they've summoned all of their Soul-Destroyer-Destroyer-3000s, so they should be alright, but you can never be too careful, you know? I don't what I'd do if something happened to them. Nice chat, though. Hit me up whenever."** *BAM!* And just like that, the voice was gone. Just as if... ...As if it was never there. ...*And what do I know, really?* thought the priest, rising shakily to his feet. *Maybe it never was.* Yes. Yes, that would do. Perhaps it was best for everyone if certain things simply remained unknown.

Many people think God is dead, absent, or just never existed in the first place. Truth is he’s still around and cares, but is too busy dealing with external threats to the species.

"I’m not kidding!” Gabe said as he clicked the next enemy on the screen. “Watch!” Tina leaned in to see the screen better. Sure enough, the glossy golden glow of a legendary drop appeared with a chirp. Gabe moved to attack another. “What are you doing? Pick it up!” Tina smacked his shoulder. “Those shield emblems are worth almost a billion coins in this MMO. That’s a thousand real-world dollars you’re leaving on the ground, Gabe.” “Doesn’t matter, I have a hundred of them already.” Gabe’s character finished off the next enemy and, somehow, another 1 in 128,000 drop rate emblem appeared. “So, how are you cheating?” Tina asked. “I’m not, at least not really,” Gabe logged out, leaving both of the items on the ground for anyone to grab. “I figured it out when I read up on how the drops work. Each monster has its droplist populate a number field from 1 to 2,147,483,647, with the rare drops taking up less spots further to the end. Then, a random number generator rolls each time you kill a creature in the game to assign a drop. I just focus on the number 2,147,483,647 right before I kill one and wammo, I always get the rarest drop.” “Gabe, that doesn’t make any sense. Why would you thinking something make any difference?” “No clue, but it does. It works with other stuff too. If it's supposed to be random, I can kind of pick the outcome. Dice rolls, coin flips, loads of computer stuff.” “Lottery numbers?” Tina asked with a raised eyebrow. She had logged into the game on her phone and was trying to get her character to the drops Gabe had left before they despawned. “Haven’t tried it but yeah, probably.” \*\*\* “Holy shit,” Tina said. The ticket was sweaty in her hands. “I can’t believe this folks!” the man on the screen said as the fourth ball popped into place. “The first four numbers are 01, 02, 03, and 04. Can we get 05?” Gabe watched the TV, tilting his head as he watched the balls bounce in the cage. Another rolled into the spot. “69! I was worried for a second there,” the announcer said. “Guess we-” Tina turned down the sound. The ticket they had bought earlier read 01 02 03 04 69. They had just won the jackpot, some 200 million. “Gabe…” she said, not able to look away. He shrugged, seeming to not understand the gravity of the situation. “Thought it would work.” There was a loud knock at the door. Tina floated to the door, giddy now. She opened to reveal a tall man with a grave face and a revolver pointed at hers. “Where is he?” “Who?” Tina said, raising her hands and dropping the ticket. The breeze from outside sent it rolling across the floor. The man stepped on it as he made his way inside. “Wherever you are kid, I got a gun on the girl,” the man yelled into the house. “Five in the chamber, you hear it?” He spun the revolver then put it against Tina’s head. “Please, sir, if you want the ticket we-” He pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. “I’ll burn you out, kid!” he said, spinning the chamber again. He clicked it against her head again. “Who are you?” Gabe asked from the doorway to his room. “Let her go.” The man spun the chamber again, pointing it at Gabe this time. Another click as Tina scrambled to her phone, dead of course. “Boy, you’ve got a lot in the tank. They’ll be glad to have you.” Thin ribbons of metal began to float behind the man's head in a circle. Gabe darted for the door and the man caught him in a chokehold. “You things aren’t so scary when you’re young. Let’s get you wrapped up.” He pulled out zip ties and began binding Gabe’s legs. The home phone rang. Tina hadn’t noticed there even was one. She pressed the receiver to her face. “We need help. There’s a man with a gun. He’s trying to kidnap Gabe.” “Is there a banana in the kitchen?” A calm woman’s voice answered. “What, no ,listen. I’m going to hang up and call the police if you don’t help us!” Tina yelled into the receiver. The man worked silently as Gabe struggled, paying Tina no mind. “You wanna help Gabe, help me help you,” the woman said casually. “Is there a banana in the kitchen?” “Yes, okay, now how does that help?” “Great, we’ll meet after in the forest of one tree. Put me on speakerphone please.” Tina debated hanging up but clicked the speaker button. “0.0117% of naturally occurring potassium is the unstable isotope potassium-40,” the phone blared. The man did look up now. “This isotope decays with a half-life of about 1.25 billion years, 4 times 10 to the 16 seconds, and therefore the radioactivity of natural potassium is about 31 becquerel/gram, meaning that, in one gram of the element, about 31 atoms will decay every second, unless something very statistically unlikely occurs.” Tina saw a flash of white light before the fireball erupting from the kitchen sent her flying into the yard. Her hearing slowly returned with high-pitched ringing. Gabe was shouting something from his own spot in the yard. Where the front room of the house had been was only a smoking crater. The man lay further on in the street, not moving. The ticket was still stuck to his shoe. “Tina!” Gabe yelled. “Help me out of this!” He was struggling to roll over and away from a piece of wood burning near his bound legs. “Gabe, did you do that?” she kicked the wood away then used her pocket knife to begin sawing the plastic. “I think so,” he said. “The lady on the phone. I used the numbers she said. I have to know the number first, I think. Who was she?” “Dunno, but she said we’d meet after. The forest of one tree mean anything to you?” Tina said. As she watched, the man in the road began to stand slowly, the ribbons spinning behind him were thicker now, more like knives. “Nope,” Gabe said. Hanging from the ruins of the house was a bunch of bananas, only one blown out from the bottom. “Get behind me while we figure it out.” Check out more of my stuff at /r/surinical Part 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/yx1czx/wp_you_can_manipulate_random_numbers_a_century/iwo0cwy/

You can manipulate random numbers. A century ago, this would have been a joke or a party trick at best. In a world where all modern technology is secured by random numbers, you are the most dangerous super-human on the planet.

I pick up the small golden spoon off my table and, against my better judgement, I rub the soft curvature of it's shallow bowl, it's worn down tip, it's brittle but still maintained neck. "This," I begin, a bead of sweat forming on my forehead as I look up at the man trying to gauge the spoon's price and then at the cameras beaming my reaction to a small public access audience. "this, this is nothing of importance. Simply just a spoon you see. A spoon made of gold, just worth it's weight in gold." The man rubs his chin. His voice is that of thick Appalachian. The kind of country accent one cannot place until they've been in those mountains and spoken with those people for years, even centuries. "Darn, I was here hoping it was something more valuable than just a piece of gold is all. Guess I was mighty foolish to think so. Could just melt it down is all I can do..." I snap, "What? No! Umm..." I clear my throat and I realize my thumb hasn't stopped probing the soft curves of the spoon in my hand. "It's ... A beautiful piece. Melting it down for the gold is a waste of it. I'll tell you what, I'll pay you twice of what it's worth in gold." The man reaches down and takes the spoon from me. Somehow I feel empty without it reverberating on my skin. "Now wait a darn minute. I thought you folks just give prices and what not for stuff. Not buying it. Why'd you wanna go and buy it? You said it's just a spoon." Again, my voice snaps a retort. "It is just a spoon! That's all. A golden spoon. You said you'd want to melt it down for gold. So I'm offering whatever the rate is for gold times two." He looks down at the spoon and for a split second I think even he can feel the soft warmth, the crackling power in his hands. He shakes his head. "Naw, naw. There's something funny going on here. Tell you what, you tell me why you want it for so bad and I'll sell it to you." He holds the spoon up to my face like an exorcist brandishing a cross. My eyes are glued to it. I see the man in the reflection. The same face that first ate from that spoon when he had been on this planet 25 years in 1670. The same face that was lost in the deepest parts of the highest peaks of the Appalachian Mountains. The same face that cried out for someone, anyone to give him salvation before his inevitable death. The same face that found the spoon and somehow just knew he'd be damned to roam the earth forever if he ate anything with that spoon. The same face that ate from it and accepted that dying then was somehow a worse fate than having to live until the sun explodes, until the universe eats itself. "I guess," I say composing myself and smiling. "It just reminds me a lot of a similar piece I saw when I was a younger man." The mountain man nods his head. He looks from me to the spoon and then at the cameraa. His face dips for a brief moment. "My paw found this spoon in a deep well. Went digging to try and pop a new spring for the old homestead. Found it just lying there. Said it was the darndest thing. Like he needed to take it up with him back up the ropes and cables. Like it needed to see daylight again." The man's eyes mist up. "He's been gone now about 10 years. Always kept this around. Called it his good luck spoon. Said it always kept him happy. That spring he found flowed well for decades until the day he died and it flooded the whole homestead." My eyes are fixed on the spoon. I am close to reclaiming it. From having it in my possession again. From making sure no one ever uses it again. "Twice the weight in gold?" he asks me, a slight smile. "How about this?" He takes my hand in his hand and puts the spoon in it. "My paw said it was his good luck spoon. That it always brought him luck. The day he died his luck run out. Maybe," he closes my fingers around the spoon. "it'll give you good luck." He turns and leaves the set, passing by 6 or 7 eager participants waiting in line. I look down at the spoon in my hands. Good luck to some, damnation...to others.

You are the host of Antiques Roadshow. Someone just brought in an old, dusty antique you recognize as a magical artifact, and the source of your immortality.

i've been alone for longer most of my life. longer than i've been trapped outside time. this bloody power. this absolute fucking...GODDAMMIT. ​ i'm sorry. i'll start again. it's the most frustrating thing. i don't fully understand it, though i have noticed a pattern. it's protecting me. too much though, way too much. anytime it thinks i'm going to get hurt, time just....stops. you may think 'well, it's good that it does when you're going to get run over by a truck'. and you'd be right, if it was only that. it stopped when my parents were about to tell me of their divorce. it stopped when my girlfriend started breaking up with me. it stopped when my boss was telling me that i was being fired. ​ the only way to get back in time was to get away. i can't tell you how many new lives i've created. how many times i've had to start again. theres always danger though. everywhere i go. ​ after a while, i just...gave up. i would never have a normal life, because life involves danger, of risk of pain, either physical, emotional, spritual, whatever. so i wandered. . staying away from people and danger as much as i could. alone ​ that night. before time stopped. i had a gun. i was ready. it was about to end. finally ​ once again, time stopped. to protect myself from me. and i know time would only start when i am no longer a danger to myself. ​ i'm so tired. i yearn for peace. for release. it's been so long. please. ​ .... ​ ​ ​ please

Your body automatically stops time when you are in imminent danger, allowing you to effectively dodge any dangers. It’s been five years since time has last moved, and you still don’t know why.

“Huh. So you’re real?” I say with mild surprise. I had always assumed that the caricature of death was allegory. “Yes.” The voice hisses from underneath the cloak. “So, how does this work, then?” A sudden flood of images and experiences flood through my mind. Countless deaths and ascensions. Countless pleadings. Countless angry screams. All ending simultaneously with a feeling of acceptance. I find myself breathing heavily. My heart pounds in my chest like there’s a hammer slamming into it’s side. “It’s my heart, isn’t it? I’m dying of a heart attack? It hurts, but I somehow thought it would hurt MORE. You know?” Death just nods. I look at pictures of my grown children. I see the portrait of my grandchild. I smell a mix of baby powder and red wine, as I watch a falling body knock my wine glass over onto a diaper bag. “My grand daughter is in the other room, putting her baby to sleep.” I mumble. Death nods in understanding. Suddenly, the glass shatters without cause. I hear her call out, “Poppa Bear? You ok?” Her voice is getting distant. I notice I don’t feel my breath anymore. I’m neither cold nor hot. I just exist. I didn’t even notice I was floating. “Where are we going?” I ask. “Home.” Death replied. I notice I have no fear, no remorse, no anger. Only acceptance. Acceptance that this is how it is. That I can do no more. That this chapter of my existence is over.

You are tired from a life of depression, as you sip the last of a cheap bottle of wine, death appears next to you, you have a long conversation.

She quietly walked around the diner, getting things ready for the day. It was still three am, and Belial wouldn't be in till five. Of course, her son Paul was already getting the kitchen ready. Belial was just her normal first customer. Her Diner, Sunny Side of Heaven, was located just outside of the small town of Swamp Hollow. Swamp Hollow was a nice little place. But it honestly just wasn't the same since her Dennis had died. "Mom," Paul calls from the back, "I'm gonna need to get bacon. We are all out right now. Don't know how John missed that." He pauses for a minute. "Never mind, he didn't miss it. I just didn't check my messages. Anyway, he said that Brigid would be here with some at sunrise." She nods her head before calling back, "That's good. You have her number? Ask if she can get us some mushrooms. We've got Lord Bearington coming next week with the rest of his group. They'll appreciate it." She smiles for a moment, thinking back to what Dennis had told her all those years ago. Turns out, building a Diner on top of the Fountain of Youth had some unforeseen consequences. \*\*\*\*\* Nine in the morning. The morning rush is just over. Brigid is sitting in her booth, nursing the cup of coffee like it's ambrosia. The two guys sitting in the corner booth are clearly angels. But she's pretty sure that one is a rookie, and the other is Charlie. Charlie isn't a bad sort, but he is almost always grumpy. Comes with being an Angel of War. Another customer walks in, and she turns to look. Except her face blanch's, as it isn't a customer. He's back. Black and white business suit, boardroom briefcase, and a smile that doesn't reach his dead eyes. "Hello ma'am. I've come by to see if you've thought about our offer?" he says, in a voice that's just loud enough for all of the customers to hear. With the little pin on his suit coat, and the logo for "Sandies: Breakfast Bar" on his brief case, it's kind of obvious why he's here. "I've thought about it. And the answer is no. Now get out you disrespectful little worm." Brigid snorts. Charlie looks up, with a smile on his face and Paul pokes his head out of the kitchen. He sees his mom facing down the corporate goon, but isn't quite fast enough. "Young man," the goon says, "Maybe you can help convince your mother." They do look similar enough. She needs to give up the wig and make up. If her Dennis hadn't gotten into that stupid car crash, he could have dealt with this. Paul looks at him and says, "I'd take her advice right quick, sir. Or you are about to have a very bad day." The goon doesn't take the hint. But before she can do anything, someone else solves the problem. Thanatos walks in. He doesn't get to visit very often, she thinks as the man has a heart attack. She looks around at everyone and says, "We'll call 911 here in a minute. I think Thanatos' wants to talk." "Don't be like that Judy," the grim reaper says, "I don't get to come get a cup of coffee very often. And I just wanted to let you know that Dennis reincarnated. Obviously he won't have the memories, but he is back." She smiles. Ain't that just the Sunny Side of Heaven.

An elderly woman and her family run a 24-hour diner, and most of their customers tend to be supernatural beings (think fey, werewolves, angels, demons, etc.) Now a larger chain threatens to bankrupt the diner, and the customers aren’t going down quietly.

"Nothing. Let them rest. They earned it." He said. The temporary marker noting a fresh grave. Another occupied plot among a sea of others. "Why would you say such a thing?" The voice asked. "After all, you care about them." He simply continued to watch the ground in front of him. Withdrawn. Quiet. If there was any emotion there it didn't rise. "I do. But they suffered. They suffered for so long. There's no point to it." He disagreed. The voice rumbled forth again. "You could make a deal. And they'll come back." "Why? So they can come back to this shit existence?" He glanced over his shoulder. Of course there was nothing there. The opposite wouldn't make any sense. "You will have rewards untold for an exchange." "An exchange?" He considered, as he crouched to the grave. The marker had begun to tip over in the breeze. He righted it with a gentle touch, and pushed it further into the dirt so it would stay. "Endless pleasures, until your dying day." He stood at this. Hands balled into fists. "You think I haven't heard that before? Do you think I haven't heard that before? Do you understand what this world runs on? Every day? Work hard, be patient. Work for us, be on our side. Be all you can be." "Exactly." The voice echoed. "Fucking lies. 37 years of that. They did 37 years. Barely had enough to bury themselves. And you're telling me, you're gonna make a deal I can't refuse? Let me guess, it involves my soul. Or something like it. Either which way, you'll screw me over. People like you always do." Silent came, and he stood there waiting for an answer for some time. "Do you wish to know where they went?" It asked now. He shook his head after some deliberation. "Doesn't matter." Another lull. "Why?" "If they didn't go to a good place, I'm definitely not." It was less humility and more the truth. This was a person who understood their faults. If a cosmic justice was to be paid for living a life. What was the point of even playing at all? "Would your own family deny you the chance to return?" It asked again. "That's funny. You actually think there's going to be someone around to care about me?" He laughed coldly. "I have no one left." "Of course." The voice rumbled again. 'That's why I offer you the choice." He saw visions of fortune. Wealth. Notoriety. People telling him how much they liked him. False placards and promises of his self worth. People he didn't know, lying through their teeth in perpetuity, if anything to get into his good graces. Of lands he never imagined to see in person. Of luxuries he couldn't comprehend to enjoy. It wasn't enough. He found himself wanting an answer to a question of his own. "If you're so all powerful, why didn't you offer her the choice herself?" The breeze slowed. The trees grew quiet. The clouds that passed in front of the sun seemed to grow slightly darker. He waited for a response for some time. But it never came. "That's what I thought." He grimaced. He sat the flowers he brought along in the dirt, and brushed a handful over the stems so they might stay. "Save me a spot when it's my turn." He said to no one. "Okay?" --- Spite tops a Faustian deal every time. r/Jamaican_Dynamite

A loved one just passed and you are at their grave. You hear a sinister voice behind you ask, “What would you do to have them come back?”

When I was a kid, I heard stories of the Heroes. Blessed, imbued with supernatural abilities, they brought justice to the Villains. Every night I listened to the radio, detailing the latest on the Hero of the week. When I was in elementary school, they asked what we wanted to be when we grew up. "I want to be a Hero!" I proudly said. They laughed at me. "You can't just choose to be a Hero, idiot, you gotta be special!" they said. When I was in high school, Invectus was killed. The Iron Golem smashed him flat. It made the news for days! Then people stopped talking about it. I learned that many Heroes get killed, and most we never hear about. When I was in college, the Iron Golem destroyed my dormitory. 26 people died. It made the news, for 2 days. A week later, Glowing Storm imprisoned the Iron Golem, and "brought him to justice." He was sentenced to 86 consecutive life sentences. A week later, the Mastermind broke him out. ​ I left college. I joined extremist groups; I learned the weaknesses of the Villains. When I turned 26, I killed the Iron Golem, drowning him in salt water. I didn't make the news. ​ It was explained to me that big corporations had a vested interest in Villains Vs. Heroes. That fights are scheduled. That insurance companies hedge bets on collateral damage. That it's considered "improper" for Heroes or Villains to kill each other. That my friends were worth less than a hundred thousand dollars apiece. ​ I remember the first Hero I killed. Light Specter - I was going after Lucient, and when I learned the two had a scheduled fight, I still went through with the plan. I locked them both in darkness and let Rat Master's pets eat them. I don't remember if I felt guilt. ​ It's been a few decades. I don't keep track. I've killed every listed Villain and almost all the Heroes. After I imprisoned Infosec, it became hilariously easy. Crime, not counting mine, has gone down 23%. I guess most misery is just normal people. Most would-be Villains are too afraid, now. They call me "Adam's Darkness," after what happened to Light Specter, and because I'm not Blessed - not that most people believe it. Heroes, lacking Villains, created their own tragedies. I've learned to nip that in the bud. It's inevitable that with that much power, they go bad - better they go the way of their forebears. ​ It's been almost a century. I don't know why I'm not aging. I don't like to think about it. The whole world knows my moniker. Any Blessed who come about, they hide from me. Sometimes, I let them go a few years, let them "do some good," but I make sure they never make it long-term. I've seen what they become. I keep the dead statue that is Iron Golem in my office. It provides ambience.

You're a hero that's actually willing to kill villains. This might make you a little too efficient though, as there's no more villains left to fight.

​ *A long, long time ago, a young lady came across a creature unlike any she had seen before. It was a small thing, with pretty blue eyes that glowed in the moonlight.* *”I can grant you any wish you want,” the creature said in a tinkling voice.* *The young lady was confused. “What do you mean?” she asked.* *“I can grant you any wish you want,” the creature reiterated, “But only one.”* *The young lady was clever and well-versed in all manner of cautionary tales about creatures like this, and so she turned and left without another word.* *The next day, though, when the young lady stopped at a shop to purchase some bread, she overheard a curious conversation.* *”I’m tellin’ ya. Any wish I want, it said!”* *“And did you take it up on that?”* *The man laughed, loud and booming. “Why, of course I did! I wished for a great job to come my way, the type that’ll make me rich for life!”* *The young lady was alarmed, but she didn’t see how speak up could help. And so, she went home and made her breakfast.* *A week later, the town was abuzz with a new rumor. Apparently, a man had been hired to transport some goods from one town to another, and had been killed on the way. A tragic tale on its own, but the real trouble was that no one seemed to know who hired him, or where he was actually going. Not even his wife, who had been there when he took the job, could give a name or even a face.* *The young lady immediately understood the situation. The man had been tricked by the wish-granting monster, for sure. She could not let this happen ever again. And so, off she went to find the monster.* *When she tracked it down, she glared down at it with such vitriol that even it knew fear. And when she uttered her wish, it rang out with such force that it was heard all over the world.* *”I wish I had the power to safeguard the world from capricious reality warping creatures.”* *In a flash, she was gone, and so too was the monster. The young lady was given new life among the cosmos, where she spent the rest of her days protecting not just the world, but the entire universe any number of curses and monsters.* *Her name and memory have been lost to time, sadly, but we owe our sanctity and life to her nonetheless. Her sacrifice will be met with the utmost gratitude, always and forever.* That retelling is a personal favorite of hers- the wording is truly phenomenal, and the effort put in to actually giving the creature a description is a nice touch. It’s completely wrong, of course- on all fronts. For starters, the creature as it was would now be completely impossible to comprehend- its form defied the laws of physics, and that just wouldn’t do. As such, all instances of it were completely removed from reality itself, along with the ability to imagine how it contorted itself. Secondly, it’s not fair to act as if any of this was intentional. She isn’t brave- she isn’t a self-sacrificial hero. Really, all she’d done was pick the creature up by one of its tendrils and drag it kicking and screaming back to her place to be locked in a cupboard until it learned to behave itself. She’d been stupid, and uttered a thought out loud, just barely audible. But that was all it took. Now, she’s nothing. The girl that she once was- and she’s truly forgotten the name at this point- is gone and quite possibly never existed. She’s little more than a concept now, a law of the universe as indisputable as gravity. The tales aren’t born from any memory- they’re folk tales, like those that describe why deer have white tails or how tigers got their stripes. They’re told to children to soothe them to sleep, and scoffed at by scientists. They’ve tried to study her- but she is incomprehensible in form and length, spanning all across time and destroying anomalies before they can even be conceptualized. She marches to the pace of the universe, as grim and distant as entropy. But never let it be said that she is unhappy in this fate- from here, she’s seen civilizations rise and fall, watched humans reach advancements in technology that wouldn’t have even been dreamed of when she was still a child, and witnessed the birth of the very first cell. She’s seen despicable cruelty and pure kindness, in equal parts. She’s seen war and cooperation, love and loss, and all such manner of things that come together to form what’s known as life. As she is now, she plays the most vital of roles in facilitating that. And in her opinion, that’s just fine.

Knowing that actually using a magic wish is courting disaster, you decide to simply lock away the lamp/monkey's paw/what-have-you. Unfortunately, without really thinking, you mistakenly say aloud "I wish I had the power to safeguard the world from capricious reality warping entities."

I thought I lived a good life. I was nice to everyone I’d see. I worked at an animal shelter. I have saved plenty of wild animals from kill shelters and fur farms. So why is it I ended up in hell? I looked around at all the torturing and screaming when what looked like an imp carrying an iPad came up to me. I tried to ask him questions. “Excuse me, can you help me out? I’d like to know why I’m in hell?” With a dull look on his face he responded. “That’s what I’m here for. Press your thumb on the button for me, please.” “Well you did say please.” I said under my breath as I pressed my thumb down only to get pricked as my blood seeped onto the device. “Yeah I try to be a bit nice. You’re about to be tortured forever…so.” Then I actually see some emotion on his face when his eyes perk up. “Oh wait a minute. Looks like I was wrong. You’re not here to get punished, you’re here to help us punish someone else. Follow me please.” Me punish someone. What’s that about? I guess I did once beat the crap out of a guy when I caught him kicking a stray dog. Also the times I got all those fur farms shut down by falsifying evidence of embezzlement and workplace sexual harassment. I look up to see him snapping his fingers. “HEY, we’re here.” I see behind him a pack of massive dogs. Some the size of monster trucks and others even bigger than that. Standing on top of a hill I see what could only be the legendary three headed hound of hell, Cerberus. Looking at them all the only thing going through my mind is. I just want to go up and pet every last one of them. The imp starts talking again. “This here is the pen where we keep the hellhounds. This is also where we stick animal abusers.” It’s then that I realize there’s other humans here too. Being used as chew toys and having to clean the hellhounds. “So all these people were the kind of jackass that would hurt an innocent animal?” “Yep, see the guy getting munched on over there? Drowned a bag of kittens. The woman getting clawed at. Got animal control to take away her neighbors dog because it was making too much noise.” “That’s horrible.” “Yep, now it’s your job to make sure these deplorable people follow this detailed list for maintaining the hellhounds and Lord Cerebus. Any of them step out of line or try something, you can either whip them or blow this whistle to sic the whole pack on them.” He says as he hands me the list, whip and whistle. I think I might actually enjoy my time in hell.

As you die,you wake up in a fiery place.You quickly realize you’re in Hell.You ask the next demon why you are there,as you lived a very good life.”You’re not being punished”,he says “You are the punishment.”

The priest looked exhausted and I didn't blame him. We'd been at this since 8:30 this morning, and it was creeping up on midnight. Hell, *I* was exhausted, and all I'd done was sit and wait my turn. Well, here it was. I was the last, the least, the smallest. The grocery shop clerk who'd had to drop out of high school to support my siblings, and was still living at home because even on the cheapest food, teenagers ate like horses and rent never did drop. Father Rick finished the exhortation to the gods and looked over at me. All the best powers had been taken. Flight, super strength, the ability to shoot eye lasers, what was left? It suddenly struck me and I giggled. "I choose... the ability to make an iron pot fall on the head of anyone I choose," I announced. "That's a stupid power," laser-eyes boy said scathing. He'd hung around to poke fun at everyone who came after him. Immediately a cast iron frypan landed on his head and knocked him out. "Thank you," Father Rick said. "You're welcome," I replied, and picked up the frypan. This had *possibilities*. The Karens at the supermarket tomorrow would never anticipate what hit them.

100 25 year olds have been chosen. each must choose a super power that cannot be repeated and cannot exceed the power of god. The goal is to see who can conquer the world. You have the number 100. The best powers have already been chosen. Then it's your turn and you choose.....

"How is this even possible?" I asked. "Haven't most of you been up here long enough that you should have seen this?" The Russian replied in his thickly accented English. "Yes. According to calculations I, as the longest stationed crew member, should have passed these stations over a thousand times. I can confirm we did not see them" "Mission control, how do those specimens look?" The ubiquitous pause preceded "Scans are coming back as completely human DNA. And fresh. The bones are coming back within our radiometric error, so we can't say anything for sure other than younger that they should be. Forensic analysis says the skeletons l belonged to adult humans. There are a few anomalies with the DNA. It appears to be imperfect, possibly cancerous, but whoever these people were, they can't have been healthy." Now two more astronauts joined the three aboard the main station, removing their helmets. Lili spoke first, dark locks floating in a corona behind her, "Plants. It was overgrown with plants. Atmosphere read as completely habitable with only a marginally larger percentage of carbon dioxide. Like the rest, this one had the exact same layout as ours. We analyzed the DNA. It was a potato, with small genetic defects. Around 0.02%" I cut her off with a suspicion, "What was the percentage of our skeleton?" Mark, our health specialist responded from my left, "around .2%" "Does anyone else see the pattern I'm starting to notice?" The Russian did, of course. The man was here for being brilliant after all. If only his words were as clear as his thoughts. "Yes. As we keep getting higher, the stations have more, how do you say, verisimilitude. Three at the bottom, no oxygen, no life. We go up, bacteria, oxygen. We go up again, our algae and our waste matter. Next, skeletons. Now, we have our plants. The skeleton DNA was wrong. This plant DNA is less wrong. The question is if we keep going, how much becomes right?" Lili spoke up again as soon as he stopped, "I was meaning to mention, we found bodies here, too. Five of them. I couldn't tell cause of death, but they all looked... Like us." The comms clicked. Mark's voice asked, "Mission control, we've just had a comms failure, and our sensors stopped reading for a moment. Do you read?" We all looked at Mark. He hadn't said anything. "What the f..." he started, as I murmured, fearfully, "It's number eight." Another click, "This is mission control, we read you loud and clear. Your position seems to be a bit farther up then when we last left you, adjusting projections now. Any more news from starside?" My voice this time, "Nothing new to report. It seems the seventh station was the last. Lili and Martinez have just returned and we're dropping orbit to intercept course to hand over specimens." On the instruments and outside the window, a perfectly similar ISS dropped past us. I clicked the comm button. It made no response. "Martinez, can you drop our thrust to follow them?" "No can do, the controls aren't listening to me." "It seems," our Russian companion said, "that whoever has been building these finally got one right. God help us all."

You are an astronaut on the international space station. recently, you and your fellow astronauts have been finding other international space stations in higher orbits. exactly the same, except empty, or with skeletons. You've just found the seventh, and this one is overgrown with plants...

The times are tough. You go to sleep at dawn after a long night’s work of extortion, robbery, blackmail, and other jobs of villainy, and wake up at night to find out you’ve been fired! Well, it wasn’t entirely unexpected. My villain overlords have started to recruit more of the new *henchbots*. How dare they! Do they not know how this job requires the personal touch of a human? These metal toys don’t know anything about being a villain! Do they know to leave an insignia after a successful burglary? Do they know how to sweet-talk the security guards into leaving them alone? Why, I don’t think they even have an iota of an idea about escape techniques! After the last job, I had sent my *curriculum sceleratus* (CV for our line of work) and visual proof of my accomplishments, which included 5% of the Smithsonian Museum and a few kilograms of precious jewels taken here and there. I was one of the most accomplished henchmen globally, yet they rejected me! I had 10 years of experience and proficiency in several languages, yet my applications were refused as I was ‘human’. To hell with them I said as I marched into my final choice. It is an awkward choice but there are job openings at the global Hero Organization for sidekicks, and I can’t refuse anything at this point. I had a squeaky-clean reputation when they ran my background check digitally. I was a master of escaping without a trace after all. Once that was done, the receptionist asked me to wait for an interview alongside the other candidates. The others seemed fresh. My instincts told me that they were recent graduates of the Hero School that had been a big point of debate in the Villain Council. This stupid school made the overlords bring about henchbots that cost me my job. I can’t give up the job to these kids! After what seemed like hours, I was summoned to the interview room. My heart started to race now. I haven’t felt such anxiety ever before, it’s creeping me out. I took my chair across the table. In front of me were two people both of whom I recognized. The elderly man examining me with his eyes was the Chairperson of the Hero organization, while the woman who seemed about my age was the Chief Hero of the City. Both of them were mortal enemies for villains. My first boss absolutely hated the Chief for foiling several of his money laundering schemes. After a preliminary round of simple questions ranging from “Who are you?” to “Why are you here?”, they asked me the dreaded question. “Do you have any previous experience?” “Wel,”, I shifted in my seat awkwardly, “I do, but it is unusual.” “Unusual?”, the Chief asked. “Well yes, I worked as a henchman for several years.” “You mean a sidekick?”, the man asked me. He seemed confused by my word usage. The Chief had a puzzled look on her face. “No, no, not as a sidekick. I used to be a henchman for villains. I had been one for a decade till now.” I started to sweat uncomfortably now. If the Chief tries something, I must be ready to evade her. Escaping laser beams isn’t so easy. They both looked shocked. I'm sure they were picturing a day of meeting fresh graduates and insane people convinced that they had superpowers, not meeting a former enemy. After regaining his composure, the man asked, “This is indeed unusual, but a candidate is a candidate after all.” “I doubt this is some silly nefarious scheme of theirs”, the woman added. "If so, they've shown their stupidity." “If it was, they would’ve picked a less honest one. Tell me, what made you leave the villains?” I explained the entire situation. The stupidity of my bosses. The injustice imparted. I did not leave anything. “That’s quite a story.”, the Chief chuckled. “My next question would have been about your strengths, but you’ve clearly demonstrated honesty and willpower through your speech!”, the Chairperson laughed. “Thank you, I hope it is a positive thing”, I replied. “Indeed, I think we might have a new sidekick here.” “Or do you still want to be called a henchman?”, the Chief laughed. “Sidekick please!”

You apply to the hero's organization. When asked for previous experience, you awkwardly shift in your seat. "The truth is, I've been henchmanning for random villains for a decade."

"What's the catch," I ask me². I catch his eye meeting mine. I know myself well enough to know he expected this question, and isn't confident I'll buy it. He has the benefit of being prepared. And I've always been a wiley motherfucker, so I know I'd better be careful with him. Turning away I ask, "And why does it smell like kerosene in here?" Gauging the type of space he's chosen for this encounter I realize if I don't agree he may not bother replacing himself wherever it is he came from. Maybe that kerosene is for me, if I don't agree. He laughs, "don't worry about that! The device, it needs a thin lubricant for the arbors that hold the gravitational rotors." "Sure bet," I think to myself. Dealing with myself, I've never trusted anyone less. What does that say about me? "There's not a catch, per se. It's a straight swap, your life will be better, but it's permanent. No takey-backsies," he says, though the whimsical language was a tell. He's trying to lower my guard, put me at ease. I do this all the time arguing with irate customers. I know his tricks. "Okay then, why this universe, why this me? You chose this me or us or place, whatever it is, you choose this one out of an infinite array of variations. There's something very specific you want here, and I won't trade until you tell me what it is." He starts a slow walk towards me, his tone dropping. He's trying his hardest to speak with a gravitas that's never come easy to me, or apparently him. "You're the only truly blank slate, believe it or not. All the others have already set in motion events I can't change, for better or worse. This is the only place I can be original." And it hits me: I am aegis of my nexus. I am the me at the center of all of us. Of course he wants to be original, he's realized that's the one thing he can't be anywhere else. All this time loathing myself, lamenting my lack of purpose. Hating myself for not having direction, for being a failure. But it's because I'm the one writing my story, I am the tip of the spear of my own existence. Countless versions of me, some better off, some worse, they all radiate outward... from here. He sees the realization on my face. He knows he shouldn't have said "original." "I see," he says, the tone of his voice dropping lower still. I respond instantly. "No, you don't," as I draw and fire my pistol without hesitation. He pauses, and falters. He couldn't have expected it. Not here, not with *me* me. That's how he wound up here, that's how he identified me: He couldn't see the future here. Because I'm the one creating it. I don't know if it's this world that's original, or just my place on this world that's original. But I know one thing. I'm in control of my destiny. Of all my destinies. And the only reason my story hadn't been better was because I wasn't writing it. I was waiting for it. But that's done now. Now I know. And I have a fucking transdimensional transporter. This story is about to get epic.

You are working a miserable dead-end job with no social life, and accepts that life is never going to get better for you. One day, you are plucked out of your universe by an alternate, more successful and confident version of yourself who desperately wants to trade places with you.

Ever since he was little, Edgar had always hated the church. Not because he didn’t believe in God; although he didn’t. He also didn’t think less of those who did believe in a higher power. The reason was simple: church is the most boring place on planet earth. But this time was different. This time, Edgar had snuck out with a girl from his school, Sally, when no one had been looking. Most of the adults had younger kids with them, and two fourteen year olds were not going to be missed. Potteridge was a modest town, yet the church had a sizable garden, even when not counting the graveyard. Apple trees, oak trees and wildflowers took up a sizable portion of the surrounding church garden, and it was behind the largest oak tree that the two had assigned as their spot. This was already the seventh time the two had met up like this during church service. It all had started out very naturally, when Edgar had snuck out by himself to spend time outside in the garden rather than inside listening to the sermon, and he had found Sally sitting beneath that very same tree listening to music. The two had become fast friends, and eventually something more. Beneath the tree, the two embraced each other. Something forbidden by both their families. But in here, they were free to do as they liked, despite being so close to everyone, only being hidden behind a tree. That was part of the fun. Not that the two ever did anything indecent—they would simply spend time with one another, and before service was over, one of them would return while the other would take the fall for sneaking out and not being present. This was to be the same. It was Sally’s turn to leave first and attend church partially, after their forty minutes of freedom were mostly up. “Well, I’ll see you at school,” Sally said, giving Edgar one last hug. “Yeah, see you in math.” The two of them were glued to one another, and it was obvious to everyone at school. It was just then, as Sally turned to return in, that thunder roared and the skies ripped open. A deep echoing voice followed. “TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND YEARS! TWO. HUNDRED. THOUSAND. YEARS! That’s more than eight thousand generations of you, and this? This is the best you can do?” A moment passed, then another. And another. Everything stood still, as if frozen. The birds in the garden, who were normally full of song, had disappeared somewhere. Edgar could not bring himself to move, and remained staring at Sally’s back, who was similarly frozen. A moment passed, and then another. “Speak then, explain yourselves, my foolish children!” the voice continued, clouds collecting to create a humanoid form in the sky in its location. There was a high-pitched noise, and light arose from the church. Edgar averted his eyes, now finding himself able to move. When he could bring himself to look at the church again, he was shocked – the church roof had disappeared. It hadn’t collapsed or been damaged; it was a clean removal of the entirety of it. “Edgar,” Sally said, turning to face him. “are you all right?” Edgar nodded. “I’m all right. How about you?” “I’m fine,” Sally responded. “Let’s head back in, come on!” And just like that, Sally started sprinting back inside. Edgar had always known that Sally was brave, but he did not know that she was fearless. In the sky, the clouds had now formed together what at first looked like a skull, but became a bearded face of an old man. “It can’t be,” Edgar said quietly, to himself. But he already knew what he was looking at – God. God, waiting… for a response? “Hey, wait up!” Edgar finally shouted at Sally, but she was already entering the door back inside. Edgar sprinted after her. Inside the church, Edgar found Sally and a large group of adults and children; some frightened while others seemed excited. “’O God!” a man in his late 40s yelled out. “It’s true, there are too many blasphemers in this world, this country, and even inside this very church! Please, help us and set us straight, Lord!” People in the now open-air church all looked at the man, whose name Edgar thought to be Benjamin, though he didn’t really know anyone in there aside from Sally and his own family. After a short while of quiet pondering, as well as Benjamin and some others prostrating themselves on the floor, the murmuring returned. There were less shocked people, and everyone seemed to have agreed that what they were witnessing was indeed God, and had begun reacting accordingly. One after another, the people in the church knelt down or started prostrating in the direction of the lump of clouds in the sky. “James,” the priest began, to the man Edgar had thought to be called Benjamin, “please think before you speak, if we are indeed witnessing God right now, we should not make hasty remarks. Or accuse one of our own of anything.” James scoffed at that. “You only say that because you know just as well as I do what you are.” The priest bit his lip, looked at James angrily and then left him, and faced where the protruding people pointed. “Yahweh, our Lord God, we do not know of what you speak. Please, could you elaborate to us—“ The priest was cut off. The booming voice returned to fill the skies and the church. “It is a simple question, my children. I’ve left you in charge of not only your own destinies but the planet’s as well—everything on this earth has been in your care. So explain the state of it all.” Silence filled the roofless church. Even the small children, who had been crying before, were silent. “What should we say, Father Cornstock?” a man asked. “Yes, what can we say to that?” another added. The murmuring returned, even more passionate than previously. Homosexuality, global warming, war, drugs, divorce, social media and a seemingly endless amount of topics were all discussed passionately, in near total mayhem. “Please calm down… please, calm yourselves… enough… ENOUGH!” It took a while, but Priest Cornstock was well-liked by the church members, and everyone quieted down. If it was any other day, the Priest getting upset enough to yell would have been the rest of the month’s hottest topic. Yet as things were, everyone understood there were more important things to worry about. “Thank you,” Cornstock continued, “now, we should think this through. Our Lord has appeared to us, his humble servants, and posed a very good question to us. We all know the world is in a questionable state right now; it has been for a long time now. So what is our reason? We should think this through, together, but not try to point the blame on any individuals here. Let us be more thorough in our pondering.” The children were guided to the other side of the hall, while the adults gathered together in a ring to discuss topics. Edgar, Sally, and other teenagers were allowed to remain near the adults, to listen in to the conversation. Homosexual marriages, female priests, war, liberals, republicans, global warming, taxation… many topics were covered in a heated discussion, while everyone also took respectful peeks at their Lord in the sky; many even remained on the ground, prostrating through everything. After some time, the conversation came to an end. Cornstock thanked everyone, and then cleared his throat. “Lord, we have arrived at an answer for you. We believe that it is the jews who are behind it all. The jews, who crucified our Saviour, and have now taken over every institution save for the church, perverting everything good in this world.” There was a flash, and then there was nothing. God had decided to do a do-over.

God suddenly appears in the sky, massaging his temples. "Kids, you're 200,000 years old, you're too old for this... I disappear a moment to get groceries and come back to this mess? What the fuck have you done to the house? Explain, before you're grounded for literally all of eternity."

The two old friends sat on that bench in front of the lake and watched the skaters dance and fall. Benny hadn’t seen Tyler in years. Not since before Tyler’s divorce, and that wasn’t so long after college had finished. They’d played baseball together back then, been pretty good friends, but not the type of friends to stay in touch should anything inconvenient get in the way. Now they‘d bumped into each other at the winter market and decided to go to the lake to talk a little more, to catch up. Benny held a beer in a gloved hand and sipped it every now and then. He had more beers in a paper bag at his feet. He’d offered them but Tyler hadn’t wanted a drink. Benny said, “So this thing, this parasite, it’s still in your head?” Tyler nodded. “Yup. Still there.” ”Any idea what it looks like?” “Something like a worm, doctors tell me. I never thought of it that way until they told me, but there you go.“ ”A worm. Unreal.“ Benny shook his head. “And they can’t get it out?” ”Maybe they could,” said Tyler. “Thing is, its wound around the different parts of my brain and latched itself deep — right down into the primal area. They could do surgery and try to kill it or remove it, but they say it’s not growing so if I can live with it in my head then I should probably just keep it there.” ”It’s not growing? Not found enough food in that thick old head of yours, huh?” Benny raised his brows and laughed. It was the kind of joke he could have made back when they’d been friends but now, a dozen years later, it felt dated. No, they were still friends. Just not as close as they’d once been. “Thing about parasites is they don’t want to kill their host,” Tyler explained. “The smart ones don’t, at least. Because when the host dies, it’s very likely they die too. No more easy energy for them.” Benny took a swig of beer and stared out over the lake. “Huh.” Last week, a single sheet of ice covered the lake in front of them and yet no one had been allowed to skate. Back then, a crack had spidered down the center of the sheet and people were worried it might split proper any moment. Both sides of the ice had barely been holding on, like hands growing tired, until eventually they’d slipped away from each other. More cracks had crept through the left ice sheet after that, until it was a handful of unsafe islands. The right sheet, however, had been deemed strong enough to skate on. As if letting go of the other sheet had helped it regain its strength. And now kids and parents in red hats and with steaming breath priouetted the circuit. “It’s been a long while,” said Benny. “Since I last saw you out.” ”I couldn’t bring myself to go out much after Sue left.” Benny felt a flush of heat even in the cold wind. Not that the marriage breaking down was his fault, but maybe he should have checked on his friend more than he had done — his friend who had fallen out of their social circle as suddenly as if he’d fallen down a well. They’d all known what had happened. That she took their kid, too. ”It’s good that you can be out again, now. And you look the picture of health. You look better than when we was playing baseball. Not an ounce of fat on you.” Silence, for a time. Then Tyler said, “It’s the parasite.” ”What? It’s eating your fat?” ”I must have gotten it from a food delivery. I got a lot of those during the years after they left. I’d get them to leave it in the porch so they didn‘t have to look at me. I looked like a bloated, sweaty moon and I didn’t want anyone to see me. Honestly, I despised myself.” There was that heat again on Benny’s cheeks. But he was thinking of his own wife now and he wasn’t sure why. Him and his wife, they spent less time together since they’d had kids. It was tough, they were both tired. Arguments could rise up like mist, from nothing, no one’s fault. The fog’d eventually dissipate but it’d leave a cold dampness clinging to them both for a long time after. “Then one day I wake up,” Tyler continued, ”and it’s as if I hear something talking right to my brain. As if there’s someone else in there — although I didn’t know what, at that point. Hey, it says. Hey, pal, we got to do something about this situation we’re in. This won’t work for either of us. Not in the long term.” Benny didn’t know what to say. It was hyperbole, sure, but it was still an odd thing to say. A parasite talking to you. ”I order food later that day, Chinese — my favorite — and it gets there, sitting on the porch, the smell wafting into the house. And suddenly, I feel repulsed. I can’t eat it. I manage to get it in the kitchen and I know it looks good, and yet I’m seeing what might as well be boxes of mold.“ ”That’s… That’s something,” said Benny. ”But I’m thirsty. I drink a lot of water.” ”You didn’t eat?” ”Not for maybe three days. I’ve tried a bunch of different takeout options by that point, but they all revolt me. So I dig out a pair of shoes and I go to the market. I figure I need to find something I can eat. Only thing I can stomach even looking at is veg and fruit.” ”Veg and fruit?” ”So that’s my diet for a long time. I lose a lot of weight, as if I’ve shedded my old skin, and out I step. Literally, out I step. I started coming out more often. Walking. Watching the lake, hiking the hills — all alone, mind you. And at night, for the first time since she left, I slept properly. There was a soothing voice in my head saying it was going to be okay. It was alright, things happened, mistakes happened. It was okay.” Benny laughed but it wasn’t much of a laugh. “So a parasite moves into your head and tells you it’s all okay, and it really is okay. It becomes okay.” ”Right. Sometimes, maybe, that’s all you need. A friend, of sorts. Someone to tell you that life goes on. That it’s okay, just look after yourself and the clouds will pass.” Benny finished his beer and crumpled the can. He watched the ice, saw the little unsafe islands that had shrunk since even yesterday. Felt a warm heat again; he didn’t like them shrinking. “Well,” said Tyler. “I best get moving.” ”Same. Wife and kids, they’ll be wondering where Pa is.” ”I got another scan later. Lot of doctors interested in me these days.” ”Sounds like a pain.” ”It’s not so bad.” ”We should do this again sometime,” said Benny. He’d blurted it out, almost desperate, and he didn’t know why. He thought he wanted to say something else but that’s what had come out. Tyler smiled, got up, and walked towards the car park, leaving Benny and his bag of beers to watch over the lake. Benny wasn’t ready to go home yet. He wanted to but wasn’t ready. There was a clear view of the lake here, no fog at all. He looked at the ice and wondered just when exactly the first big crack had appeared. He wondered if anyone had known which side of the ice would survive. How would you judge such a thing? He wondered about the parasite in his friend’s head, too. Maybe it wasn’t what had caused Tyler’s changes after all. Maybe Tyler had decided — even if subconsciously — that he needed to make urgent changes to his life, before his life ended early. His body or mind, or a combination of both, had reached breaking point and rebelled. Maybe that’s all it was. Benny took another beer out and cracked it open.

You believed the parasite that has latched onto your brain stem would kill you. Imagine your shock when it turns out said parasite actually straight up makes you physically better.

After a long day of work at the Mystical Arts Emporium, I just want to escape. Hoping for re-runs of *Happy Days* or *Leave it to Beaver*, I relax into my recliner and turn on the television. It is one of the few real leather recliners left after the Great Cow Extinction of 2009. Apparently, using cows as practice targets for dragon training was not the best idea. *Who would have thought?* “For just two easy payments of $19.99, you too can own your own horse goblin—“ I change the channel. “—Zathar, that is enough! Emperess Lyta has lowered taxes on potion sales and reduced theft and murder from Cthulhu’s followers. What can you say about—“ Depressed, I turn off the TV and make my way to the bedroom. Since the Great Multiverse Discovery of 2002, the world has been consumed with the fantastical. It's hard not to be consumed by it since most of the human race was annihilated by the dark arts. One by one, ordinary humans like me have either pretended to conform or demised. I chose conformity. As I set aside my wand and pull my prosthetic ears off, I can’t help but wonder what I have become. It is becoming too much of a burden to bear. But I fear I will be liquified or burnt to ashes if I reveal my true self—Bob the CPA from Illinois, son of Frank and Lisa, also CPAs. ———————————————————— “Galen, you look different today!” Londo the Great says to me as I clock in. “It’s Bob.” I say with a confident tone while also fearing my certain demise. You could hear a pin drop in the break room as everyone looked in my direction. “Yeah, that’s right. My name is Bob. And I am tired of pretending to be someone I am not.” Franz from the wand-making department slowly closes the door to the break room. He peaks out the window and then pulls off a wig. Suddenly, everyone in the room begins removing prosthetics, wigs, and other conformities. Then I hear in a faint whisper and everyone joins in unison, “Bob…Bob…Bob…Bob.” Someone tries to open the break room door. Everyone stops chanting and looks around in shock. The door handle continues to shake. “Hey, what’s going on in there? The shift has started. Get to work! Don’t make me alert Ulric!” It was Taramis the Warlock. Scared to death, everyone immediately puts back on their prosthetics and reports to duty, myself included. For the first time in twenty years, I didn’t feel alone.

You're an ordinary person that works a 9 to 5 job. You pay your taxes and regularly contribute to your retirement fund. In a world of magic, prophecy, and calls to adventure this makes you extremely unusual. People are starting to notice.

High tech, they said. New advances for medicine, a miracle of health for you. The secrets of the brain mapped out for the heathen and fool to understand easily. And so forth, and so on. You needed the money and didn't care, volunteered for the revolutionary brain scan. "Hold your breath," said the nurse as the machine turned and worked around your head. You nodded off somewhen during the procedure. You woke up to a cohort of worried doctors. It was hidden well, intertwined between layers of brain matter, without color or motion. But the scan made it out, science overcoming millennia of evolution to find the hidden worm. You were healthy, but as it happened to be breaking grounds, and you were down for more money, you accepted the surgery to get it out of your system anyway. Life was so simple before that moment. That moment when you felt the knife pull you away from your nest towards a silent, colorless world. Slowly asphyxiating, losing form the further away you were from your body. Or was it your body? Doctors and scientists watched your former body wake up, get up, open its eyes and remain there motionless. They watched you wriggle in a way meaning awareness and more thoughts than a simple organism was supposed to show. A nagging feeling, clenched teeth. A volunteer. A scan, the same parasite found, and again, and again. Who were we? The human? The worm? Not both, we lost control of the body when away. What was a human without the worm? As little as the worm. When did the organism come into contact with humans? Was historical biology a lie? Maybe God should be watched through the prism of the worm. "Oh god," said someone before breaking down in tears. Now came the responsibility of discovery. They watched in the mirrors and searched their eyes. Was there a hint of the worm in there? A glimmer of emptiness like your hollow body shows, still as always? Who was who? So many questions as you shriveled closer to death. "Enough," said one, picked you up, put the body on the table and took the knives out. Back into your nest, a bed of wonders to sleep in and grow in. Your eyes open. You clench and unclench your fingers. They are yours, you hope they are. "We shall never speak of this again," you're paid, the research is scrapped, the event forgotten. Life goes on, work, people, staying busy Sometimes, you brush your teeth before the mirror and raise a hand. You clench and unclench your fingers. They are yours. Or are they?

Doctors found a parasite attached to your brain, when you wake up from the operation to get it removed you realize you are in a laboratory and have a way smaller body, you were the parasite without realizing

"Calgary? In the middle of Canada? Do you know how long it takes to get that far inland? No way I can do that." I turned away from my latest client and started to walk to the door. "I will pay you three million dollars. This hard drive has something very special on it." The man opened up a briefcase showing hundred dollar bills. That was more money than I made in 10 years, even before the virus spread. "Tell me where it is." ​ I departed the yacht in my jet ski, and headed back to shore. My armored RV was right at the shore, and since it was high tide I rode right up to the ramp at the back. I secured the jet ski, checked my fuel and water levels, then started to head out. It took a couple of hours until I started to see *them*, the withered hulks left of those who lived away from the ocean. They wandered around in a daze, hoping to wander into something they could eat. Sometimes they would come towards the road when they heard my vehicle, their rotting bodies bouncing off the front of my RV. After 12 hours of driving, I stopped by a gas station and suited up. The gas pumps didn't work, but the buried tank was still mostly full. I set up a siphon to refill my tank, then went inside to scavenge for supplies. One husk was inside, trying to gnaw through a can filled with ravioli, but a quick hit with my bat and it was gone. I grabbed all the cans of food and other supplies the husks haven't chewed through, then went outside to see my tanks were full. I drove off road a bit, then parked and made my RV was sealed. A quick soak in my hot tub to relax, then I headed to bed. The next five days went about the same, then I hit Calgary right as the night set in. I stayed in some town right outside the city, and waited until morning. With first light I headed into the town, heading to the airport. Right as I passed some blue ring on an overpass, I heard a plane overhead. I looked up to see a small plane coming in for a landing. My foot pushed the pedal to the metal, and my RV zoomed towards one of the hotels. No way this was a coincidence. I parked out back, and suited up. The lock was easy to pick, and I headed inside the building. *Third floor, room 306.* So far no husks, but I remained cautious. I found the room eventually, and saw... an open door. The only open door I've seen so far. I paused for a moment, and heard someone inside. I readied my bat, and dashed inside the room. And came face to face with a shocked looking woman. She jumped back, and pointed the shotgun in her arms at me. "Who the fuck are you?" "I'm Josh, and here to get the laptop behind you." She looked confused for a second, then lowered her shotgun. "You must be the guy my client hired a week ago. He thought you had died." I chucked at that. "No, just spent the last week driving here." Her eyes opened wide. "Driving? How? You can't spend more than 24 hours away from the ocean. How did you spend a week driving here?" I heard some shuffling from the hallway, and peaked out the door to see over a dozen husks coming down the hall. I slammed the door shut and ran to the window. "No time for that. Are you good at climbing?" She nodded. I opened the window and looked at the airport across the road. Her plane was being swarmed by husks, but when I looked down only a few were at my RV. That was why I avoided planes, they were too loud, and RV's could be modified to be almost silent. I shoved the laptop in my backpack, and started to climb down the side of the hotel. She followed me, and we made it to the bottom. She started to head to the airport, but I stopped her and pointed at my RV. I ran up to a husk by the door, and slammed my bat into its head. Another one came around the corner, and the woman blasted it with a shotgun. Blast, my ears were ringing now, and every husk in a mile must be heading this way now. I hurried to unlock the RV, and jumped inside. She looked at the hoard coming out of the hotel, and ran inside after me. I slammed the door shut and locked it, then started the engine. "What do we do now?" She asked while sitting down beside me. "Now we start driving back. We will be safe once we get out of the city." "What about my plane?" "Too many husks there. Didn't you see the crowd swarming it?" "But driving will take too long. I need to get into the ocean within 8 hours." I pointed at the back of the RV. "Go soak in the hot tub back there." She gave me a look somewhere between disgust and confusion. "What good would that do? It's not the ocean." "It's ocean water. That's good enough to stop you from turning." The disgust left her face, leaving only confusion. "Don't ask me why I'm the only person in the world to figure that out."

The world was attacked by a deadly new virus. Soon scientists realized that the only way to survive was to dive in the ocean once every 24 hours. Your post-apocalipse profession is recover items left behind deep inside the continent, and today you are sent to the furthest you have ever been...

I’m writing this as my last message I don’t know who will find it , or even if it will still exist after this but… well here’s hoping This gun I have will change the history of anyone I shoot so that it was justified , does it make them a criminal? A murderer? I don’t know until I kill them and then history changes but I remember it , I remember all of it. I’ve done some horrible things as it stands but overall I’ve been lauded as a hero, but I know deep down I’m a monster , so I’ve decided to use the gun on myself. My hope is that the world will be better off or that the history that is written won’t be to destructive , but I can’t imagine a history where almost everyone agrees it was a good idea I killed myself was a great thing without something bad happening as part of it , but that’s ok , I’m fine being the villain this time if there’s even a chance that the damage I have done so far is undone , though maybe I may become the biggest monster humanity has ever seen, I guess I won’t know after I pull this trigger. Signed A. H.

You have a retro-causality gun. If you shoot anyone with it, the timeline will be rewritten such that you were entirely justified.

**The Story of Rog the Space Pioneer** Rog look sky. Rog be part of sky, Rog born with higher goal. Rog look around, tribe strong, tribe working. They have goal too. But they goal simple, can’t understand Rog goal. Rog can’t understand Rog goal, but Rog never give up. Rog see familiy age, see father be old, hair gray, smile warm, smile kind. He greatest Dad. Rog see friend be strongest warrior, be best friend, peace maker, biggest criminal. They look happy when die. But Rog stay. Rog live in home he born. Rog see only old people. Rog still young but Rog eyes see all go. Rog see his hill grow, change and tiny fires be born. Fires grow, people come, new people, they make axe, bow, spoon. Spoon good for eating. Rog like firework. Rog do firework too. Rog burn hand, Rog burn hand again. Fire no friend, fire tool. Rog see flicker of image in mind. Rog overwhelmed. Rog see sky beast of fire and shiny rock. Rog look longingly at sky. Someday he die too. Just like dad. Rog working. Rog learning. Metall, fire, creation. Part of Rog. Rog growing with world. World can’t grow without Rog. But world grow angry. World start fighting. Big fight. No fair. No easy club murder. Youngsters making big war. Huge throwers, sharp metall. Rog must fight. Rog has strength of iron in heart. Rog fight for his hill. Protect it. Build wall, build houses. Other people build houses. They need help. They ask Rog. Rog help, but Rog has goal. Again Rog see people go. They lead city. They run kingdoms. They make most beautiful garden. But Rog still here. Rog never go. Rog life everlasting. Never make friend. Friend go. Rog sit in city. Train drive by housecomplex. Rog don’t pay rent, he own. Rog old money, stone old money. Rog finally has plans. Rog finally discover what goal means. Rog build beast of fire and metall. Rog build intergalactic connections. Rog only want die, but Rog understand. Rog see humanity. Rog see them die. Over and over, rog see them die. Live futile life. Rog see how they cling to shiny rocks. Rog see war for good. Rog see more war for nothing. Rog here. Always here. Rog learn. Rog be better. Rog don’t look world anymore. Rog working, never stop. Rog working, can’t stop. He meet other people. Smart like Rog. They build metallbeast who touch sky. They die. Rog never give up, Rog build metallbeast to touch moon. They die. Rog feel not enough. Rog still here. Rog forever here? Rog working so hard. But now way. Still no soul in sky. How long Rog must stay. How Rog ever reach sky? Rog want to see dad, want to tell him everything. Rog can’t reach. Rog work so hard. But Rog can’t reach yet. Rog live, Rog live for thousands of years. Always learning. Rog body now part metall, part fire. Rog eyes dim, see only bright stars. Rog working. Old finger touch all his paper. Make correction here. Connect this wire. Rog sitting in metallbeast. Rog made elegent design. Rog carve his life in shell. It was lonely life. But Rog regret nothing. He learned. Rog here for higher goal. Rog here to bring humanity to new level. Rog will advance humanity. Rog push button. Giant energy send out. Rog tear space. Heh Rog stoneage strength never gone. Rog start metallbeast. Metallbeast come to life. Breathing fire, riding into sky. Rog see all colors. Rog see all lights. Rog travel forever but go by in blink of eye. Rog flying into space. Rog traveling through tear in space. Rog faster than light. Rog faster than stone thrown. Rog release metallbeast. Metallbeast stay in sky. Bloom like flower. Every light, every star, everything connected to Rog. ​ *Written by Aras*

Every person is born with a specific goal in mind. Until their goal is completed, they can't die. You are homo erectus in the Stone Age, nearly two million years ago, and you don't understand what "intergalactic space travel" even means.

“If a human walks in, sell it as a tent. If a giant walks in, sell it as a shirt” he said. This has had to be one of his crazier ideas, but I’m still getting payed so who am I to complain? It’s actually really impressive, a shapeshifting piece of cloth that can change shape, size, colour, texture — and anything else — but perishes before you use it. If this were a normal shop then we’d get lots of trouble but who’s going to stop a few wandering merchants? We’ll be long gone before they realise it’s a scam. Humans believe shelter to protect them from the elements is important and giants have trouble finding clothing that’s the right size for them but what would a god need? What would a divine power want? “Hello traveler! I’ve heard that you sell pretty much everything but wasn’t willing to believe it without seeing it with my own three eyes, so what do you sell?” Surely this is a joke or a prank or a hallucination or some undiscovered shapeshifting species, it has to be! *writers block*

"If a human walks in, sell it as a tent. If a giant walks in, sell it as a shirt. Follow this idea for all our wares."

A pebble tumbled through the grates and fell down to the floor of my cell. It was the most exciting thing I'd seen in three years. I buried my face in my knees again, curled my dark, frigid corner of Hell. If I was quiet, if I remained unseen, unnoticed, maybe I could avoid a thousand years of boiling or being torn in two by the giants in the arenas. This was better, I reminded myself. Not good, but better. And there's a rock now. A little better all the time. I sighed, my breath a cloud in front of me. Can you believe I used to be somebody? I used to have opinions on boats and colognes. I used to live in a golf course. If only I could reverse things; spend 77 years in here, and an eternity in life. God, I would change so much. Not that you're listening. But I would've given more, listened more, cared more. Not for any petty, maniacal god, but for myself. Because sitting here for so long has made me realize that the things I miss and the things that really mattered has always been the people I love. I sniffed as a hot tear made its way down my cheek. Something up top heard me. Footsteps approached, two feet sprinting quickly across the brimstone ground. I curled tighter around myself, wishing I could shrink, that I could disappear. I wanted to never be seen again, be so tiny and insignificant that the monsters would simply pass me by. Two hands grabbed the bars of the grate and slowly dragged it away. I squinted hard, shivering, wincing. "Good morning, neighbor." The words were whispered. I dared to peek up. An older man, unburned, unbroken, stood before me in a red cardigan and slacks. He smelled like cinnamon. "You look cold," he told me as he shrugged off the jacket, "Maybe this will help." He draped his cardigan over my shoulders and I winced as it touched me. Every touch, every second of contact was like fire on my skin. The cardigan was warm, but I was waiting for pain to start. "I think I can help you get on out of here," he told me, looking me straight in the eyes. "Would it be okay with you if I unlocked your chains?" I didn't answer. My mouth forgot how to work, I'd forgotten how to speak. My words would be used against me anyway, the gentle man turned into a towering demon, laughing at my trust. Two clicks and the shackles fell off. "There. Doesn't that feel better?" When I didn't answer, he stayed quiet to. But I sensed him moving beside me, taking a place on the floor with me. He started to hum some tune, something vaguely familiar. It touched a part of my mind that hadn't been tortured yet. *"Would you be mine, could you be mind? Won't you be my neighbor?"* I'd seen that show. I recognized him now. It was *Mister Rogers.* Or, it was a demon pursuing my most protected thoughts. It was after the time I'd spent with my mother before she passed. It was carefree childhood, wood panel walls and shag carpets, VHS tapes and Lite Brite machines. "Sure is drafty in here, neighbor." Sure is. "If you want I can take you someplace much more comfortable." A volcano's cauldron? A room filled with rabid dogs? A coffin? "We're all neighbors up there. We're all friends." "Are you real?" I blurted clumsily, the syllables muddled and my volume ghoulish. "I understand why you wouldn't believe me," he nodded. "It does seem awfully silly that I might be here." I did find it strange that a character from my childhood was sitting in a frozen cell in the bowels of Hell with me. "But I assure you, I'm real, and I'm here to take you home." "Why?" I groaned through clenched teeth. "Because I believe there's a little good in everybody. And a Heaven where I know you are hurting is not a Heaven for me at all. You don't deserve to be here." "I do deserve it," I shot back. And I did. I'd hurt people, betrayed them, poisoned the world, hoarded my wealth. I WAS a bad person. "Is that so?" He sat back and nodded. "Well then I guess we're going to be roommates. Because as long as you're here, I don't want to be anywhere else." 700 years later, when the cardigan still hadn't killed me, I asked if the offer was still on the table.

Fred Rogers stands at the gates of Hell. He wasn't sent there to be punished. He's there to redeem every lost soul, because deep down, he believes there's good in all of us.

I sigh as my new handmaid braids my hair. "What's wrong, your highness?" she asks. "The fact you call me that despite everyone knowing the truth. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the pampered lifestyle, but-" The handmaid giggles. "Oh, you are the COMPLETE opposite of the princess! You are so content and relaxed... polite and well-mannered... the princess was ALWAYS getting into fights with her parents." "Well, that explains how everyone noticed the switch" I remark. "Serena said something about finally getting to go on an adventure... she said she's never coming back... what you just said explains so much. To her, the castle was no more than a fancy prison." "Well, now she's free, and you have everything you could ever want, your highness" the handmaid chimes. She presents a mirror. Gosh, do I look pretty! "To tell the truth, I was always waiting for the day I could just stop working so hard and relax... but even then, I'd still have responsibilities. I always ran away from home myself, but to avoid chores." I chuckle. "Thank you for doing my hair. This is gorgeous!" The handmaid beams. "Thank you for the comment, your highness. Princess Serena never let me do her hair. She seemed to hate me." I turn around and give the handmaid a hug. "Forget about her. I appreciate you being here. I may want the life of luxury, but I'm no spoiled brat." I let go, smiling at her. "To prove how much I care about you, I'll give you my real name, then you can tell me yours. I'm Julia." The handmaid courtesies. "Zina." "Well, it's nice to meet you, Zina. Could you tell me what I need to know to be a princess? I don't want to let the king and queen down." I gently dry her eyes with my thumbs. "Well, you're doing everything right so far. I feel like everything will come naturally to you. Oh, but I should let you know that you've already got suitors lining up." Zina looks at me curiously. "Well, tell... *my dad* that he can turn away slobs, possessive jerks and controlling types. I won't take anyone who will treat me like a 'dumb girl', I deserve respect." I fold my arms. Zina's face falls. "Oh... the best suitor is always chosen by the king... and his criteria is a strong man who can protect his daughter from any and all threats..." "PERFECT!" I exclaim. "I will speak to father myself." I exit my room and locate the king in the throne room. "Father" I call. "Ah, princess... *Serena*" he says with a wink. "My precious girl. What can I do for you?" "I was just talking to Zina, my handmaid. You're looking for a strong, brave man as my suitor, right?" My father nods. "Well, I want a man who will treat me with equal respect and won't look down on me." "Hmm..." my father rubs his chin. "Most men will want to be in complete control..." I giggle. "If the army is entrusted to my suitor, then I can take care of my citizens. That way, less burden would be on my husband, and for political matters teamwork will be required, as he'll have military knowledge, and I'll have 'people' knowledge'." The king slaps his thigh and gives a hearty laugh. "Clever thinking, my girl! In fact, there's a suitor that would be perfect for that arrangement! He's a bit of a brute, and would very quickly leave the matters of the people to you! He wasn't my first pick, I'll admit, but you'll be the one marrying him, and I don't want to force an unhappy marriage on you! I will send an invitation to him immediately!" I courtesy. "Thank you, father. I look forward to meeting him." \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Thank you for reading! More stories [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x374da/oneoff_stories_a_collection_of_stories_which_are/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)

You look identical to the royal heir. So much so, that they approach you to switch places with them. Curious as to why they want your hard life so badly, you went with the switch. You were caught immediately, but strangely no one seemed to be in the hurry to get the real heir back.

"Good afternoon, everyone!" grinned Mr. Milo, setting down his coffee, "I hope everyone buckled down and completed their homework." Milo's classroom filled with the sounds of zippers and the shuffle of papers as his students began rummaging in their backpacks for his assignment as requested. Quiet conversations were mumbled as papers began being slid onto desks around the room. Milo smirked as worried students spoke in hushed tones to each other about their doubts on how they did. He waited patiently, pretending not to listen until something familiar caught his attention. A melody being hummed somewhere in the class. His eyebrows raised above his spectacles as he scanned the room. Anne bobbed her head gently to the tune coming through her closed lips. No headphones dangled from her ears, she seemed completely oblivious to everyone and everything around her. Milo watched her intently, surprise and sadness in his face. Her eyes rested on the finished homework on her desk in front of her, oblivious to his gaze. Nobody in his class seemed to take notice, everyone wrapped up in their own conversations. Their teacher broke his stare and clenched his jaw as he stared out through the windows to his right. Memory flooded his mind as the melody cut through the chatter in the room. "I've changed my mind," Milo smiled, looking away from the windows. The classroom hushed when he spoke, waiting politely. "You can all have another night to finish your assignment. I think today we'll have a movie day." Whoops and cheers roared from a few students and they all returned their papers to their bags. Mr. Milo pulled down a drop screen over his blackboard in the front of the room and fired up his projector. "It's not an accurate historical film by any means, but I have a feeling you'll all enjoy it," murmured Milo, then more quietly to himself he whispered, "it was much darker in reality." The movie Kingdom of Heaven began as Milo stepped over to the door to switch off the lights. He flipped them off and met eyes with Anne. She stared at him intently as the rest of his students fell into the film, hypnotized. With a subtle jerk of his head he stepped through the door and into a deserted hallway, closing the door softly behind him with a click. He breathed deeply through his nose and let it out slowly through his mouth as his classroom door opened again. Anne stepped out, closing it again. They both stood there silently for a moment, waiting for the other to speak. "When were you born?" Milo asked sharply. The corners of Anne's mouth twitched into a smirk, "it's never been polite to ask the age of a woman, now or then." "Tenth century?" Milo said. "Older," she said shaking her head. "Why haven't you aged further?" Milo asked. "Why haven't you?" she shrugged. "How did you know?" Milo whispered, looking up and down the hallway. "I'm good at finding people like us," Anne said quietly, "have you never met another?" "No," Milo said. Anne's forehead wrinkled as her eyebrows came together. "Never?" "Never," he whispered, "how many have you met?" "As many as I've had to kill," Anne said, her voice growing cold, the innocence fading. "To ki-" "Ssshhh," she whispered, "enjoy the time you have left. It's already done." Milo stiffened, his eyes flickered left to right as he searched her eyes. She was being completely truthful. When could she have poisoned him? The answer came without difficulty. "The other teachers?" Milo choked, "just to get to me?" "Whoever drank from the same pot of coffee as you," she said. "Why?" "You were a great teacher, Mr. Milo," she said, ignoring the question, "even if you went a bit off the approved curriculum from time to time." A thin line of blood slipped from both his nostrils as Anne watched him fade away in front of her.

You’re a thousand year old immortal who’s taken a teaching job. Everything was going well until one of your students started humming a song from your childhood.

I kept a keen eye on my hoard. I found my collection years ago, after growing bored of the gold and jewels that had made it up then. It was the process of growing up, I knew. A young dragon, full of hormones and developing brains had to have a hoard. But the classic only worked so far. It fed the initial greed, amassing wealth and items of interest. For some, it was what they were meant to hoard. But most grew bored of such things in time. Not that we got rid of them. Money was always helpful, especially in growing a true hoard. I had found mine when walking through a nearby city. We had an agreement, the city and I. I would come down one day a month and do some jobs they wanted help with. In return I got paid, and they didn't hunt me. It was a win win situation. Being as the area was my territory, they were protected from dragon attack. By having them on my side, I didn't have to worry too much about traps. So, I was walking through the streets, their eyes upon me. But then I heard a shout and laughter, as a trio of youngsters ran around. Something about them made me greedy again. Not to eat them, but to have them. I refrained from acting, but it sparked my interest. It wasn't children so much that I wanted, but them specifically. It was during a demolition project that I realised just what it was. There was an old building that had suffered a bad fire, enough that even I could tell the structure was unstable. A few shoves brought it down, for the people to clear. As the last wall fell my gaze landed on a nearby ramshackle place. It had clearly seen better days, but it still smelt of blood, magic and gold. The city's Adventuring Chapter. I felt a flash of that same greed, though not quite as strong. It fell together in my mind, what I was craving. Adventurers. Those who fight for both gold and to help. I wanted adventurers. I left the city soon after, my work done for the day. I held my normal chest of gold as I flew, mind whirling. From what I remembered, their chapter wasn't doing so well. With my presence nearby, most large monsters stayed away. It left the smaller ones, the sort that hide and ambush. But the guard were normally pretty good at keeping them down. I wanted them to be better. Looking at my pile of money, I realised I could make them better. I spent the next month scheming, plotting what to do. When the time was right I took with me both my normal empty chest and a smaller one. As usual I met with the Grand Lord, exchanging pleasantries. It was there I proposed to fund the Chapter. He was surprised, that much was evident. But the money I brought with me helped grease the wheels. Though I had work to do that day, we agreed to meet in the evening, when I normally left. I saw the trio again, still laughing. Looking closer, I could almost see them as adventurers. Strong and brave, but kind and compassionate. I wanted them to be so. I wanted my hoard to be the best. I knew they would be my crown jewels as it were. That evening myself and the Grand Lord talked. Rather than me ferrying money over each month, a portion of my normal earnings would be used. I would also make a nice cave system, a sort of teaching dungeon for them. I could terrorise a group of those little monsters into populating it, and they would help train them. Not that I would allow killing in there. I did make a more awkward demand for him though. I didn't want it to be known that I was helping. I wanted my hoard to work it out for themselves. He promised to do so. What he would do is be the public figure for it, getting his political benefits. But the adventurers themselves would be able to find out the truth, if they straight up asked me. It took a couple of years for this all to be up and running. I made a tribe of goblins and one of kobolds help me, making up the numbers in the dungeons. The Adventuring Chapter had a complete makeover, with discounts provided to them for the local shops. My contribution made a huge difference, being a literal fortune spent on them. I watched from afar, pleased with my hoard. A few of the older parties saw through it, approaching me directly about it. I proudly told them the truth, that they were my hoard, which they found rather amusing. I laughed when one of them suggested that I act as a quest giver as such. But it was a good idea. They spread rumors about how only the best receive a quest from the dragon. If they beat it, I would hear a request from each member. I allowed it, enjoying some of my hoard working hard to see me. My little monsters gave me word of larger threats nearby, ones that hid outside of my territory, or lurked in less visited areas. They worked well for my adventurers, a sort of final test for them. Over the years I watched them grow. The trio became a quintet, joining up as adventurers. I watched on like a proud parent as they seized every class with both hands, training hard. They worked so much to reach my quest. I gave them one to kill a Storm Hydra that liked to run nearby. They won, coming back tired but unharmed, carrying its severed heads as proof. Their leader, one of the original three that had an affinity for magic, spoke her request first. "My request is an answer to a question. So tell us, what exactly do you hoard?" I swished my tail, looking at each one. I was so immensely fond of them, as they were the crown jewels I thought them to be. "A fine question. The answer is you. Adventurers." They fell silent, shock on their adorable little faces. I slowly blinked, lowering my head to their level. "You're part of my hoard, and always will be."

"So tell us, What exactly do you hoard?" They blinked their reptile eyes lazily at the party of heroes standing victorious after the last battle of their quest. The dragon swung their tail in a mockery of a shy smile. All were uninjured and accounted for. What a great hoard indeed.

I sat back in my chair, my head already starting to hurt. I'd had this happen before, but the hallucination was especially vivid this time. I was definitely overdue for getting my dosage reviewed. He was standing in my kitchen, raiding my cupboards, his tattered black robes revealing more withered, rotting flesh than I was entirely comfortable with. I grabbed a pen, and made a note to describe a second layer of burial wraps or something. The last thing my heroine needed was to be wrestling the Nexus of the Necropocalypse from the villain, and accidentally get a faceful of flapping nasty zombie schlong. "Look, I get it. Good triumphs, the story has a happy ending. Audiences eat that shit up," said the Ghoul King, reaching for the top shelf stuff. "But it's trite. It's been done. Break free of conformity; do something fun." Something dinged in the microwave, and he slapped the cupboards shut. I rubbed my eyes as he helped himself, not even bothering to tell him off. Villain's gotta evil, after all. He joined me beside the computer, carrying two glasses of rum and the rest of my leftover spaghetti from last night. He offered me one of the glasses, and I took it without thinking. I started to sip at it, before I remembered he hadn't washed his hands since that scene where he ripped the doomed love-interest's heart out barehanded. Gross. "We've been over this, G.K. For the story to work, the hero must triumph. Maybe not in this chapter, or even this book; but by the end of the story? Definitely. Otherwise, I... hell, I might as well go make a documentary." He shovelled a forkful of my lunch into his fetid maw, frowning. A stray noodle dangled grotesquely from a gap in his ruined cheek, slithering wetly back into the tupperware. "Damn, dude. Evil is evil, but did you have to microwave that with sauce in it? It's gone all orange forever, now," I complained. He nodded. "Yeah, I did. I'm petty like that. You used too much garlic, by the way," he countered, carelessly scraping the fork with each bite. "But look, there's nothing saying happy endings are *the right* endings. Like, look at Star Wars. You remember the Endor Holocaust theory, right? You remember thinking, 'Damn, wouldn't that make an awesome denouement'?" Absent-mindedly, I sipped my rum. I grimaced as I recalled, too late, why I hadn't before. It tasted of aborted character arcs. "Yeah, but do *you* remember why they don't show that stuff to the audience? People are not there to be depressed, G.K. They're there to experience something exciting, something different." He gobbled up another bite, and set aside the remainder. Not enough that it would really be worth keeping, but just enough that I would feel guilty throwing it away. The bastard. "What do you mean, *different?* The hero *always* wins; it's a damned formula, for Nergul's sake!" he insisted. "Yeah, because people *need* it!" I shouted, losing my temper. "*Why would anyone need formulaic tripe?!*" he shouted back, the echoing whispers of infinite darkness lending unnatural weight to his voice. I growled, and huffed, and refused to look at his blind, maggoty eyes as he stared me down. As much as I knew the answer, I hated it. "Just tell me why *I* have to lose, *every time,* and I'll leave off it," he insisted. I knew he was being petulant and wrong. But I couldn't help see him as one of my cherished characters. I loved him, as I loved all my creations. Well, admittedly, I loved *him* at arm's length, and sanitized anything he touched even though I knew he was a hallucination because *fucking ew*, but... still. "Fine," I relented. "I hate that it's true, but... We need it because we live here." He sat back, folding his wretched limbs skeptically, the office chair creaking under the weight of this grotesque visage animated by magic, hate, and vengeance. He didn't interrupt, so I continued. "For hundreds--no, thousands--of years, we've enjoyed fiction where heroes can beat villains, where good triumphs over evil, where noble knights slay venomous dragons. Because it... just doesn't happen, really. Not in real life." I set down my rum, noticing there was a bit of decayed skin floating in it. So, so gross. I *really* hoped it would fade when he did, and was incentivized to hurry the process along. So I pressed my point. "Look, most murders go unsolved, in the real world. Most crimes, even. You want to know why we need heroes that win? It's because the most common crime in our lives is *our bosses stealing our wages.*" I stood up, rubbing my temples. I needed to pace, and did so, stepping over the villain's foot as he reflexively tried to trip me. He didn't try again, content to watch and listen as I had my breakdown. I tried to put it into words, into a narrative, that made sense. "Fuck, dude. War, billionaires, terrorists, broken homes, riots, mental illness, discrimination, wage theft: there's *so much*... just, sheer *banality of evil*... all around us, every day. We want heroes because we *need* heroes; our lives are filled with all these little dragons, that we aren't *allowed* to slay. We're forbidden from fixing things. Politicians are in bed with lobbyists who *actively want to let the world burn*, so their companies have a... a better *quarterly earnings report*. We're told that microplastics in our babies is our fault because we didn't recycle enough, only to find out that most of our efforts in recycling is *literally worthless* because we were lied to from the beginning about fucking recycling!" I could see the Ghoul King flinch when I turned on him, and pinned him to the chair with an authoritative finger. I seethed, realizing I was getting caught up in minutia. With a monumental effort, I forced myself to breathe, to relax, and get back on topic. "We need heroes, and we need to see those heroes win, because *otherwise*, we will lose hope that we can... can be heroes too, someday." I said, trembling with adrenaline. "You are our scapegoat, our safe target. Our sacrifice, on the altar of Hope." He squirmed, wanting to argue, but he was already fading. The spell was broken; the evil vanquished. In that moment, I remembered why we love villains in the first place. I watched him disappear, watched him fade back into the land of make-believe, to a doomed existence. But one where he *mattered*; one where he had *meaning.* A world that needed him, that *we* needed him to inhabit. A world where Evil had a name, and a face, and a capital letter so everyone recognized it. A world where we knew *exactly* what needed to be done, and how, so as to save everyone. A world we all wished we could inhabit, if only long enough to learn what it felt like for good to win; for us to get a chance to be heroes ourselves. I whispered the hard truth to an empty chair, and my voice shook. "If we didn't have any paper tigers, we'd have to face the real ones. You have to die, there... so that we can live with ourselves, here."

Before their desmise, the villain of the story pleaded to the author to let them win. Stating that the work will sell more due to the audience considering it to be a profound and deep social commentary about the unfairness of society and how the good guys don't always win.