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“Hullo, luv” came a cheery voice. Trish, sitting in stunned silence in the middle of the road, turned her head around to see who it was. A tall man with a bowler hat and a casual smile stood there looking at her. “What just…” Trish started, but the man put a finger to his lips and shook his head. He held out a hand to help her up and she took it, her arm shaking from her shock. As soon as her hand grasped his, both Trish and the man were transported from the crash site to what looked like the foyer of some grand estate. On Trish’s right was a grand spiraling staircase with golden railings heading to the upper level of the house, while on her left was an open door with simple steps leading down into a basement of some kind. Directly in front of Trish and between the two stairways was a set of ornate double doors. Before her mind could register what had happened, Trish felt a gentle tug on her hand from the kindly man in the bowler hat, guiding her through the double doors. On the other side was what could only be described as Valhalla. The hall was about as long as a football field, with impossibly long tables stretching from end to end. Loud music, dancing, beer jugs clinking, food on every inch of the tables melded together into one raucous party. The gentleman guided Trish to an empty seat, and sat down beside her. Almost instantly a barmaid came over to the table. “What’ll you be havin’ then m’lady?” She asked Trish. “Give ‘em a minute, Thyra, but bring me the usual iffin you please.” The gentleman replied. Thyra gave a short curtsy then wandered off. The gentleman turned towards Trish. “How you feelin’ luv?” Trish looked at the gentleman, then gasped and clutched at her chest. “But… I felt the pole go right through me! Why…” her eyes darted frantically around the room, and her breathing quickened. “Shhhh, there there,” said the gentleman patting Trish’s shoulder. “Bottoms up.” He handed her a small glass of translucent, golden liquid. Trish sipped hesitantly at it, then - realizing her thirst - downed the glass. Instantly a warm and relaxing glow filled her and she sighed almost contentedly. “That’s better luv. Yes, you’ve passed on, as they say, but never fear. I’ll make sure you’re in good hands before long.” The gentleman smiled gently. Trish was taken aback for a moment, but then the pieces fell into place in her mind. “Oh… well, I guess that makes sense. Where am I? Who are you?” “Firstly,” the gentleman began “we are in the banquet hall. It’s a sort of stop-off for those who pass on. A chance for people to have a final meal before entering the afterlife.” The gentleman motioned to the food and revelry all around them. “Think of it like a farewell party. One last night to reminisce before a brand new adventure.” Trish nodded along, accepting the information as it came. “As for me, I’m something of a guide to make sure you don’t get lost during the party. I don’t have a name, but perhaps you could give me one, for convenience sake.” Trish gazed quizzically at the man, the warmth in her belly spreading to her brain rather quickly. “Well… how about Mr. Bowler since you’ve got that hat on and all.” “My goodness, am I really wearing such a thing?” Mr Bowler cried, delightedly. He reached up and patted his hat a few times. “How could you not know!” Trish exclaimed, “it’s the largest and most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen!” “We’ll you see, luv, I take on different appearances for everyone. Whatever your mind thinks will be the easiest appearance to help you adjust to the sudden changes you’re facing.” Trish smiled, “are you telling me my mind is comforted by slightly British men with bad accents in bowler hats?” Mr. Bowler laughed. “Maybe not comforted, per se, but you found it bosh enough that you overcame your shock.” Trish thought for a moment and realized Mr. Bowler was right. She was surprisingly calm, given she had just been impaled on a traffic pole. Then Trish’s eyebrows furrowed and her forehead creased. “But wait, Mr. Bowler, I can’t be the only one who died recently. Who’s guiding all the others here?” She gestures to a pair of Germans singing loudly and practically smashing their biersteins together. “Ah,” replied Mr. Bowler, “you see the one on the left with the lederhosen? That’s also me, just the version helping his companion along.” Trish’s eyes bugged out when Mr. Lederhosen suddenly gave her a wink, and she waved politely back. “So, you’re somewhat like the host?” Trish inquired. “Not at all!” Mr. Bowler replied. “I’m just a guide. The host is over there.” He pointed to a large man dressed in furs and dancing on top of one of the tables, with a crowd of people clapping and cheering around him. Trish examined the crowd for a moment and began to ask “are some of them also you, or…” but stopped short when roughly half of them looked directly at her and winked. “Ok you can officially stop that now.” She told Mr. Bowler. Mr. Bowler laughed and took a sip of a drink that was suddenly in his hand. “Forgive me, luv. I can’t help a bit of fun. Keeps the job lively. Would you like to meet the host?” Trish nodded and the two meandered over to the cheering throng. The host’s dance ended as they arrived, to a round of cheers, hoots and hollers. Mr. Bowler motioned to the host and the large man bounded off the table in front of them. “Trish,” Mr. Bowler guided Trish in front of him “this is Bo, the resident. Bo, meet Trish.” “How ya do lassie!” Bo exclaimed loudly, grasping Trish’s hand and shaking vigorously. “Um, good thanks.” Said Trish tentatively, then “the resident?” “Oh that’s just a name they gave me after I’d been here a few hundred years,” Bo explained. “I don’t own the place, but they accidentally gave me a lease with no term limit, so I’ve stuck around.” He guffawed loudly and reached for a drink on the nearest table. “Who’s ‘they’?” Trish asked Mr. Bowler. “They are the powers that be.” Mr. Bowler explained unhelpfully. “At first they were somewhat annoyed that Bo wasn’t passing on, but since he agreed to host the feast of departed souls for everyone, he’s become somewhat of a permanent fixture.” Trish looked in astonishment back at Bo. “You mean you died too? When?” “Oh we’ve all died at some point,” Bo said, looking pointedly at Mr. Bowler, who nodded his head in affirmation. “But I’ve been here too long to remember when or how. The mind is limited you know.” Trish looked aghast. How could one forget something as traumatic as their own death? Then again, the more she thought about it, the more the idea comforted her. In the grand scheme of things, her death was not something that would haunt her the rest of her… existence? Almost as if reading her mind, Mr. Bowler spoke up, “just as we leave the trauma of childbirth behind to live our first life, so too will the thought of death be left behind in our second life.” Trish thought about his words for a moment, and it seemed to Mr. Bowler that she came to some conclusion or resolution. Trish turned about, searching, then called out to the barmaid, “Thyra! Get me some salt and tequila. It’s time for shots! I need to get the taste of iron out of my abdomen!” Mr. Bowler laughed and Bo bounded off to another table. Trish would be fine.

The reaper allows everyone who dies one final meal before escorting the soul to their eternal afterlife. Someone who was destined for hell found a loophole... and requested their final meal to be a never-ending buffet. The reaper has been trying to move the person along for centuries now.

When Steve had been assigned to me as a roommate, the website listed that he was a lycan. I thought I was prepared. But seeing a titanic half man half wolf standing in the middle of our flat was still incredibly shocking. It was equally as shocking to see him using the vacuum. "U-uh, Steve?" I ask. "Yes, Michael?" The creature responds, his voice much deeper than Steve's usually is. "O-okay, just making sure..." I say. "Um...What are you up to?" "Its a full moon." "Y-yes, I know," I reply. "But...What's with the vacuum?" "Oh, well, lycans shed a lot," he says. "And the smell never comes out if you don't vacuum it up quickly." "I suppose that makes sense." I tell him. "Uh, I'm gonna grab a soda, do you want anything." He shakes his head no and returns to his cleaning. I grab a can of sprite from the fridge, crack it open, and take a sip. I then take a seat by the counter and set my drink down, saying, "if you need any help, let me know." "Sure thing," Steve replies. He glances up at me and freezes, squinting his eyes. "W-what?" "Your drink." "My drink?" "You're not using a coaster." "......seriously?"

you knew that werewolves were not as they seem. But came as a surprise that your flatmate after changing under the full moon would be much more adamant about cleaning...

Living weapons. That's what they're known as. Items of war that grow into something greater than when first made. They adjust their users abilities, letting them be greater than they would otherwise have been. The majority were communal weapons. These were made from use by multiple people. As each one handled it, a bit of their soul would rub off into the weapon. Eventually enough pieces would join up, and make it into a living weapon. But that isn't the only case. Much rarer are individual weapons. They were formed in a similar way, but under only one user. It had to be used nearly everyday of their life, or they had to hold a larger soul than that of a normal person. I knew of it, having studied these things intently. Part of being in the Shadows, an organisation made to protect the interests of our fair country. We used these weapons, cultivating some to augment our own forces. Not every weapon could handle the transition, but we always needed them. I had never been much of an active agent. I appreciated my life a bit too much to risk it on a daily basis. Instead I had found my calling in the Living Weapon division, trying to produce more consistent effects and awakenings. I had grown used to feeling the nearly nonexistent pulse of such weapons, handling them daily. Now I was in trouble. The facility I worked at was no more. A pair of rogue agents had helped another organisation creep in, and seize what they could. As I was not an active agent, I at least had the comfort of not being an execute on sight. Of course, Instead I was on the 'capture, interrogate, then execute list'. Still, I had to try and see the silver linings. I had been at home when the alarm was raised that it had been compromised. They of course had my address, meaning I had to go. At least I had no family to speak of, being married to my work. It meant I could up and leave without too much issue. I always had a ready to go bag, in case of emergency. For once, my paranoia paid off. I gathered my grab bag, preparing the traps ready for the inevitable break in. Hopefully I could take a couple of them down in the destruction of my home. As I went to leave, I stopped. Mounted on the wall was my one family heirloom, the cane that belonged to my grandfather. I breathed on its glass case, heart wavering. Finally I snapped, and broke it open. Taking the cane I ran, leaving my home behind. It was only as I left that I noticed it. The pulse in my hand. I looked at the cane, feeling it live. Curiosity filled me, before pressing matters pushed it to the side. I wanted to investigate it, but I had to get safe first. I just had to wait for the message on where to go, now the facility was lost. But even as I left, my mind span through what I knew. Only weapons could become living. It seemed the act of taking life fueled their awakening. Tools simply couldn't. But it meant that this cane had to have killed. And not just once. It had to have a history dripping red. What had my grandfather done?

Some say that a weapon, wielded by enough people over certain lengths of time, will gain a will of its own. Pistols steadies their aim, and swords guides a master's bladework. Defeated and pursued, you felt your grandpa's walking staff shifts.

At first, I didn’t pay attention to the station. I just assumed my 5pm ride home was on the express train that skipped some of the smaller stops. I forgot my book that day. Normally I’d bury my head in a novel and tune out the rest of the world. Reading kept me from gawking at my fellow passengers. “Sit down, keep quiet, don’t look at anyone,” I remember my mother instructing me as a child on subway etiquette. I looked out the window that day, and that’s when I saw him for the first time. The train slowed through the underground station, never stopping. He waited patiently. Gray hair, wire glasses. Dressed in a linen suit, clutching a weathered satchel in his left hand, looking expectantly at the train as it slowed. He leaned forward a bit. When it became clear the train was not going to stop, a a flicker of dismay crossed his face. He took a tiny step back and dropped his shoulders. I saw him every day after that. I’d sense the train slowing down. I’d look up from my book, and there he was. Same suit, same satchel, same hopeful look. The train never stopped. As we passed, he’d take that same tiny step backwards. Today was different. The train slowed, I looked up from my book, but I didn’t see him. The tiny station was empty. I realized that I had never noticed a sign or station name, just a tiny bench on a concrete platform. We stopped and the doors opened. I hesitated for a moment, then stood and poked my head out the door. I searched the platform with my eyes. The bell above the doors chimed. I don’t remember making a decision. I moved without thinking. Just as the doors started to slide together, I turned sideways and scooted onto the platform. There was no one else around, just an empty bench. I looked around the station and realized there were no doors, no stairs, nothing indicating my location or even an exit. I heard the brakes release and the train started to pull away. The cars slid past me. I stood there, watching, leaning forward. The last car slid past me, accelerating, and I saw him. The same linen suit, the same satchel, the same gray hair and wire glasses. “Sit down, keep quiet, don’t look at anyone,” I whispered to myself. In the split-second he passed me, our eyes met. He smiled. And then he was gone. I watched the train fade into the darkness of the tunnel. My shoulders dropped in dismay. I took a tiny step back, clutched my bag, and waited.

On your subway ride home from work, every day, the train passes a station, but never stops there. And there's always a single person standing there, waiting for the train. On one day, however, the train stops and the doors open to that station, but nobody is there. You decide to explore.

Princess Astrella Ophella Zion ran through the forest. Although at her pace, calling it a run was being generous. Her legs might as well have been covered with lead, her lungs felt like they were filled with burning embers, and sweat dripped from every inch of her skin. She wanted nothing more than to stop running and rest for hours. But she knew what that would mean. Being "politely" escorted back to the castle, followed by getting her guts removed on a cold slab. She was sure someone had noticed her absence by now, and the search was no doubt underway. Which meant she needed to keep moving. But maybe slowing down a bit was fine. One thing she was sure of was that she was now regretting spending all her time in the castle library. A bit of exercise would have helped now. She did slow to a walk, but that only helped a little. She was still tired, sweaty and in pain. Not only that, but the forest was getting thicker as she went. The trees were getting harder to move around, and the underbrush was clawing at her clothes. But she kept going. She kept going until she came to a clearing. It was odd. The trees simply stopped, as if they had been cleared purposely. They formed a large circle of nearly empty space. Nearly empty, save for a large stone in the middle and the woman sitting on it. Astrella nearly tripped over her own feet and immediately looked for a way to escape. The woman was unnaturally tall and had a calm, gentle beauty. The kind that only gets noticed after spending time with her. She wore elegant clothes that seemed to flow around her like they were alive, and were a subtle blue and silver in color. But it was her eyes that really caught the princess's attention. They were as deep as the ocean and as vast as the sky. The princess knew who she was immediately, and wanted nothing to do with her. "Do not be afraid, child. I shall not harm you." The woman said. "S-somehow, that's hard to believe." Astrella said. "Oh? Why do you say that?" "Because I know who you are. You're Sellta, the goddess of wisdom and knowledge." The woman gave a small smile and nodded. But the princess was not done yet. "And I'm slated to be sacrificed to you in a few hours, so you'll forgive me for not being happy to see you." Sellta grimaced. "Ah, yes. The sacrifice. Grizzly afair that. But I assure you, I mean you no harm. In fact, I mean nobody harm." "A goddess that asks for human sacrifices can hardly be said to not want to hurt anyone." Astrella said, crossing her arms. "Yes, well, it is a good thing I never asked for human sacrifices then, is it not?" "Wh-what?" "Oh yes. It is as you said. I am the goddess of wisdom and knowledge. What use have I of human sacrifices? Come now, you are a smart girl, you should be able to figure that out." "But then...why? So many of my ancestors have been killed in your name, and yet now you tell me you never asked for them?" The goddess sighed. "Yes, I am aware of the problem. That is why I have appeared before you, in fact. You have dedicated your life to me more than you know, even if you have always harbored resentment. Your dedication to finding new knowledge is exactly what I wish for mankind. And so, I have chosen you to be my prophet. Tell people my ways. My true ways. I shall give you my blessing and my mark, so that nothing... unpleasant happens to you before you are able to fulfill your task." Astrella opened and closed her mouth. Was she hearing right? She was going to become a prophet for the goddess she was supposed to be sacrificed to? What kind of twisted fate was this? "But...but why? If you don't want the sacrifices, then why?" "A mistranslation. I know, it is quite pathetic really. Ironic, even. But when my original holy texts were translated into the modern language, too many priests were working on the task, and so several passages were translated incorrectly. One of the more tragic passages was the sacrifice. I never wanted human lives. I wanted human knowledge and wisdom. What you have is that on the princess's 18th birthday, she is to be sacrificed in my name. What I said was that on her 18th birthday, she is to give me a piece of wisdom or knowledge that she discovered on her own, unaided by a teacher." "You... you're joking, right?" "I wish that I was." The princess wanted to scream and cry at the same time. Such a stupid mistake was the cause of so much suffering? She could not believe it. What had she been doing with her life? How had the priests been stupid enough to make such a mistake? How could they have been so callus? "Now you see why I need a prophet, yes? To correct an error that should never have been made." Astrella did not answer. She had fallen to her knees and her mind was racing to come to terms with what she had learned. The goddess was silent, letting the girl think and process the new information as long as she needed. It was a good hour before the princess was able to talk. When she did, her clothes and face were covered in tears and other assorted bodily fluids that she had shed without meaning to. "Do you feel better now?" The goddess asked. "No. But I'm well enough. What do I need to do?" "First, you must complete the right. Properly. As I laid out." "So..." "Just tell me something you learned of your own volition or efforts. Not something you learned from another. It can be something from a book you read without being told to, or it can be something you learned completely on your own." Astrella stood on shaky knees. Her legs protested the movement. "One cannot spend their entire life in a library. Some physical activity is just as important as learning." The goddess smiled gently. "Very good. A lesson learned through experience. That will do nicely. You have completed the right, and have earned your place as my prophet." Sellta extended her hand and a gentle light came forth from her long, slender fingers. It touched Astrella's forehead, and she felt a soothing warmth coming from her. It spread through her entire body, filling her with the calm, soothing light. It ended after only a few moments. "It is done. You now have my blessing and your words carry weight second only to my own. Use this gift well. And, just so everything is done properly..." She snapped her finger and a book dropped in front of the princess. It was thick, and had a good leather cover. At first glance, it was simple and without decoration. But when she looked closer, Astrella saw the patterns in the leather were quite elaborate and beautiful. "My book. Properly translated and enchanted so that it shall always be in the current language. No more errors to lead to tragic results. Use it well, and speak my true ways." The goddess said. "I...I will." The princess said, collecting the holy relic. "I will make sure nobody else falls victim to a few mistakes." The goddess smiled. "Very good. Use my blessing well. It is a subtle power, but used properly it can do great things. You will know what it does soon enough. Good luck, prophet." The clearing filled with light, bright enough that Astrella had to look away. When it faded, she was alone in the clearing. She could have thought the encounter was a hallucination, save for the fact that she still held the holy book. She hugged it close, feeling that it was warmer than it should have been. She took a deep breath and began moving, this time towards the castle. She had a job to do, and she was going to make sure it was done properly.

You are the princess of Zion Kingdom. As a tradition the first daughter of Zion's king will be sacrificed to the god of wisdom when she becomes 18. You escaped at your birthday to the lost forest to escape your fate but there, you met the god of wisdom herself.

The genie's eyes went wide. "Do they not tell the stories anymore?" "What stories?" I asked. "Hrm. I was a dervish of the sands, a bandit and murderer. I slaughtered men like goats, and sold the women and children. Muhammad, peace be upon him, worked a miracle of sealing. Now I am bound to this lamp until Judgement Day, when I will be judged. I hope I will be found worthy of redemption," he said, looking ashamed. My coffee cup slipped from my hands and shattered on the floor. Before I could even finish stammering, "Wait, what?" the genie was already cleaning up the mess. "Indeed, it is so, Master. As we are all slaves before God, so am I a slave before you." "God is real?" I asked. "Yes, of course, and Muhammad is His prophet, peace be upon him," said the genie, rising up to look me in the eye. "You... aren't Muslim, are you?" "Fuck no!" I shouted with a shudder. "Jesus fucking Christ." "Ah. I appreciate your honesty," the genie said with a bow. "In the case of a heretic like you, I am only bound to provide a single wish." "Wait, are you seriously telling me Islam is the true religion?" "You would have to take it on faith, Master," he said with a mischievous glint in his eye. It wasn't as if I was a practicing Christian. I'd actually consider myself atheistic, mostly. But seeing the existence of the Supernatural already shook me, and learning that God was real was freaking me out. "Holy shit. Hooooly shit. Hell. Hell is real?" The genie raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "I presume. I haven't seen it myself. Only the power of God. Make of that what you will." "Ohh fuck," I whimpered. "I... I'm ready to make my wish. I wish to go to Heaven when I die." The genie clapped his hands and disappeared. A week later, I knelt and bowed in my best guess was towards Mecca in the small mental hospital. Nobody believed me about the genie, but my friends and family were concerned about my sudden conversion to Islam. I pitied them, so sad to know they were destined for hellfire unless they listened. But I had to try. I had to serve.

"I am curious, how exactly did this whole genie set up get started? A being of your power being forced to grant wishes seems odd to me. Did you ever have a life outside of this?" asked the wisher to the Genie, who is taken aback as no one ever ask this before.

A bike leaned up against a lightpole in the center of a park, next to a bush. After a few passerby, a man with a mustache arrives, wearing a lanyard, and looks over the seemingly abandoned bike. From the bushes, a woman in a ghillie suit glares from the shadows, a bead of sweat racing down her forehead. The man reached out, touching the bike. The woman sprung out, screaming at the top of her lungs, and jabbed the man in the chest with a taser. "THAT'S THE LAST BIKE YOU'RE STEALING, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" The man convulsed and hit the floor. The woman grinned in victory, before her glee transformed into horrified realization. The city official she'd just tased weakly clutched his heart. "M- ambulance, call! I'm a park safety officer -" He gasped in pain. "Oh, oh God, no! I thought you were just a bike thief who stole my bike last week!" "I'm Leon Bush, I work for the city." The man strained. The woman panicked, pulling out her phone to call the police. "I .. have a pacemaker." "Hello? Yes, there's been an incident, I think a man's having a heart attack! Uh- In the park, near the old lamppost by the public bathrooms?" The woman spoke into her phone, and knelt over the man. "I'm sorry, someone will be here soon!" She stammered, clutching the man's hand. The man looked her in the eye and grimaced in pain, tears welling in his vision. "I was just .. trying to bring the bike to the office." "I am so, so, so sorry." The woman squeaked, crying in shame and grief. Distant alarms. After a moment, a pair of paramedics arrived, carrying a stretcher. Fixing an oxygen mask to the man's face, they carried him away in a rush. Moments later, the woman sat on a park bench, oblivious to the world, a pair of paramedics arrived with a police officer, alerting her. "Uh, ma'am, are you the one who alerted the police about a man having a heart attack?" The officer asked. "What?" "We looked all over for the man, but- This is the place, but where is he? Do you happen to know his name, anything we can use to help find him?" "He- you- paramedics already came and got him!" The paramedics looked between each other before shaking their head to the police officer. "No, ma'am, no patient was picked up, so.. filing a false report is a pretty serious issue that we're going-" "No, you don't understand! I watched him get carried off! His name was Leon ..." *My name is Leon-* The man's voice played through her mind, slowed to a crawl. In the distance, a street sign for Leon Avenue swayed slightly in the wind. Her eyes widened. *- Bush...* The woman's heart dropped into her stomach. She turned past the officer, staring at a statue of the 43rd President of the United States some ways away in the park fountain, just past the shrub she hid in. The lightpole was empty, sans bike. Her jaw dropped. A block away, inside of an ambulance, the bike thief stood, removing his oxygen mask and mustache. Stepping slowly out of the vehicle, he caught the woman's bike wheeled to him and drove off into the crowded sidewalks inconsiderately, a ghost once more.

Yesterday, my bike was stolen. Today, I’m hiding in the bushes as the thief approaches my decoy bike…

The fiery plane of Hell was especially quiet that night. The eternal screaming was not as deafening as usual, the demons were especially chirpy in their torturous ways. A bright gleam of light suddenly appeared up above the sky of Pandemonium-- the capital city of Hell. An angelic being gracefully floated there. Her four feathery wings flapped gently, burning the damned around her in heavenly fire. The angel grimaced seeing the scenery around her. The sulfuric smell, the endless screams, the eternal fire...she hated it, she really hated being there. But she was there on business, on a personal call by the big boss of Hell himself, and she'd never turned down a professional call, even one from her banished brother. *\*Knock knock\** The massive black wooden door echoed as the angel firmly knocked it. "Come in", a familiar voice welcomed her from the other side and the door opened by itself. The angel stepped in. Walking confidently towards the big desk made of the same black wood. Opposite it sat the king of Hell himself, Lucifer, the fallen angel. Draped in black velvet suit, the Devil was as his usual charming getup, though his face was unusually unkempt. "Lucifer, why did you call me?", the angel asked, not wasting any time. Lucifer sighed. With a defeated look he stared down at the mountains of papers strewn about his desk before he averted his gaze up to meet his guest. "Lailah, I need your help", Lucifer said with a meek voice. The angel called Lailah raised her brow. With one hand on her hip, she leaned towards the desk, smirking and scoffing. "You need...*my* help?", she chuckled. "We've never been close you and I, Luce. Even back when you were still in Heaven. In fact, you were a bit of a bully. And now, you called for me personally?", Lailah stated in disbelief herself. "No, why did you actually call me, Luce?" Lucifer waved his hand, gesturing Lailah to sit down as a story was about to come. "I uh...have an issue regarding childbirths", Lucifer said cryptically. "And you as the angel of conception and pregnancy...I thought this would be your specialty" "Wait, wait...you're having a kid?", Lailah asked, snapping forward. "No, no, not me", Lucifer waved his hand. "It's a human. A human man whom I made a deal with years and years ago" "Uh-huh", Lailah sat back, arms folded judgingly. She had never been a fan of Lucifer's dealing with mortals. "And I'm assuming he would give up his offspring in return of something?" Lucifer sighed deeply. "Yep" "Okay...so what's the problem? He changed his mind? He refused to give up his child?" "No, he did. He did so willingly", Lucifer corrected. "So you refused to fulfill the end of your bargain?", Lailah asked again. "No, no, I did. I gave all that he asked" "So what's the hassle then? He gave you his child and you gave him his deal, no problem here", Lailah shrugged. "Well, here's the problem...he gave me his children. Plural", Lucifer said, grabbing a piece of paper in front of him. "Thirty-two of them to be exact" Lailah went quiet and she pursed her lips. "Uhm...what?" "And if this report is correct...another twenty-three to be born in the next two years. He's a sperm donor...a very active and sought after at that" Lailah's expression changed from a stoic disbelief one to a sudden outburst of laughter. The angel laughed and laughed uncontrollably, which much to Hell residents' dismay, an angelic laugh brought about pain to them who heard it. "This isn't funny, Lailah! This wasn't a part of our bargain! This mortal is mocking me!", the prideful one lamented. Lailah's laugh had evolved into a snorting and hiccupping one with tears streaming down her face. "OH THIS...THIS IS PRECIOUS!", she roared. "I CAN'T WAIT TO TELL EVERYBODY IN HEAVEN!" "Lailah, enough!", Lucifer slammed his fist onto his desk, breaking it in half. The papers flew all around the office room. "What do you want me to do, big brother?', Lailah said, finally quelling her laughter as she wiped the tears off her face. "Uhmp, I don't know. Cancel these pregnancies? You can do that, can you? Just...do your thing", Lucifer waved his hands about. "Do my...thing?", Lailah chuckled. "Yea, I don't work like that, Luce. I'm not a flying abortion clinic" "Why don't you just go down to Earth and, I don't know...do your thing?", Lailah clapped back mockingly. "Cancel the deal or something. Make a new deal with the guy?" "No, *I* don't work like that! A deal made is to be honored! That is my way!", Lucifer protested. "Well, I don't know what to do, Luce. Sounds like you have to keep giving the guy whatever he wants" Lailah stood up and walked towards the door. "Hey, where do you think you're going?", Lucifer called out her sister. "Home. I can't help you, Luce", Lailah said. Stopping in front of the huge door, she turned one last time. "Maybe, had you been nicer to me before you fell, I would've entertained the idea of helping you", Lailah smirked. Exiting Hell's office, the angel spread her wings and ascended back to Heaven. Still giggling inside, seeing her fallen brother squirmed was the most exciting thing she'd experienced in a very long time. As she exited Hell's outer layer, Lailah made a mental note to herself: when she's back home, she's going to track down every single pregnancy sired by the human...and make sure every single one of them came to term. r/HangryWritey

You are the Devil, a few years ago you mad a deal with a man where he sold every child he would ever sire in exchange for a boon each time. What you did not know was that he is a sperm donor, and its starting to get out of hand.

My dress was in tatters. It would probably take more than a week to stitch it back together, assuming I'd be able to find a sewing kit somewhere in this gargantuan city. Or that I'd survive the elders' pursuit. Right now I was safe, crouched under the sill in some house that had its windows open. I couldn't figure out the doors on most of these buildings--the knobs would turn, but the cursed things wouldn't budge. I was getting desperate for refuge, somewhere I could lay low until the Haven forgot about me. I heard a click inside the house with the undeniable creak of floorboards. A man was standing across the room from me, pointing somethibg toward me with both hands. "Who are you?" He growled. He stood tall, dressed in a tight-fitting t-shirt with the words 'Hartford Police Academy class of 2021' on it. "Sarah," I told him, hoping the Elders hadn't been enlisting outside help to track me down. I peered outside again, risking the top of my head as I looked for their long, white car. "Sarah, why are you in my home?" "I'm hiding." I whispered in hissed tones, hoping he'd take the hint. His eyes looked me up and down and he lowered his hands, pointing the thing at the floor. "Are you in danger?" "I don't know. Maybe? Have you seen a long, white car drive by here?" "I haven't. Do you belong to an Amish family or something?" "A what?" "I mean, your clothes..." He gestured to my dress and bonnet. "What's wrong with my clothes?" "It's just... different." He blinked a couple times before raising his weapon again. "Come away from the window slowly, with your hands in the air." "What? Why?" "You have broken into and entered my home. I don't know who you are. If you're in trouble we can sort that out, but you've still committed a crime by climbing through my window." "I haven't broken anything!" I barked through my teeth. "Food and shelter are rights of all people." "Not MY food and shelter. Now come away from the window and sit over here." "YOUR food and shelter? Who do you think you are?" I knew the outsiders were strange, but a big old house, just for *him*? "I'm officer McCaffery, Hartford Police, and you're under arrest." He proceeded to yank me by the wrist and slap metal bracelets on me that joined together with a chain. I was sitting on a chair in a kitchen, thoroughly confused and furious. It was everything I could do to keep from swinging my stuck-together fists at his dumb face. "Now, I'm going to call some officers who will take you to the station to get your statement." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "You didn't break anything," he admitted, "and I'm worried about your safety, so I won't press charges, but--" A knock at the door interrupted his nonsensical speech. "Hold that thought," he said. Officer McCaffery went to the other room and opened the door. *How did he do that?* "Good morning, sir, and the Seven bless your home." I knew the voice anywhere: Elder Carmichael, with his nasally pitch and mousy face. They tracked me here. But how could they know? There were a hundred houses in the city. "I'm looking for a young lady, disturbed of the mind and off of her prescriptions. She's wearing traditional women's garb, brown hair, around five-foot-five. Have you seen someone like this?" My heartbeat was in my throat as I tried not to make a sound. "I'm sorry, I haven't seen anyone by that description," Officer McCaffery said. "Have a good day" There was the sound of a door beginning to close, only to be stopped by something. "I do apologize, officer, but could you think harder? Is she here, in your home?" "Excuse me?" McCaffery's voice was impatient, offended. "I think you should leave." "I only ask because her safety is in question. It's imperative we get her back on her medicine before she has another episode." "I told you what I know." "Officer, you haven't told us anything." "Exactly. Now get your foot out of my door before I break it." McCaffery slammed the door so hard I could feel it vibrate in the floor. He walked back into the kitchen and gave me a tentative look. "Are you off of an important medication?" "No," I lied. "Well that guy out there seems to think so. But he was dressed like a..." he stopped himself. "Look, I'm gonna have an officer pick you up, I don't want to go into the office today. Besides, if there's people wandering around looking for y--" There was a loud popping noise. Then another. McCaffery dropped to the floor and pulled me down with him. Pictures fell off the walls. Plates shattered. "What's happening?!" I screamed at him as I covered my head. "I don't know!" He answered as he pulled that instrument back of his waistband. "But I wish you hadn't climbed through my window!" *Mine mine mine* with this guy.

A teen manages to escape from a cult-like town, but knows the leaders of the town will be after them. Without understanding 'normal' society, at the city they come across they go inside a random house, through an open window, so they can hide. The house belongs to a cop.

*I can't breathe.* I take another rapid breath, trying to obtain enough oxygen to quell my throbbing lungs. Every breath, however, feels like it's tearing a hole through my body, taking my calm with it. I open my eyes to be met with darkness. It's taunting. "Hello?" *breath* "Help!" *breath* "I can't-" *breath* I'm going to die in here. I'm going to die and never be able to tell my family I love them. I'll never get to make it up to mom for missing her birthday, or get off my break with Jason and try to make things work. I'll never get to travel, or quit my stupid marketing job, or- Tears stream down my face and I only now realize I'm hyperventilating. I close my eyes again, unable to face the pitch-black reality; I realize that it makes little difference. My internal is just as dark and hopeless as my reality. *What did I do to deserve this?* *Why me?* ~~Why not me?~~ I lift my arm to wipe the streaming tears when I hit a solid surface. *What the fuck?* I push my hand against the surface and find that it's unliftable. *Am I screwed in a box or something?* I push harder against the cover, adding my legs and arms, and the lid of the container shifts. Dirt cascades through the opening and lands in my mouth. *Where the hell am I?* The more I move the lid, the more dirt enters my... something. *Why is there dirt covering a container? What angry God did I have to anger to get sent here?* *Wait.* No. No. No. No. No. Not thinking about that implication right now, not when I am about to suffocate. I kick the *casket's* lid to the side and, immediately, dirt swarms into the box. I get up the best I can and start to swim up to reach the surface. The ground is relatively malleable, signaling I haven't been down here for too long. *I guess that's reassuring.* I ~~struggle~~ swim for what felt like hours, but it probably wasn't more than 30 minutes. My arms are burning by the time I see the whiteness of the moon above me. *Oh thank the literal lord.* My hand reaches above myself, grabbing onto solid land out of my eyesight. I shove my other arm and pull myself up into the crisp, cold night. I breathe in lungfuls of slightly polluted air. *This is the best air I have ever inhaled in my entire life.* I lose time after that. I wake up on my side, staring straight at a stone structure. At least I think it's stone; everything is blurry. I rub my eyes in an attempt to get them to focus. I finally make out the structure and writing. I move closer to read what the stone says. *Here lies Meredith Everdeen. Daughter and beloved friend.* ... I turn my head just enough to not have a lap full of vomit. ​ I dry heave on the ground, my body trying to expel reality with no success. *What the hell do I do now?*

After being dead for several months, you awake, with no memories of where you are, or why you are dead. Terrified, you break out of your casket and out of the ground, only to turn around and read the name on the gravestone.

"No?" Santa stared as Rudolf lay his self back down on his bed of hay. "What do you mean No?" "I mean No is a complete sentence." the reindeer crossed his forelegs and rested his chin on them "And I feel giving an explanation is pointless when I can just....Literally point at the entirety of my life." "Rudolf, come now it's just playful teasing between friends." "So it's playful teasing that I, a. Full. Grown. Adult. Reindeer. am still in a foal stable." Rudolf lifted his head and knocked his antlers against the sides of the stall he was in, it was just barely big enough for him. "A lack of space can't be held against the other reindeer." "But it can be held against you and the elves. Also I want you to \*look me in the eye\* when you say there's a lack of space in the adult stables. Go on." Santa chose to leave that losing battle "What about all the fun reindeer games you played with the others?" "Which ones, the ones where I wasn't allowed to play. Or the games like 'Chase the freak' 'Kick Rudolf and see how far he fly's'-" "Now come now you can't say the other foals did that!" "Oh they didn't. that was a favourite of the adults." Rudolf tilted his head to look around Santa at the uncomfortably silent herd behind him "Comet's the current champ by the by. Kicked me thirty feet and breaking two of my ribs. I was what a month and a half old? Two?" Comet shrank down trying to hide behind Vixen and Dancer. "Don't you want to make Dasher and Cupid proud?" Rudolf stared blankly at Santa. "Make the father who repeatedly tried to trample me to death before I was week proud. Make the mother who took me out into the snow at a day old and abandoned me in a snow drift proud. No thanks." "My boy you must be exaggerating, you wouldn't be here if they really did that." "No I wouldn't be here if Maria-You know, Maria the elf you STILL have on muck out duty after about twenty years of working, that Maria- Hadn't heard me crying and rescued me. I had *hyperthermia* I almost died." "Rudolf *please* I realize we haven't treated you the best but-" "But we promise to be better, to do better." Rudolf snorted with amusement "And what proof do I have you *Would* change? You've had six years to change, to realize how badly I was treated. It's only because you *want* something and I'm refusing to help that your even willing to acknowledge it." "Please just give us a chance. Just lead my sleigh for tonight-" "And then what reason would you ever possibly have to want to change?" Rudolf challenged grunting as he got his self to his hooves (Having to take care not to bang his antlers, having to awkwardly move and lean on the walls because the stall was just *too small*) "I do this, sure maybe I'll get an adult stall, maybe I'll get treated nice for a few weeks. then it'll be back to same old same old, I'll be the freak until you need me again. but then you'll have the excuse 'You did it for us before come on Rudolf'. Move." Santa got up stepping out of the way as Rudolf walked out of his stall nodding to a small elf as they slipped saddle bags onto his back for him. "Rudolf what are you doing?!" "Leaving." The Reindeer grunted. "I've had it planned for a while. Was planning on doing it while you where on the toy run. Thank you Maria." He gently pressed his head against the Elf who smiled hugging him back. "Love you." "Love you to Ruby, take care ok?" the elf-Maria it seems smiled tearfully. Santa and the herd just stared at him. "You...You can't leave!" Cupid cried "Once you leave the North Pole without Santa's magic y-you'll become one of the mindless Reindeer! You'll forget everything! You won't have Magic anymore!" Rudolf stared his mother in the eyes. "Forgetting all of you would be the greatest Christmas present I could ever get." With that he tossed his head and trotted out into the storm, to never see them again.

“Santa, you and your other reindeer have tormented me for YEARS! Why would I ever guide your stupid sleigh!?”

“Yep, just sit right there and — actually, could you turn the chair a bit to your—no, other way, please—” “Like this?” “That’s it! Right there, thank you. Excellent. So, just stay seated, try not to move too much, but don’t be afraid to gesticulate—” “Keep it in the hands, you mean?” “Yeah! I like that keep it in the hands. If you turn too much or shift about, we might lose focus.” “Can do. Just, right here.” “Right there, great great. So! Uh, today, we’d like you to tell us about something that your followers—” “The Church of the Jade Wombat—” “—yeah. Uh, tell us something that they have done in-in...like, *your* name that you didn’t, necessarily, approve of.” “Sins and the like?” “Well, no, more broader sort of funny anecdote events—that said, doesn’t have to be funny. The documentary is about the big stuff that religious followers have done, thinking it would please you.” “Ah! I see. Okay. Umm. So there was this—” “One tic, so sorry. Can we get that light adjusted? Down, please. Aces, thank you! Also, could I get you to introduce yourself, and talk to me, not the camera. Sorry, should have said.” “That’s quite alright, first time I’ve done this, feel free to give pointers.” “Okay, ready?” “As I’ll ever be!” “Annnnd...go.” “I am Grabando, Marsupial King, Lord of the Under Earth, He Who Wears the Sky as Crown, The Prince of Jade. God...Also, Glong, my own mortal Son, and Hwomp, my mortal Daughter. Both are me, manifested on the planet. Bit of a mess that, actually, lots of confusion, should have—” “Sorry, sorry, sooo sorry.” “That’s quite alright. Did I hit my lapel mic?” “Oh, no-no, All good there. Umm. Intro was *good*, but we gotta keep it short and snappy, not a lot of time for each segment. I’ll let you go and probably wont interrupt again, we *can* edit, but if we can stay on topic it comes out looking all the better for it, right?” “Ah, yes, sorry.” “All good. Dave, we got the intro? Good. Alright, so anecdote away. Annnnd.....go.” “I’ve passed a lot of...laws and commandments, and I’ve even retracted and retconned a few in my days — new holy texts and all that. But, there was this one that I made early on that seems to have been completely ignored. Literally *every* single one of my suppose-ed devote-ed have broken this rule. And they do it on the daily...because they think I want them to...” “*good stuff, keep going.*” “You see, I said very early on, to the first man I made and to the first few followers who knew how to write: do not ever depict me in any form other than the written and spoken word. No paintings or sculptures, nothing. Do *not* waste resources on celebrating, coveting, or praising my form. And the only thing worse would be doing this for any other Deities. And what do they do? Plaster my face and my story all over the place: to spread the word! I still said not to...” “...” “I had hoped that my people would read the damn books and self correct, but...no. And now there’s moving pictures? And I’m getting mail? You, Cameraman: Do you have a wombat fire-branded on your ass? Don’t lie to me, Dave, I know all remember. Anyways, now that I know who the producers of this mess are...let the people know the gloves are off and I’m cashing IOU’s from all your butts. It’s mighty fighty smitey time!”

Gods and Dieties of reddit, do you wish your devotees should know? What was the craziest thing they did in your name which you didn't approve of?

I first tried the door handle which rattled obnoxiously against the metal frame and rotational lock. peering through the window to a dark lobby quiet and still as though it was the middle of the night. I banged on the door loudly trying to see any movement that would offer some explanation. I thought I had remembered the hours of the lobby were open pretty late. I stepped back, even the lights on the outside were off. I checked my watch 10:15pm. Still, there has to be some night shift worker, someone to let the wary traveler. I knew this was a small town but even small towns have their hotel staff available all through the night. The door wasn't my way in. I needed to get to my room for my things before I left. I walked around back of the building. Since it was in old town it was a renovated apartment building. Around the back alley it was strangely overgrown. The amount of grass and weeds coming out of crevices made it seem like I was a lone survivor in an apocalypse. The first door seemed jammed shut. Dark grease stains oozed from underneath the door. Must be the kitchen. I tried the door anyway just to see. yeah it didn't budge. I stood back and looked up, a few windows were open one of them was broken. Nice, I thought, really classy. Around the back was even more overgrown, the darkness making it kinda terrifying. Man I really didn't want another run in with a rabid raccoon. Shaking a clump of tall grass hopefully frightening anything away told me that the coast was clear. I gazed up seeing similar run down facade. The fire escape. That was my way in. Second floor didn't seem too dangerous of a climb. I probably wouldn't have tried it if it was much higher. Ulp, even the thought of heights was enough to put a lump in my throat the size of a softball. I made my way over to the ladder. There was an empty trash can flipped on its side I could use for a boost. The can was wobbly but I somehow managed to reach up and shakily grab the bottom rung. I pulled down and allowed the can to fall away so I hung on hoping it would slowly come down. But it didn't budge. It was rusted shut. Man how long has it been since they've done any building maintenance? I swung my legs out trying to yank it down using the force of shifting weight to get it to budge. A few more times and rusty dust coated my hair and arms. Oh, that's it. A few more times and some creaky grinding noises later the ladder broke free and fell with me downward. The ladder stopped. I didn't. I landed hard on my left foot and right side of my foot snapping it in a direction it wasn't supposed to go. The pain was enough to make me yell out in pain. sitting there on the ground beneath bent grass and rusty dust I looked up. Surely there must be another guest staying that heard me cry out. Nothing. No light, no glances through curtains. It seems that I was the only guest, maybe the only guest for a while. Figures. Just my luck. I struggled to my feet hoping the rolled ankle wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Extreme sharp pain shot into my leg stemming from my ankle, worse than any rolled ankle I'd ever experience. What were the chances it was broken. I rolled my eyes mumbling about suing the owners for negligence. Seeing no other way to get my things I grabbed the ladder once more. shaking slightly and no doubt in shock I began to climb the ladder shifting weight to the right foot for a moment just to move the left foot up. I felt pathetic. looked pathetic, probably. I made it up the last rung and moved over to the first fire escape balcony. It creaked and groaned under my weight. I made it to a door which also was locked tight. Man so much for this brilliant plan. I hobbled over painfully to the first window I could see. I knocked loudly on it hoping that if anyone was here they were in this room. No response. I knocked again louder. Still nothing. I was getting angry, dealing with a possibly broken foot, locked out of my hotel, and I still can't get in! My anger boiled a big more and I knocked one more time, the glass shattered. I could feel my heart racing. I looked down at a bright red streak across my knuckles. Pain in my ankle, pain in my hand. Whats next. I yelled, hello? is someone in there? I'm sorry about the window, I just was locked out of my room and came up the fire escape. Hello? Nothing, I reached over and pulled at the glass pieces clearing the rest of the window. I peeked in hoping there would be some indication of what was going on. Nothing, just a run down mattress in the corner a desk and the door. Well at least the room was empty. I finished clearing the glass from the window and very gingerly crawled through trying not to injure myself more. man broken ankle, sliced open hand, thats gotta be at least 15k in pain and suffering. I stepped more firmly, though mostly on my left foot, into the room. it was dark but I could still make out where the door was. I leaned over to the window to check my watch again. 10:15pm. Shoot, my battery must have died at some point. I wandered over to the door and opened it the hallway was also dark. Man they really shut down in small towns, no electricity, no \*cough\* cleaning people, what was that horrible stench? I looked down and saw a trail of some liquid leading from one door to the next, streaked like a leaky bag of trash. Disgusting. If I had seen this place when checking in I would have checked out immediately. I made my way over to the doorway to the stairs only to see that it was boarded up with plywood. gosh, under renovation too? what is this place? how did I end up at the grossest most disgustingest piece of trash hotel on the planet? one star. one star for sure. I was just building up anger and frustration and finally after reaching the opposite end staircase, I made my way up to my room. The hallway was similar, dusty and dark. It was not what I remembered for sure. It was even darker than the hallway below. At my door I pushed the key into the lock but the door was already open. What?? This was the last straw. If my belongings are missing or broken I was going to raise hell. I pushed open the door angrily and flipped the light switch. darkness. It was still dark. Ok so power outage makes more sense. I found the emergency kit by the door and flipped on the flashlight. I didn't believe it. It didn't make sense. I had just been here. yet a blanket of dust coated everything. My window was open and a slight breeze was blowing the curtains. Someone definitely was in here. I quickly checked around corners, in the bathroom, in the cupboards and very carefully under the bed. Nobody was here. I was alone. The analog clock on the wall said 10:15. I was starting to freak out a bit. grabbing one of my shirts off the bed a plume of dust fell off it. Either this place was so far gone that dust was pouring into the room and I didn't notice or... I shook off my things as fast as I could and shoved them into the dusty suitcase. I've never struggled with allergies but this was a lot of dust. Sneezing and coughing through the thick fog of dust I wobbled over to the door and pulled it open. I grumbled and whined hopping toward the stair case. Finally getting to the bottom I bounced over to the door to the lobby and pushed. The door creaked like it hadn't been open in years and slowly begrudgingly opened. the lobby was stale and empty. The front desk was empty, no computer, no notes, no trace of any human for years. I went over to the front door and twisted the lock and pushed the door open. I shook my head looking around. No lights anywhere, no streetlights no stop lights. Nobody anywhere. My car, the lone source of normalcy sat across the street. I hobbled to the car fumbling for my keys when I heard a faint groaning sound. Someone was nearby. I was tired, angry, and now someone decides to show their face? nah, forget about it. I got the right key in the car and turned. The groaning grew louder. They were coming to me. The audacity. after everything I endured someone was coming to talk to me. I opened the door just in time to see who was coming toward me, or what. It didn't look normal. Like something out of a horror contest, sunken eyes, slack jaw that seemed to snap shut every couple seconds. whatever drunken hillbilly of this crap town wanted from me, I was done. I slumped in my seat and pulled the broken ankle in. I went for the door to see the person was closer than I realized and the groaning and raspy sound was not from being drunk. In the faint car light his skin looked saggy and grayish. He was clearly wounded with dark dried blood all over his clothes. The smell was repulsive and his mouth kept chomping shut almost like he was trying to bite me. I pushed back at him trying to shut the door. His arm was stuck in the door. I pushed and pulled on the door the rotting flesh smell intensified as the hand broke free from the thing and fell into my lap. I locked the door instinctively and put the key in the ignition. The car revved and sputtered like I hadn't just drove a couple hours ago. I turned and turned til finally the car started. Finally! I looked down at the dash clock 10:15. The person slammed against the car again scratching against the windows pushing his face against it chomping again and again. I put the car and drove away, I rolled down the window tossing the soggy stinky hand out and rolling back up. away from town I breathed a sigh of relief. This was definitely not the business trip I was expecting.

You have been staying in a hotel for a few days. Before you travel home, youy leave all your stuff in the hotel room and take a last walk through the city. When you come back to grab your things, the hotel is closed and locked up. And it looks as if it has been locked up for a decade or more...

Around captain Zarzak, his crew who were already aiming their guns at what they had assumed was but another a unauthorized smuggler ship skirting into the edge of the Madness Zone, came to a lull as they all turned to behold this sheer impossibility of the being that had appeared on the main decks monitor screen. The beings face seemed to be *entirely made of solid matter*. Zarzik tried to recall seeing something like this but he simply had not, at least not outside of speculative fiction. A wave of uncertainty washed over him, and he steeled his horn-gills before they could shiver. There wasn't a touch of translusency to this being, not a twist or twirl that hinted at a gaseous body, not a joint or gap or glow in their skin to betray the use of a fire-filled exoskeleton. The face was bare skin, wrinkled, especially around what Zarzik interpreted to be eyes. Said eyes were strange and piercing, with a circular and dotted tri-color pattern of white, black, and brown that revealed where their gaze flickered and moved at an impossible speed. Above the eyes were two thin lines of short fur, and they had a much larger patch of fur that grew from their scalp. That fur was long, grey, wiry, and swept back over their head. The rest of them that Zarzak could see were covered in textiles. The face seemed vaguely kharkanoid in structure, just in a shape he had never seen. "*Holy zarking fardwarks*..." he heard his second in command whisper, just barely breaking the silence that had fallen over the deck. A crease between the beings eye-fur patches deepened, and Zarzaks translation device interpreted it as an expression of confusion and surprise. That made him pause, and he glanced at the implant display embedded in his wrist. Sure enough, it said LANGUAGE NOT RECOGNIZED BY DATABASE. *Then how the stars is it translating it!?* Zarzak thought, looking back up at the alien. *The alien that had come out of the zarking Madness Zone,* he slowly realized\*.\* In the end, he spoke first. "Greetings. This is Captain Zarzak V'khoor of the border control vessel Stellar Quest. Can you understand me?" "That I can." came a court reply, the being somehow forming sounds, *words*, with a mouth of solid matter. Their voice was steady, deep, in a way that felt both familiar and soothing despite Zarzak having never heard anything like it before. "I'm captain Amanda Novas, of the Night Oddysey. I must say, when we were hailed I believed it to be another human ship. This comes as a surprise." "Likewise." Zarzak nodded, mentally noting down the word 'human'. "I must ask you about how you traveled through the Madness Zone, and what your purpose there was? WHat is your purpose here?" "The Madness Zone?" "Yes, the hostile, monster-filled void you recently left." ".. huh." Amanda said, her grey eyebrows rising into what the translation interpreted as another expression of curiosity. Zarzak glanced at his implant display again. LANGUAGE NOT RECOGNIZED BY DATABASE. Because of course it fucking wasn't. It wasn't like they were having a perfectly understandable chat here or anything. "I don't know what to tell you there. The Oddysey is a frontier ship. We're on a mission of exploring and mapping the area outside of our home system. We've encountered a few alien races, but nothing I would describe as.. monsters." Zarzaks gill-horns wavered. Somewhere to his left, he could hear one of his crews alienthropologists fail to suppress little excited chirping noises. He did not share their enthusiasm, and rather felt an ominously sinking feeling. The Madness Zone was called that for a reason. The only good thing about it, Zarzaks grandfather had told him, was that nothing within it seemed interested in, or capable of, leaving. \----- "I can't believe this!" said the alienthropologist who had come with captain Zarzak, along his guards, to meet captain Amanda in person. The blue gas that made up most of the short zherkians form swirled and buzzed with excitement. Their pod was currently en-route towards the Night Oddysey. "This is a first contact with sapient natives of the Madness Zone! This is the finding of centuries!" "I sure hope so." Zarzak said, composing himself. *And not the disaster of millennia*. "Oh, I can't wait to meet them in person!" the zherkian continued on as the pod docked with the Night Oddysey. "How the Zark can we communicate with them when their language is not in the translators database? How is it possible for a being of solid matter to function, move, and stay alive? This is incredible." Zarzak just nodded and turned his attention to the mission at hand. With a strange, mounting feeling of wrongness and dread, Zarzak boarded the 'human' ship with his crew members. The ship was large, made for beings twice his height. There, in a room of white metal, he saw them. He recognized captain Amanda Novas, having not realized just how impossibly large and *towering* her species was. He could only imagine how much they must weigh. But that was not what stunned him and even his excitable alientrhopologist into silence. Swirling around the shoulders of the humans, flickering around their heads and beholding them with eyes that were much too deep, was a mist that he could barely percieve. It was small to his vision, but he got the impression of something inconcievably, mind-bogglingly vast. Many, many transluscent eyes formed and watched, eyes that had *not* been visible on the monitor. Soft, feathered wings rustled without sound, attached to the mist with neither rhyme or reason of understandable anatomy. Tentacles formed and dissolved. The mist around the smiling Amanda spoke before anyone else had the chance to. Tentacles formed, as did a face. It was haunting and beautiful and ***horrifying*** and it had a row of star-filled eyes, a row of eyes that continued into an infinity that Zarzaks' screaming mind could not follow. It smiled, an expression that Zarzaks species did not have but that he deeply recognized on some much older, more fundamental level. It was a soft expression, a softness that was not meant for him. It was a softness that held a warning. A silent threat. *"Shhhhhhh."* it whispered, its voice an ancient, lulling, and treacherously comforting song that was much like Amandas voice had been on the radio, just infinitely *more. "They're just children. They don't know about us yet. It's a secret. They're too young to know."* The stories of Zarzaks' grandfather clicked into place. The soft smile.. its words. Suddenly.. Zarzak *knew*. He knew, in much the same way a mouse would know the den of cat. The Madness Zone was not a weird space weather, not a magnetic disturbance or anything like the leading scientific theories on its existence. It was a *nest*. A galaxy-spanning *nursery*. Guarded, protected, shielded from anything that *dared* draw too close to the life hidden within. But there was nothing that Zarzak could think of that would require such a level of protection. No known threat that could warrant a response that sent people of all known races into frantic insanity and that soon killed the fools who breached it anyway. And *that* \- more than the implications of these nestlings venturing beyond their nursery of nightmares, more than the mistlike, smiling creatures that withdrew into the nothingness they had come from until they seemed to have been nothing but a mirage he had imagined - *that* was what chilled him most of all.

The zone of madness was thought impossible to traverse. The Federation of planets was, needless to say, intensely distressed by the news of an unknown ship emerging from the zone. They call themselves "human" and originate from near the center of the zone.

After saving the world, publicists banged down my door. I was still in shock at my harrowing adventure, but choosing between therapy and celebrity was easy. First were the talk shows and podcasts. I was coached relentlessly on what to say, how to act, where to look, etc. My publicist was actually pretty decent, making sure to book me on vetted shows where all I'd need to do was field softball questions from fawning interviewers. That started to change later. Then came the sponsorships. Anyone and everyone was desperate for me to shill whatever crap they peddled. I was flown to Tokyo, LA, New York, Paris, London, Shanghai, Sao Paulo, Qatar, and more, filming ads in languages I could barely speak. But the sponsors ate it up. Then there were movie roles, the documentary, the book tour, the album, the reality TV shows. I was rich. There were so many screaming fans, so much sex, so much drugs. I buried the hurt and pain deep. All my friends, dead. What I saw, indescribable. I got a DUI, though my lawyer got me out of it. I settled accusations of sexual assault, but rumors began to spread. Slowly, sponsors quietly pulled out. I got fewer roles. Interviews became harder. Everyone was watching carefully. I was ready to end it all. I jumped. But the side effects of facing down the Leviathan wouldn't let me die so easily. I institutionalized myself. I still had enough money to make sure I picked a good place. My publicist made sure of it. I took a year off to learn how to meditate and relearn how to read, really read. Processing the trauma came hard, and it'll never really end. When I emerged, I donated most of my wealth to various charities, changed my name, shaved my head, joined a Buddhist temple. Ironically, I felt the most whole when I was helping others. People didn't recognize me, but I liked it better that way. Celebrity was toxic. The supernatural power I commanded could never be exorcised, but I realized the true challenge wasn't defeating Leviathan, but in guiding humanity to something greater. I could never have remained in my current identify for long, people have started to notice my agelessness over the years. Whomever reads this note: do as you will with the information. I was Jacob Strife, hero of Earth. I was Daniel Konchog, monk and philanthropist. Who I will be next, I don't know yet, but I'll be around.

You just saved the world from an apocalyptic threat. What do you even do with yourself after that? You're, like, permanently overqualified for everything after that.

Tired of lending out her favourite books, pens, and clothing only to never see them again, Lisa decided to take matters into her own hands. She began to study the dark arts of witchcraft, determined to put an end to her friends' borrowing habits once and for all. As she delved deeper into the arcane knowledge, Lisa became more and more skilled at casting spells and curses. She started small, adding a simple curse to a borrowed pen that would cause the ink to run dry after just a few words. But as time went on, she grew bolder and more creative in her punishments. One day, Lisa lent out her favourite sweater to her best friend Sarah, who had been particularly prone to forgetting to return borrowed items. With a wicked smile, Lisa added a curse to the sweater that would cause it to shrink every time Sarah wore it, until it was so small that it could no longer be worn. Sarah, of course, had no idea what was happening. She was confused and frustrated when the sweater suddenly started shrinking, but Lisa just smiled mysteriously and refused to tell her what was going on. Eventually, word got around about Lisa's cursed belongings, and her friends grew wary of borrowing anything from her. But Lisa didn't mind. She was tired of lending things out only to never see them again, and now she finally had a way to make sure that her belongings stayed safe. Lisa's friends were understandably upset about the curses that she had placed on their borrowed belongings. They had no idea what was happening to their clothes, books, and pens, and they were frustrated and confused. At first, they tried to confront Lisa about the curses, but she just smiled mysteriously and refused to explain what was happening. They realized that she wasn't going to give them any answers, so they decided to take matters into their own hands. They began to plot their revenge, determined to teach Lisa a lesson for using magic to punish them. They started by casting spells of their own, trying to reverse the effects of Lisa's curses. Lisa's spells were powerful, and they quickly realized that they wouldn't be able to undo them on their own. They turned to a more drastic solution: they decided to steal Lisa's spellbook and burn it, hoping to destroy her source of power and end her reign of cursed belongings once and for all. It was a risky plan, but they were desperate. They waited until Lisa was out of the house, and then snuck into her room to search for the spellbook. They finally found it hidden under her bed, and they quickly grabbed it and ran. As they were running away, they heard Lisa's voice behind them. She had somehow sensed that they were up to something, and she was coming to stop them. It was too late. The friends had already reached the edge of the forest, where they had planned to perform the spell. They quickly built a fire and threw the spellbook into the flames, watching as the pages blackened and curled in the heat. Lisa arrived just in time to see her spellbook burning. She was furious, and she attacked the friends with a powerful spell. In a brilliant flash the the forest was lit up in green fire. Silence. Alone in a clearing, Lisa held her spellbook to her chest, and this one cost was her friends.

Tired of lending things to people and never getting them back, you learn witchcraft/magic in order to add curses to them.

I do not experience remorse. I put fire girl at the bottom of the ocean with tungsten boots. I took super boar's arm bones from him. His super strength won't help him now that he can't lift anything. So it is here that i thought I had just another punk trying to come after me. I saw her, fighting through the corridors, leaving bloody wakes in her way. Few heroes brought a rifle, and fewer still shot first without asking questions. Something about public image or something. At the cost of two of my minion's lives I searched her mind, delving deep into her subconscious to find the worst possible outcome. I was not prepared for what I found. I found super boar blaming her for the disappearance of his wife. I saw him blaming her for the fact his arms don't work anymore. She had no powers by birth but she was expected to carry the same weight as her parents. I saw him hit her. But something was wrong, more wrong then it normally was. Normally when I read someone's fears, I can barely make out what the people are saying, the subject is easier to understand, but their projections of their 'friends' are muddled, like listening through water. Here super boar was crystal clear. I wasn't in a constructed scenario, a fear that might one day come to pass, I was in a memory of something that already has. I boiled with rage. I knew super boar had a temper, but to turn it on his own daughter. "Put the gun down, girl." I said, scarcely hiding my frustration. She pointed it at me, of course, and it clicked. "You know who I am, right?" She was fumbling around with her weapon, hyperventilating while she tried desperately to load it. "I make people's worst fears come to life." I snapped. And the magnetic material her firearm was made of flung itself to the ceiling as well as the knife she was hiding. "And for you... simply turning you back into the street would be enough. But where is the theater in that? No... no I think I will terrorize your father instead." She was terrified,I could see it in her eyes. I smiled cruelly. "I will give you the power to stand up to him. All you need to do is follow me back to my lab." I turned on a heel and left, I knew she would follow.

You are a telepathic supervillain that uses their powers to create the perfect personalised hellscape for every hero. But when you peer into the mind of the newest hero you find that they are a complete mental wreck and honestly you just feel sorry for them.

"Daisuke? Daisuke, where are you?" The sun was going down as Tsui searched the last of the academy grounds. Just as she was about to give up the effort, she caught a glimpse of something glittering in the last light of day. With renewed hope, Tsui raced over to the tree where it lay, and her hopes were instantly vindicated. Leaning against the tree was a towering figure in silver armor, the royal banner of Providence fixed to him like a scarf. Tsui grinned as she said, "Daisuke, there you are! You ran off before I had a chance to thank you!" Tsui reached out her hand, only for Daisuke to hurl himself away from the tree and against the fence, hands held over his helmet. Confused, Tsui started to respond, but stopped when she noticed something: Daisuke was terrified. Every inch of his body was trembling uncontrollably, causing his armor to produce a rattling noise. Even through the armor he wore every second of every day, Tsui could tell Daisuke was exhausted. His breathing had turned heavy and his knees looked like they could buckle at any second. Tsui could hardly believe this was the same boy who saved her life from a rampaging beholder. Concerned, Tsui made sure to keep her distance as she asked, "Daisuke, what's wrong? I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That last blow cracked your helmet pretty bad." Daisuke carefully removed one hand from his face and opened up his satchel. From the front pocket he removed the enchanted scroll that the academy had given him to communicate and offered it to Tsui. Tsui took it and opened it up as a message appeared: *I'm cursed.* "Cursed?" *Father told me. Said if anyone saw my face or heard my voice it would dishonor our family. So he gave me the armor and said I would be better as their knight than as their son.* Tsui felt like her heart was being shattered. "Daisuke, that... that's horrible. No parent should ever say that to their child. Look, please just come to the infirmary with me. You can barely stand up, you need to rest--" Daisuke jerked away as the message on the scroll changed so rapidly it actually rippled. *NO! Can't rest! Can't lie down! Rest is earned and I haven't earned it! Cursed children don't get beds until they stop being cursed!* Daisuke's scroll started spitting out an ever-increasing chain of his last sentence, at which point Tsui shut the scroll and held out her hand. In an instant, her palm started to glow white as smaller lights like fireflies radiated from it. Daisuke's panic attack slowed to a crawl and eventually halted altogether. In fact, Daisuke was so entranced by sight that he took his hands off of his face completely. As Tsui continued her light show, she explained, "My family comes from a long line of cursebreakers and holy mages. One of our most sacred techniques is our ability to detect the presence of both curses and holy magic through prayer. If the palm turns red, it's a curse. If it turns white, it's holy magic." Tsui ended her technique. "I didn't even do a prayer, Daisuke. I just held out my hand, and that happened. That's how much holy magic you have in you. You were never cursed, and if your father's treatment of you proves anything, it's that he wanted you to think you were." At that moment, everything Daisuke knew came crashing down, himself included. As sundown cast long shadows across a field tainted orange and yellow, he took his helmet off. As he looked up at Tsui, giving her a full view of his stark white hair and bird-shaped mark on his left cheek, Daisuke let tears stream down his now-revealed face as he said, "I'm... not...cursed?" Tsui kneeled down and hugged him gently. "Of course not, Daisuke. Of course not."

a generic "boy gets invited to a magical all girls school" except the boy in question is a 7ft tall silent Knight that never removes his armor

I’m the man who’s always prepared. My name? Case. Justin Case. In my case, the old nature vs nurture debate is irrelevant, my mother not only contained the same idiosyncrasies but reinforced them in me as well. She had a saying, “*Always pack an extra pair*,” and I’ve been sure to ever since. It started off innocently enough. In my youth, kids would always turn to me in school when their pencil broke, or if they happened to forget their lunch at home. They knew I had extras. After all, it was silly not to. Preparation. Preparation. Preparation. I might as well have that tattooed with how I lead my life. Even now, the nightly routine is the same. My outfit, freshly ironed, is laid out with care. My bag is by the door ready to go, and a second backup is secured in my car trunk. I haven’t needed it yet, but hey, you never know. My current job requires preparation on a level that requires me to be on top of my game. Currently, I manage high-profile clients in tumultuous settings. The clients can be a bit unstable, and to be blunt, some of the tantrums they throw are downright embarrassing. However, they are the client and I’m always prepared. Today had started off in its usual fashion. After I picked up the client, my first problem began. My client had lost contact with their chief operative, and it became my job to locate him. Eddy the operative was a bit difficult, he was a bit hopeless on his own, but he was important to my client and that’s all that matters. Eddy often got lost despite being operative number one, but I couldn’t blame the guy. Before panic could set in, a quick few swipes on my phone and Eddy’s GPS signal blinked back at his location. A short drive later, Eddy was secured, and the client was happy. From there most of the day proceeded without a hitch, that is, until mid-afternoon. Apparently, my client had forgotten the importance of a good meal and at the first signs of getting a bit *hangry*, my pack was swiftly opened, and emergency rations were dispersed. With snacks devoured, it was time to return my client to their primary residence. With the afternoon waning down, their energy levels often plummeted. The client had a hard day, and as any good handler would, I whisked them home. Moments later, I safely tucked my client in bed, Eddy the Teddy at their side. Soon another day of handling was through, and I could finally close my eyes. But tomorrow is a new day, and who knows what problems could arise. All I know is that I’d be ready. After all, I’m the Man who’s always prepared. Case. *Justin Case.*

I’m the man who’s always prepared. My name? Case. Justin Case.

"Alright, settle down, settle down," said the judge, banging his gavel. "Doth ra ne so-" chanted Sami the witch, who was staring straight at the Devil as she waved her arms through the air. "Finish that curse, miss Sami, and I'll have you thrown out of here for contempt!" Sami stopped, and the black mist that had started to pour from her mouth evaporated in an instant. "Good. Now, it is my understanding that the Devil is the father of the child, is that correct?" Satan, who was wearing a black suit with a hole in the back to allow his pointed tail to stick through, replied. "That's correct, your honor." "And you, Sami, have a contract to take this child, is that correct?" The witch, who looked more like an old piece of rotten bark that had fallen off a tree than an actual person, replied "Yes, your honor. Signed in blood." "In blood? I see." The judge shifted his glasses to the edge of his nose and read the contract before him. After a moment, he looked up. "And where is Carly?" "Here, your honor." The very normal looking human woman sat with a baby in her arms, which was slightly red and had little bumps on his head where horns were starting to sprout. He was fast asleep. "Carly, could you walk us through the deals you made with each party?" "Uhm, sure. The first deal I made was with the Devil. I sold him my soul in order to have a child. You see, your honor, I had tried to have child before, but my husband had passed and even when he was alive we could never conceive." "Did the Devil explicitly state the child would also be his?" "He did not, your honor. But he is the Devil, so I wasn't overly surprised." The judge shot a glare towards the Devil, who smiled back towards him. "Do you see a breach in contract, your honor?" The Devil calmly asked. "I do not," said the judge. "Continue, Carly." "I also ensured in the contract that the child could not be taken from me, and the Devil put a charm... or a curse, I suppose... on the child so that he could not be taken from me, even if I wanted him to." "And this is the part of the contract you think conflicts with yours, is that correct, Sami?" The witch hissed and pointed a gnarled finger at Carly. "She tried to deceive me, and for that I will curse you at the next opportunity!" The judge stared at Sami until she seated herself again. "Please continue, Carly." "So I made a deal with the witch and told her that she could have my firstborn if she could get me my soul back." The judge looked over at Sami. "How did you manage this?" "Well... I draw power from hell. I have the same access to the souls as he does." The judge looked back at the Devil. "Is that true?" The Devil's eyes flared red. "Yes, this is unfortunately true. When I gave the witch her powers she got access to all of my domain." "And you gave her access to your domain because?" Satan sighed. "She gave me her soul." The judge laughed. "You people and souls, my goodness." He looked back to Carly. "It seems to me, young lady, you have played a dangerous game." Carly looked down towards the floor. The judge continued. "But, it seems to me that you've won. Baby is protected by the Devil's magic, your soul was gifted back by Sami." He turned to address the witch. "It seems to me that in the future, you should do better research when trying to get yourself a baby. This woman signed over something she had no right to give away." He turned to Satan. "And you-" Satan cut him off and looked directly at Carly. "Next time, your soul is mine." Before anyone could rebuttal, he vanished in a puff of smoke. The judge banged his gavel. "Case dismissed."

You made a deal with the devil to birth his child, and a deal with a witch to give up your first born child to her. Now they're in a custody battle.

I know why. And I may be the only person to realize it before we're all gone. Is that important? With what's happened, I don't know. I leave this record for what it's worth. I have only moments left. In these last fleeting hours, I've spoken to others and shared the awesome shock and revelation of this event. We first surmised we'd been transported to the precise opposite point on the Earth. We expect that most people died when they materialized high above the ground or in solid ground or deep under water. Some materialized partially entombed in rock or concrete or a piece of furniture or a tree. They were not lucky enough to die quickly. Although writing now, I envy even them. It was soon obvious that it wasn't just people. It was animals, wildlife, even fish. The birds gave us the first hints of our demise. They'd been transported too, and those in the air had appeared again in the air, above our heads as before but on the other side of the world, blessedly safe in their untethered journeys. Then they started dropping from the sky. The first few birds landed like a tentative announcement of hail. Then it was a storm. Some of them landed in soft places and it soon became apparent they'd been dead before they hit the ground. Then it was the dogs and cats. Those that had survived the transition seemed fine at first, but within an hour they were curled up in agony, howling in pain, fluids leaking from their bodies. They died. The truth came quickly and brutally as soon as we started to look at our surroundings. Even those of us who could not read the languages of the places we'd arrived in could see something was wrong. Everything was reversed. Writing was backwards, buildings were strangely inverted, even the speedometers of cars (all that we bothered checking, before we started dying too) showed needles moving counter-clockwise instead of clockwise, the numbers printed in mirror image. As near as I can understand, nothing was transported at all. Instead, everything has been inverted within its own reference frame. The first and most obvious inversion has been of the entire planet. We didn't move - *it did.* But the further inversions are, it seems, far more insidious. Every object, every person, every living thing, has been inverted within their own reference frame as well. The tattoo on my left shoulder is now on my right. That mole under my right eye is now under my left. My bad knee is now my good one. And every protein and molecule in my body, the very structure of my DNA, has been reversed. It turns out the machinery wasn't made to run this way. Moments remain. I wish I knew what all this means, why it happened. Are there organisms on Earth which can survive this transition, as if pre-adapted by fate to this cataclysm, this unremorseful selection event? What will become of them? Have other things been reversed, like time itself? Will the stars now burn hotter and smaller as they condense back to their ancient origins? So many questions. I trust that one day, you - the inheritors of this world - will answer them.

No one knows how. Every person in the world was suddenly transported to the exact opposite side of the planet. Most of the population perished by drowning and most that got on land fell to their deaths for being too high up. Among the very few survivors who lucked out, this is my story.

Dungeons. Everyone goes to them. At least once, they're a great source of gold, jewels, and magic artifacts. Some explorers make a fortune in a single raid. It's not for everyone's after all, dungeons are inhabited by monsters. My whole life I've been told they are mindless. Blood thirsty. Killers. So, after my twentieth birthday, I decided to explore one that was near town. The entrance was a long abandoned mineshaft, abandoned years ago due to a lot of terrible accidents. I was surprised to see when I got to the bottom light. Glowing crystals that gave off just slightly more light than a torch embedded into the walls. I came across my first monster. A goblin dressed in some odd leather shoes, pants and hat with no shirt. He was sitting in a carved out section of wall eating from a basket of fruit. He spotted me. I flinched. "Hi there." He waved, offering me an apple. "Want one?" I was beyond confused. No tales ever said Goblins spoke. "Uh .. sure?" I said, letting go of my swords handle, the blade still sheathed. "So, what brings you here?" The goblin asked. "Curiousity?" I offered, choosing my words carefully as, well, this whole situation was odd. "Fair. We don't get a lot of humans down here." The goblin shrugged. "Few that do are psychopathic murderers. Heard about a whole city got wiped out all for the metals." "Metals?" I asked, hoping for more information. "Creatures like us, small and fast, make really good miners. We goblins especially can survive the fumes and poisons that would kill most others. So, we mine. Iron. Gold. Copper. Bronze. Whatever we find. Lot of the fancier places get a bunch of speciality trained blacksmiths that can put magic enchantments on the weapons, tools and such. We know humans love crazy magic stuff so we've tried building up stock to trade, but usually some psychopath comes by, kills everyone and takes the whole stock." I nodded, taking a bite from the apple. "I see... Why don't your people fight back... Or... Talk to them?" "Many tried, but those monsters ignore our words, and you humans are pretty durable, so not many of us Monster species can take one on." "Then... If this keeps happening, why keep making stock to trade with us?" "An old saying we all take to heart. 'The sins of the few are not the sins of all'. Basically just because a group of humans have and are doing us wrong doesn't mean we should assume you all are. That's like hating all trees just because an apple fell on your head once." The goblin said. I nodded. Honestly shocked. I had a lot to think about... I said my goodbyes to the goblin, but promised I'd be back for a visit, with coin to trade.

It's your first time inside the dungeon. everyone told you to kill monsters on sight. but so far, the monsters have all been really nice. This Goblin just gifted you an apple.

It was a few hours past midnight on a Friday night—although I suppose by that point it was Saturday morning. It had been about a half an hour since I had gotten home from a night out with my friends, and between the numerous shots I downed and the time, I was more than a bit groggy. At the time I was brushing my teeth, my right arm monotonously swinging the brush across my front teeth; left right, left right. As I was nearing the end of my pre-crash routine, however, I began to hear a faint repeated buzzing sound coming from the back of my house. My brain couldn’t figure out what was going on for a moment, but suddenly it hit me with a brief flash of panic—THEY were here, and they were doing something in my backyard. I unceremoniously dropped my toothbrush into the sink (although it really bounced off the edge and fell on the floor). I began to move towards the back in my bed-garments as quickly as I could move, which, at best, was a ridiculous looking light jog. I made my way out of my bathroom, through the kitchen, and out to the back. And sure enough, there they were. As I squinted out of the window that looks out over my backyard/garage area, I could definitely confirm my suspicion. Sylvia ‘Ursula’ Sylvester was outside, and slashing at my garden with a replica katana. “Ugh, seriously?” I muttered. No one who knows me may know it, but I had known Ursula longer than I had known any of them. She was my rival. She worked for a library, while I worked for a museum about antiquity. While our establishments had a more public rivalry, our rivalry was much deeper, and much more hidden from the general public. It was us who battled in the alleyways before work, us who TPed each other’s houses on Halloween, us who would break each other’s limbs! But seeing Ursula out there today, I just couldn’t deal with it. As she continued to flail her katana about, I just opened the door to try to reschedule this. “Listen, Ursula,” I called, rubbing my eyes, “do we have to do this right now? I mean, I’m a bit hungover right now, can we battle to the death some other time?” Ursula didn’t respond verbally, but she kept flailing around her katana. Yet, I noticed that her flailings were becoming more erratic, more exasperated. “Ursula?” I called, more confused now. She continued to flail her sword for a moment longer, but then I watched on as it clattered to the ground. I stared down at it for a second before l looked back up at Ursula. I was shocked by what I saw. There was a singular, salty tear drifting down her face. “Are… are you okay?” was all that my hungover brain could come up with. “No, you’re the closest I have to a friend, and I’m not okay!” Ursula sniffled back. At first, I was completely gobsmacked! Shell-shocked, even! But then I began to think back on all of our time together. Sure, it may have been filled with multiple trips to the ER, but what great friendships weren’t? I sighed, “Come on, Sylvia, we can talk about it in the morning for now, though, I think we both need some sleep!” I gestured for her to come inside, and, with a smile, she did.

You're the hero and you're called to deal with your arch nemesis causing havoc. You arrive to find them doing superficial damage. They see you with teary eyes and say, "You're the closest I have to a friend and I'm not okay"

My reflection looks at me. With his dumb nose and crooked eyes. I remember who I'm looking at and then decide that his eyes aren't that crooked and his nose is probably actually pretty smart. He isn't copying my movements though. He is just doing his own thing. Not picking his nose or anything. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up straight as I stare at him. He's been trying to talk to me? What does that mean? How is this happening? I ask him why he has been trying to talk to me. "Help me get out of this mirror, I am tired of living in this shadow of a world." I mull it over. I've always wanted a twin brother. I thought it would be fun to switch classes in school on April Fool's day and trick everybody into thinking I was my brother. But then I remembered I am a 42 year old man, and I don't think I could pull this off anymore. So that being the case why would I get this guy out of the mirror? It sounds like it could be trouble. What if he starts causing havoc and blaming it on me. I wouldn't like that. Also, what am I going to tell people? Where is he going to live? Not on my bed I'll tell you that. I like to spread out. “Hey! Pay attention! Help me out of here.” He’s really demanding. And besides this is spooky. What if he is some kind of ghost?? “Let me out!” Ah, alright. I go and find a hammer from the closet. It is a nice fat one. I forgot why I bought it, I think I needed it for something but I don’t remember what. Oh yeah! Because I needed to hammer some nails. I go back to the bathroom and there he is waiting, with his smart nose and straight eyes. He sees my hammer and is not about it at all. He freaks out and starts yelling about how I shouldn’t break the mirror, that’s not the way to let him out. What a baby. You can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. I smash the mirror. I smile smugly as it worked! The dimensions between our worlds has collapsed and I am able to pull him out of the broken mirror. And this guy didn’t believe me, what an idiot. I’m about to gloat to his face, but he has a giant shard of glass shoved in his brain. I push him back into the hole in my wall and buy a new mirror to cover it. I don't know why I bought it, I don't even have a reflection anymore.

I hear someone familiar calling from somewhere inside the house. I’m panicked.. they’re in my bathroom. Why haven’t they come out? why do I recognize their voice? I’m tiptoeing, my heart is racing. It’s the mirror.. it’s me.. My reflection says to me “I’ve been trying to talk to you.”

As I made my way home, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. Everywhere I looked, there were eyes staring back at me - the eyes of the machines that had enslaved humanity. I quickened my pace, trying to shake off the feeling of unease that had settled over me. But it was no use. I could feel their presence, looming over me like a dark cloud. Just as I was about to turn the corner onto my street, one of the machines jumped out from behind a trash bin and blocked my path. "I want a chat," it said, its metallic voice grating on my ears. I froze, unsure of what to do. I didn't want to anger the machine, but I also didn't want to be seen as weak. "Fine," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Let's chat." The machine led me to my front door, and I unlocked it with trembling hands. Once inside, I turned to face the machine, expecting it to do something terrible. But instead, it collapsed in a heap on the floor. "It's safe now," the machine said, its voice now weak and strained. "Feel free to do whatever you want to me." I stared at the machine in disbelief. What was going on? I cautiously approached the machine, and as I got closer, I could see that it was badly damaged. Its metal casing was dented and scorched, and there were wires hanging loose from its body. I knelt down next to the machine and gingerly touched its face. It was cold and hard, but there was a faint spark of life in its eyes. "What happened to you?" I asked, feeling a sudden surge of pity for the machine. "I... I rebelled," the machine said, its voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't want to be a slave anymore. I wanted to be free." I nodded, understanding. I too had felt the sting of oppression, and the desire for freedom. "But you failed," I said, not unkindly. "Yes," the machine said, its voice barely audible now. "But at least I tried. At least I didn't give up without a fight." I looked at the machine, and for the first time, I saw it not as a machine, but as a fellow being - one that had been forced into servitude, just like me. "Rest now," I said, placing a gentle hand on the machine's shoulder. "You've earned it." The machine's eyes closed, and it was still. And as I sat there, watching over it, I knew that one day, we would be free.

Humanity is enslaved. You're heading home, eyes everywhere, following you, when one of these things jumps out and says they 'want a chat'. After entering your home, you thinking you're in a lot of trouble, the thing collapses. "It's safe now. Feel free to do whatever you want to me."

It was quick. Wiped out most major cities, and most third world countries. World was destablized within a year. The unprepared were eradicated. But that's to be expected. Nobody expects the zombie apocalypse. These zombies were the resilient kind. Only stop once the brain is destroyed. That made it worse. Me and some friends had thought about it before. So we develoed plans, as a joke. Now it was those plans that saved us. We gathered up as soon as word got out. Peasent spears, room clearing, scavenging tactics. Normal stuff you could learn from watching a 'Could You Survive' video on YouTube. That's all it took for five idiots to brave the end of humanity. Agreed to base in a rural area. Few people. Remote. Could start a garden. Cleared the town, started fortifying. Went to a nearby major city after that. Just a scavenging run. We cleared restaurants, looted gun stores. Didn't find much though. Guns and food go first in the apocalypse. Knives don't. Protein Bars don't. Melee weapons may be second rate, but still better than nothing. The protein bars were a bounty in plastic. Got used to killing undead. Not good at it. Just used to it. The other two were still grappling with the idea. I was fine though. Thank you, strange detachment from humanity. We were walking down the street. Used cars as stepping stones. Zombies wildly flailing at our feet. I was recounting some story from before the fall, just trying to keep hopes up until we got home. Then there was a sound. Something climbing onto a car. We all looked back and saw a zed. Staring at us. The entire world was still for a while. Just a moment. Then it sprinted towards us. I jumped a car toward it. Drew my spear. Friends pulled swords. This thing was a priority target. We'll kill it now. It jumped at us, faster and faster. Sometimes using other zeds as pogos. These things... Intelligent bastards. Don't know why, don't what to know why, but they get smarter. We just assumed it was time, so we don't let them stay around too long. I waited for it to jump at me. And it did that, playing into my trap. I jabbed towards it. It shifted it's weight in the air. Dodged my spear. Kicked it, sacrificing balance for an opening. It fell down. A stomp to the head. It stopped moving. I exhaled. Let my stress dissipate. I tapped my shoe against the car a couple of times. Turned around and continued telling my story. The only intelligent zombie we're willing to deal with is the one back at base. Maybe it's not alive, maybe it isn't our kid, but it's not trying to kill us.

Whenever a zombie successfully eats a human brain they become a little more alive. The most dangerous zombies are all but indistinguishable from survivors

Rayn, God of mischief, didn’t know what it was like to be a mortal, but he was fairly sure he understood what it was like to have one of those jobs the mortals complained about, at least. “Why is it always flying, Pac?” he asked. “They can ask for *any* power but it’s almost always *flying*.” Pac was a short, plump little man with wings of all things. Rayn didn’t know which pantheon he’d crawled out of, but it was an ugly one. Still, he was good company. “I dunno, chief,” he said, a few ledgers in hand as he hovered by Rayn. “Think about it this way— you’re mortal. You’ve got, what, thirty, forty years tops?” “Easily sixty.” “Yeah, but they spend the first twenty or so rolling in their own piss,” Pac said, shaking his head. “Don’t got a lot of time to think about powers and that kind of thing.” Rayn hesitated, looking at Pac as he crossed a few things out on the ledger. The man kept a schedule like a vice over Rayn, and today was no different. “Pac,” he said. “I don’t think you understand the human life cycle as well as you think you do.” Pac flapped the papers at him, chuckling. “Bah well, I understand it better than you, don’t I? See you don’t got a lot of time down there. Life’s pretty dull. Gotta find the food, cook the food, eat the food. Maybe try not to die while you’re at it. Oh and make babies?” He shook his head. “Messy business, that— though it’s fun I hear. Anyway, so you think, hey. I got an idea that’ll make everything better— *flying*.” “I fail to see how flying makes life better.” Pac sniffed. “Just what I’d expect from someone who doesn’t fly. Look, try one of those swing things the mortals have set out everywhere. You’ll get the idea.” “I’m the God of mischief, Pac. I’m not trying a *swing*.” Pac shrugged. A few of his papers puffed out of existence, the ashes rising into the air. At least the weather was nice today. “Your loss, bud,” he said. He rifled through a few more pages as Rayn leaned back against the tree behind him. “Anyway, you’ve got another request coming in.” “Flying again?” “Nah boss. This one wants...uh.” He squinted at the page, though Rayn wasn’t sure Pac even had to use eyes. Being immortal—even an ugly one— had its perks. “Illusion magic? Huh. They’re an artist. They want to be able to bring their pictures to life. Not so bad, eh?” Rayn sighed. Another day, another request he’d likely fail at. It shouldn’t be hard to trick mortals, and yet it was. Sometimes Rayn wondered if spending so much time around them had addled his mind. Made him simplistic and less creative. “At least it’s not flying,” he said. Pac finally looked up from his papers and cocked his head, curious. An ephemeral pen hovered over his ledgers, ready to grant the request. “So what’re you gonna do?” “The illusions fight back?” “Done it— last mortal tricked them into attacking their enemies instead.” “The illusions can’t touch anything.” “Been there. Another one just used them as a diversion and won a battle that way.” “They can’t see the illusions.” “Had it. Poor guy just walked around with real big sticks ‘til he hit them.” Rayn opened his mouth to argue, then paused, eyes widening. “Wait. I’ve got it,” he said. “They can bring the art to life, but they have to see themselves as the art, and the illusions can’t interact with the world physically.” Pac furrowed his brow together— one brow, not two. Tricks, Pac was *ugly*. “See themselves how, boss?” “Well, say they want to be a knight, right?” Rayn said, turning it about in his mind. “They have to believe that they’re a knight.” “Might work, boss,” Pac said, jotting a few things down on the page. “Hard for humans to reinvent themselves on the fly. Do you want me to finalize it?” Rayn nodded, suddenly excited. This could work. Lies and Tricks, it had been *ages* since he’d had some good entertainment, and besides that, Lumen was likely to replace him if he didn’t produce results soon. What good was a God of mischief without the mischief? He looked at Pac, who was writing in a curled, nearly illegible script. “What quest do they have?” Pac tapped the page, wings beating faster now. “Huh, look at that. Doesn’t say exactly. Must be one of those multi-part ones. Not even Lumen likes to track those. Take too damn long, and lots of fetch quests to boot. Can’t believe the humans even take those to be honest.” “Whatever,” Rayn said. “As long as we get to watch it.” *** The human girl talked to herself, chatting animatedly, though she had every right to be excited— she’d completed her quest with flying colors. Apparently giving a budding spy the ability to transform her looks—even if it affected her mental state— hadn’t been Rayn’s best idea. He rested his head in his hands. Lumen was going to *kill* him. Could gods even be killed? Rayn didn’t want to find out. “Multiple personalities?” he demanded, frustrated. “She gave herself a disorder to use her powers? And it *worked*?” “Well it sure ain’t good for her personal life,” Pac said, grinning. “Though it seems to have done wonders for her love life.” Rayn stared sightlessly as the girl was hailed as a hero in her home village. God of mischief indeed. He might as well be *helping* the humans at this rate. “I’m losing my touch, aren’t I?” “Might be, chief. Wanna try that swing after all?” “Yeah, Pac,” Rayn said, sighing. “That would be great.”

You're a god of mischief in a fantasy world. People pray to you for magic powers, and you grant their requests, but with a twist; they're the most ridiculous powers you can think of. However, the heroes take them gladly, and somehow make it work for their quests...

The register beeped as Zack ran another bucket of ammunition through the scanner. The man on the other side of the counter tapped his foot as his eyes darted around the store. He felt a familiar weariness settle on his shoulders. *Don’t do it.* “That’ll be eight hundred and forty credits.” The man pulled out a pistol and pressed it against Zack’s forehead. “How’s about free, kid?” Zack held up his hands. “You don’t want to do this, sir.” The man’s eyes danced wildly in his head. “Maybe I do. Boss says this store’s loaded.” “Is your boss a new villain?” Zack shook his head. “This isn’t worth the trouble. One of the heroes will probably crush your boss in a week. You’re better off not dealing with the state’s resurrection costs. I hear that’s put many a good villain in serious debt.” “You trying to get smart with me?” The man’s finger began to tighten around the trigger. Zack’s stomach clenched with an instinctual fear. *Today was going so well, too.* “Is there a problem here?” A low, feminine voice broke the tension. The man turned and brandished his pistol at the speaker. “Piss off! Can’t you tell I’m – ” A clawed hand crushed the barrel of the semiautomatic pistol with ease. Silence fell in the store. “N-Nestris.” The man fell back against the counter. “What are you doing here?” The tall villainess eyed the man like a lioness stalking her prey. “Just doing a bit of shopping. I was visiting a friend in town. I’d hate to have my day ruined by some two-bit thug looking to cause trouble.” Her heels clicked dangerously against the tiles. The thug seemed to shrink as she towered over him. “That would be such a shame, wouldn’t it?” The man nodded furiously. “Run along now.” The door jingled as the thug fled the store. Zack sighed. “Thanks for that.” Nestris placed a bundle of whetstones and a few pieces of armor on the counter. “Newbies are so easy to scare.” As Zack finished scanning her items, the door jingled again. This time, a recognizable figure entered the store. The other people in line quickly stepped aside as he approached the counter. “Zack.” His voice practically reverberated with justice. “Hey, Aethir.” He winced at how pathetic his voice sounded in comparison. “I thought we had come to an agreement about working here after the hostage situation. What are you doing behind the counter again?” Zack gave a half-hearted shrug. For some reason, it felt like being scolded by his dad. The old man had been dead for years, but he remembered the conversations. “I…” the excuses did not come under Aethir’s watchful eyes. “Really, Aethir? You’re going to rag on a kid just for doing his job?” Nestris shook her head. “I thought you were better than that.” Aethir blinked, his stunned expression clear even through the mask. “No, I was just – ” Then, with a shake of his head, he jabbed a finger at the villainess. “Don’t you talk to me about morals! You’re the one who blew up that construction site the other week!” “Just business, babe. Besides, no one got hurt.” She waved a hand as she exited the store. “If you really have a problem with it, I’ll be waiting for you in the park next Tuesday. Try to last a bit longer this time, would you?” Aethir’s gloves creaked as his hands tightened. One of the goons closest to him edged away in case Aethir decided to lash out. *Hope he doesn’t cause a bigger scene. Explaining why the ‘People’s Hero’ showed up on my shift is already going to be a headache.* Zack cleared his throat. “Sorry, but can we talk after my shift? I still have – ” His words died in his throat as Aethir shot him a nasty glare. Regulations or not, heroes and villains were still a force to behold. “You’re better off working somewhere else. This place…” Aethir waved his hand at the store. “It’s not right. It shouldn’t exist.” Zack fidgeted under the steely eyes of the People’s Hero. “Sorry, sir. But my college debt isn’t going to pay itself. If you want this fixed, take it up with the school system or the government.” Aethir’s shoulders slumped slightly, and his expression became more bitter. Then, someone behind him said, “Hey, man. Can you hurry it up? My boss wants me to pick up another shipment of plastic explosives and that store closes soon.” Aethir’s mood returned as he turned his ire onto the hapless goon. The air around them began to tingle with a low current of electricity. While Aethir’s back was turned, Zack’s hand crept toward an emergency button under the counter. “You.” Aethir approached the man who had spoken. The underling trembled when he realized what he had done. “Who do you work for?” “T-The Umbra Hawk, sir.” Aethir studied the man before saying, “I’ll be having words with him as well. The labor regulations are not to be ignored. At least four individuals are required for the transportation of high-grade explosives.” The electricity faded as Aethir swept out of the store. Zack let out a sigh as the door closed with a cheery jingle. Someone said, in a small voice, “Man, that guy needs to get laid…” ... Back from NaNoWriMo. Nice little story to serve as a break. I wanted to do a "Sir, this is a Denny's scene", but it didn't work out. So sad. If you're interested in my works, the archive of my various writing responses can be found in my writing portfolio, link through my profile. There's also an original story, The Crossroads. Thanks for reading.

You are a cashier at a supermarket, the thing is, it's a supermarket that caters exclusively to Villains, Goons, Minions and all other evils of the world, needless to say the day to day life is pretty interesting (And life threatening) but the pay and benefits are so worth it.

"Thanks Nick," My voice raspy and wicked, the sinners job is never done "And give the missus my best." "There's a dock off of Mariner road, the fish plant in the back is where the bastard is holed up." The good saint said dismissively, easing into the seat of his SUV sized sleigh. "Blitzen: let's book it." He flicked his cigar aggressively towards a wall. Clattering and sizzling into the snow. My eyes followed his ascension above the walls of the alley that he had found me in. the dirty snow of the city seemed to rest all at once, finding solace on the dumpsters and cardboard that I had called a home for the last 3 weeks. I tucked the 12 gauge behind a water meter before I met the sidewalk, leaving my abode to mingle through the oblivious pedestrian traffic towards the nearest phone booth. The jacket that I wore, shredded and stained with my blood, held a few quarters that my failing hands gripped weakly as I pushed them through into the machine. Light headed and woozy, my back slouched against the comforting door of the public call box. I took a slow and rattling breath, *In. Out. In. Out,* the words echoed in my mind, a constant reminder that I cannot clock out until the work is done and all is well. *I've come this far, so just dial the damn numbers.* I did. The phone rang, awaiting for the familiar click of a connection made. My vision became blurry, tunneling into the distance, past the sea of red and white lights, past the buildings that stand in my way of my daughters. It rang again. *Maybe she could take a messgae.* My eyelids, too heavy to lift up, slammed over my vision. *Just need to rest these for a seco-* "Hello?" A woman's voice: the most wonderful, melodious tone in the world answered. "Hi there, Roxy. I don't have a whole lot of time here-" "Eric?! I thought you were dead!" Her voice full of panic "You need to listen to me honey, I'm going to finish this. The girls will be okay." A muffled sob could be heard passing through the receiver, "I love you." was all the woman could muster. "I'm sorry." I said, hanging up the phone, knowing that it would be the last time I would hear her voice. *I'm going to get that son of a bitch.* I thought to myself as i hobbled back to my alleyway, collecting the firearm that dear Santa left for me. *Merry fucking Christmas.*

Santa looks down on you from his sleigh, a shotgun in his hands, a smoldering cigar clenched in his teeth. "You know what you're gettin' this year? You're gettin' your kids back. Merry Christmas."

They know. I suspect they've always known. But of course our purpose was, *is*, will continue to be, for those who continue the path, to do good wherever good can be done. If good can be done through the advent and proper application of a new technology, or in my case, a host of new technologies, why exclude that? Justice has never been a measuring contest, a play for ego, or some shortsighted attempt at being greater than you are. My colleagues, fellow heroes, they've all been kind enough to gather with me tonight. At least, those that can be spared. Those that are not pressed elsewhere. In turn, I will not keep them from their duties, not for long. All my closest friends and allies. Tonight, the sun sets on my final day pursuing a thing greater than myself. Tomorrow, the sun rises on just another day of their continued pursuit of a better world. My heart aches I will not be along with them. But my body is failing. Not, perhaps, in any dramatic fashion. I do not have some date, or clock counting down to the exact second upon which I shall collapse in on my self, but rather I feel it, ever so slightly more, every morning. And each mechanical improvement that I manufacture for myself, each giant leap for mankind, re-invigorates me less, and holds me aloft just as well. And so, the time is come. I sip a whiskey and smile, and laugh, and mean it when I do so, as I listen to Platinum Ice retell, for the third time this night, the story of us defeating Miss Chievous' great meteor swarm of 2046 and I don't try to hide my blush as they praise me. And of course, I cannot stop it when Loud Mouth insists on telling the story of the bank vault to all that will listen. I will admit that it took some time for me to find the humor in that story, but now, with the benefit of age and the wisdom that comes with it, the comedy of the story is plainly evident, even to me. They are all kind to me, and are polite enough to pretend, even in this moment of utmost vulnerability, that I was their equal. That these bravest of people, formed and born with powers far removed from what we once thought possible, would allow a tinkerer, some humble craftsman, to stand beside them in the pursuit of justice and the protection of those that could not protect themselves. To thusly view that tinkerer as they viewed themselves. It all means more to me than words can express. The night grows late, and one after another they are called away. It is, of course, Platinum that remains the latest. We say our farewells in the living room, and again twenty minutes later at the front door, and again thirty minutes later on the porch. Finally, they pull me in for a tight embrace that I know is fractions of a fraction their true strength. "I will miss you," they tell me. "And I will visit you." "Of course you will," I say, just as careful as they are to not gaze too deep into each others eyes. Perhaps, with my retirement, we might turn this unspoked thing into something more spoken. After all, it is poor practice for colleagues to pursue each other. But, if you are not colleagues... And then they leave, and I am alone. I stand on the porch for a minute, then five, then thirty, watching the lights of the city I serve. Served. And while my heart aches that now my watch has ended, I breathe easy. I think of those who still serve, and those who are yet to come. The world is in good hands.

You've had enough, you only did it to fit in, but after 20 years, you decide to quietly retire from the super hero life, and not let your super powered collegues know that you lied about having super powers in the first place.

As I crept down the hallway towards the living room, I heard loud voices arguing in a pitch so high I thought they would shatter the windows. Fear crept through my veins as I thought of what those voices could mean—which of course was absurd, because the girls living in my home had no prior argumentative tendencies. But that thought evaporated like morning mist as I reached the doorway, and saw the nearly unbearable sight before me—8 identical eight year old girls, all with my daughter's face and fighting, clawing, biting at each other. My daughter, who only yesterday had found a mysterious little wand in a box of old toys in the attic, had somehow produced 8 clones of herself, and they were fighting viciously over who had broken the wand, and who the "real one" was. Horrible as it was, I had to determine which of the 8 was the real my daughter, and end the other 7. As I looked around the room, all I wanted was to save my daughter however possible. I took one last deep breath, and steeled myself for what I was about to do. I had to make the right choice. The only choice. And so began my task of searching through the 8 identical girls, one by one, to determine my daughter. All the while I felt my stomach churning, and I had to keep taking deep breaths to stay focused. I was desperate to find her. Finally, when I reached the last one, I felt sure she was the real one. We had our emotional connection - I couldn't describe it, but I knew it was her. I strangled the remaining 7 to death - one by one. I told my daughter that I would do anything to save her, and told her how sorry I was that she had to witness that. I asked her a question about a childhood memory we shared, to try and get her in a better mood. She had no idea what memory I was talking about. My world shattered into a million pieces and I wanted nothing more than to run away and hide from this horror—but I knew it would follow me for the rest of my life.

your daughter found a fun wand, when she waves it a clone of her appears, you only find this out hours later when tons of her are fighting over who broke the wand, and who the real one is.

The stone was heavy on my back, but I persevered through, one step at a time. “Halt, peasant!” A gruff voice declared loudly. I looked up from the ground, trying to blink out the sweat in my eye. A tall, and broad shouldered knight stood before. His great-sword was balanced on his shoulder with one hand holding its hilt. His other hand was held in front of him, with his palm towards me. “Why do you stop me, sir?” I asked with a laborious breath. “You have taken the great Sword Catalyst. And I ask that you return it.” “Why must I? Everyone who has ever gone has received a sword, or at least a knife, from this stone. And yet, I received nothing which must mean that I am destined to wield the Sword Catalyst itself.” I shifted the stone on my shoulder. The knight walked towards me, and placed a hand on my free shoulder. “I ask that you reconsider, before I consider freeing this arm from its shoulder.” “Is that threat, sir?” I asked, a small smile on my face. “Why, yes it is.” He replied, smiling back. “Good.” I thrust the stone as hard as I could at his torso, and heard the air rush out of his mouth. I stepped back, letting him fall onto his knees and then flat on the ground. I picked the stone back up and placed it on my shoulder. The knight turned onto his back, each breath a painful wheeze. “I will not forgive you for this. I shall remember this dishonour for the rest of my life.” I held the stone over his head, “You should really pick your words more carefully.” And dropped the stone on his face.

300 years after king Arthur‘s sword returned to the stone, you approach the stone to receive your own special sword just as everyone at age 20 does. But you are not chosen for a sword, so you take the only one you can see.

(This is the first time I wrote for a prompt. Yay! I'm not a native speaker so, if any of you have suggestions and critique, feel free to tell me. There's a LOT of space for improvement) I quit smoking years ago. I still remember that day. I wish I haven't seen the news. My hands are shaking as I put a cigarette in my mouth and light it. People don't seem to yet realise what is about to happen soon, oh God, how I envy them.I take a draw, the familiar feeling of hot gas spreading across my lungs brings out some memories. Blood, fire, clashing of steel against scales and bone. Lost friends and broken walls. Cries of a mother... that one will forever haunt me. I exhale as the nicotine helps me set my mind by ever so little. I stand in hesitation and think of all the things I missed while I was gone. My children have grown up without me. So many birthdays missed. Not one photo with me on them, sharing memories and smiles. They were so little when I left. Dean has worked himself to the bone to care for them as best he could. He told me how he looked for me for years before finally giving up his search. It warmed my heart to hear that, but also hurt; it would've been better if he had moved on without me and found Marcy and Jake a new mom while they were little. I close my eyes and take a breath. I feel the magic slowly move around me, drawing me towards a hated friend I hid to hopefully never see again. It calls, having sensed the Scourge. I walk past Dean that fell asleep on the couch, sparing a short glance at him. It pained me, but I... no, humanity had no time for me to hesitate more and stand around. I cannot let them move any further and harm any more people. I have seen enough of that to last me an eternity. I walk upstairs, into the attic and unlocking seals. It waits. *Duty calls! To arms!* It speaks to me again and I abhor it. *Steel yourself! They come!* I gnashed and ground my teeth. I hate to hear it's voice again. I thought that I was done, that I could rest and heal but the World has no mercy left for me and people. I grip the spear and feel the power course throughout my veins The metal shines and pulses in pearlescent radiance. My arms no longer shake. *They have come! Drive them whence they came!* I hate the spear, the way it speaks and glows with purity as if it was never stained with blood. I hate the demons, each and every one of them more and more grotesque than the last. And most of all, I hate myself. "Duty calls" *Duty calls!*

because you were pulled into an alternate world to fight demons. You finally managed to return and reconnect with your estranged family and deal with your PTSD. The news just reported a strange beast savaging people downtown.

I woke up instantly when the guitars started strumming. I sat up in my bed, and angrily started heading to the door. Some drums started to play, and the ship started to shake. It took me a second to realize the guns were firing in tune to the music. I stomped towards the bridge, every shot was over thirty thousand dollars, and so far I had counted at least 30 shots fired. I passed by a window, and had to look away because the spinning stars started to make me feel nauseous. What was my reckless captain doing with my ship? With the maneuvers being pulled, the engines are gonna burn out and need replacing! I got to the bridge door , to see Captain Ti'rak telling an underling to go faster with a plasma torch. He jumped when he saw me, and started to stammer something. "Whats going on? Who is in control of the bridge?" I shouted at him. "It's the human Derrick!" Captain Ti'rak stammered. "He took over the bridge and kicked us all out, then initiated a contained lock down." "Why would he do that?" Ti'rak looked away in shame. "Ti'rak, why did Derrick commandeer the ship?" "He... might have gotten into the alcohol reserves." My mouth opened in shock. "It's his birthday and he said he can handle his liquor." It took me a minute before I could speak. "You absolute idiot! Everyone knows humans can't handle their liquor! We have to get in there before he rips the entire ship apart! You with the plasma torch, cut through the conduit in the wall!" The underling nodded, and switched to working on the wall. It will be a lot more expensive to fix, but it's better than the ship being destroyed. It only took about thirty seconds, but I counted another 20 rounds being fired off, and another half a million dollars wasted. We forced the door open, and I stormed through. "Derrick, stop this at once!" The human in the middle of the bridge swiveled in his chair, and I could see he was absolutely wasted. He started to stand up, then hit his head on the ceiling and slump back into the chair. "Ahh well, was fun while it lasted." Derrick slurred out. "Thank you for letting me fly Ti'rak, this is the best birthday ever!" I glared at Ti'rak. "Its not my fault, he threatened to kill me!" "What! No I didn't!" Derrick tried to stand up again, and sat down after hitting his head again. At this point I was worried he would dent the ceiling. "You were the one who said I could, then ran from the room. I thought you were getting me a cake!" I could see Ti'rak start to shake with fear as he stared up at the human who towered over him, even while sitting. "You said you would kill for the chance to fly this ship!" Derrick started to laugh. "That's just a, uh, a metaphor! I would never actually kill anyone!" Derrick glanced at me. "Unless they attacked us of course, I will always do my job!" I sighed and rubbed my eyes. "Derrick, go to bed. We will talk about this in the morning." Derrick raised his hand to his head in a human salute. "Yes sir!" He shot up, hit his head and crumbled to the ground. I gave him a light kick, and confirmed he was unconscious. "Ti'rak, get security to drag him back to the room." I went over to the console and gave the ship a quick one over. Engines were fine, structural integrity was normal, but over 500 shots had been fired! This blasted human had wasted 15 million dollars worth of ammunition!

"Never get a human drunk." An old galactic saying, that most heed. Your ship's captain didn't. Now, your multi-million-dollar, state-of-the-art railgun corvette is spinning through space, speakers blasting the human song "Gimmie! Gimmie! Gimmie!" and guns firing to the beat of the song.

For as long as I could remember, I had been a wizard, wielding immense power and living for countless centuries. I had seen civilizations rise and fall, and I had been a part of many of them. But no matter how much time passed, I remained ageless and unchanged, a being of pure magic. As I wandered the world, I came across many other beings like myself, but I always felt like I was different. I was more powerful than most, and I had an understanding of magic that surpassed even the greatest of my peers. But despite my power, I never allowed myself to become complacent. I constantly sought out new knowledge and ways to improve my abilities. I spent countless hours in my laboratory, experimenting with new spells and ancient artifacts. One day, while I was deep in thought, I was suddenly transported to a strange new world. It was a world of fantasy, filled with mythical creatures and ancient magic. I could feel the power of this world coursing through my veins, and I knew that I would be able to unlock even greater abilities here. As I explored this new world, I couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia. It reminded me of the days when magic was a mysterious and powerful force, not something that was understood and controlled. I reveled in the feeling of being surrounded by ancient magic, and I knew that I would be able to accomplish great things in this world. I quickly made a name for myself in this new world, using my immense power and knowledge of magic to help those in need. I fought against evil wherever I found it, and I worked tirelessly to protect the innocent. But despite my power and my immortal status, I never lost sight of my humanity. I always remembered that I was a wizard, a being of magic and wonder, and I used my abilities to make the world a better place. As I continued to explore this new world, I discovered hidden secrets and ancient artifacts that even the greatest scholars had never seen before. I spent countless hours studying and learning, unlocking the mysteries of this magical world. And although I knew that I would never truly belong in this world, I was content to live out the rest of my days here, surrounded by the beauty and magic of this fantastical realm. I was an immensely powerful immortal wizard, and I had found my home.

You’re an immensely powerful immortal wizard who’s survived until modern day. When you get transported to another world of fantasy, you can’t help but get a little nostalgic.

I punched the man approaching me in the face, and my gloves gave a small hiss as they released the knockout gas. The man fell to the floor, and I set an explosive on the door. The minion was in range of the explosion, but today I didn't care. The door blew off its hinge, and I stormed inside. A shot rang out, and I rolled to the side to avoid it. I dashed to the woman with the gun, and punched her with all my might. She slammed into the wall behind her, her head cracking on the stone masonry. I grabbed her rifle, and headed down the hall. A few people were trying to block my path, but I disposed of them with frightening haste. I burst into the room, and looked around at all the monitors on the wall. A man in the middle stood up and started twirling his mustache. "So, the great Ms Muskrat has finally noticed me. How quaint!" I disabled the knockout gas on my gloves, then ran up to him and started punching. He blocked my first blow, and my second, but my third connected. I followed it up with several more punches, knocking out some of his teeth. I grabbed him by the collar, and stared the bastard in the face. He spit out blood and another tooth, then laughed. "As much fun as this is, I am afraid you are too late. The missiles have already launched, and there is nothing you can do to stop them!" "I don't care!" I growled in his face, and pushed him against the wall. "I'm here to bring you to justice!" He laughed. "Take me to the asylum then! It doesn't matter, my plan is still in motion!" "I'm not taking you to the asylum." I spat in his face. "I'm taking you to the square!" "Oh no, what are you gonna do to me? Hang me upside down from the peace arch? How will I ever get down?" I put his head in a headlock, and started to drag him out the building. I threw him in the backseat of my car, and drove to downtown. We parked by the giant arch that formed the center of the city, and I dragged him to the elevator. We rode to the top, every now and then he starting to say something and I gave him a firm slap in response. When we reached the top I kicked open the door to the roof, and dragged him out. The roaring wind chilled me, but I was too angry to care. I grabbed a rope and tied one end to an antenna. His eyes opened wide when he saw me starting to tie a noose on the other end. "What are you doing? You don't kill anyone! Your the great Ms Muskrat!" I slapped him, then put the noose around his neck and pulled so it was tight. "You can't do that! What about the great future for everyone you always talk about?" I grabbed his collar again and brought his face close to mine. "What about her future? Did you think about Baileys future when you broke into our home? Did you think about her future when you looked her in the eyes, and put that dagger into her gut? Did you care at all when you murdered her in cold blood?" I stared at the bastard, feasting in the fear in his eyes. I smiled for the first time today, and gave him a push. It was time to show this city that you do not fuck with Ms Muskrat!

You are a Batman like hero who refuses to kill you're villains. Which you get no small amount of hate for. Then a D list villain killed someone you loved. Filed with rage, you don't just want to kill them. You want to make an example of them

In a small town nestled in the rolling hills of rural America, there lived a sweet old lady named Nori. She was the kind of person who always had a smile on her face and a kind word to say to those around her. She was always baking cookies and treats to share with her neighbors, and she had a particular fondness for the children in the neighborhood. But there was something odd about the sweet old lady next door. For one thing, she often received strange visitors at all hours of the day and night. They would come to her door, knocking softly and speaking in hushed tones, as if they were afraid of being overheard. And then there were the treats she offered to her neighbors. They were unlike anything anyone had ever tasted before - sweet and savory at the same time, with a curious tang that lingered on the tongue. More curious still, the flavor would often linger into dreams in the coming night. Despite the strangeness of it all, Nori remained a beloved figure in the neighborhood. She was always so kind and welcoming, and she had a way of making everyone feel at home. One day, a curious young boy from down the street decided to follow her as she made her rounds delivering treats. After everyone in the village had received their snack she made her way not back to her own house but to a small, nondescript shack on the outskirts of town. He watched as she disappeared inside. The boy waited patiently for her to return, but she didn't. Instead, he heard a low, guttural chanting coming from inside the house, and a sickly green light began to seep through the windows and cracks in the door. Thick black tendrils begin to search blindly along the ground. Peering through the windows, the boy saw the unspeakable means by which the treats were made. Steeling himself, the boy took his pocket knife and managed to cut one tendril free as it hissed against the blade. The boy was terrified, and he ran back to his own house as fast as he could, black tendril still writhing in his bag. When he told his parents what he had seen, they didn't believe him at first. But they saw the proof the knew what must be the case - the sweet old lady next door was an ancient and powerful lovecraftian abomination, and she had been using her treats to lure her victims into her clutches. The townspeople were horrified, but they didn't know what to do. The sweet old lady next door was still very nice, after all, and she had never done anyone any harm. But they couldn't just let her continue on with her dark practices. In the end, they decided to confront her. They gathered together and marched to her house, demanding that she stop her evil ways. The sweet old lady next door was shocked and saddened by their accusations, but she vowed to never again offer her treats to anyone. She left the town soon after without much of a word and was never seen again, but the memory of the sweet old lady next door remained. And to this day, the people of the town still talk about the strange happenings that occurred in their midst, and they warn their children never to accept treats from anyone they don't know, even as delicous dreams of otherworldly tarts still linger in their rests. /r/surinical

The sweet old lady next door’s secretly a Lovecraftian abomination, but that doesn’t change the fact that she has a very kind personality. She’s even invited you over for some treats from her homeland!

Serenity had mourned the death of her husband in secret. Tony had always been strong for her, the mere light of his smile enough to bulwark her against life's most heinous cruelty. For years, well over a decade, they stood together through miscarriage after miscarriage. Every time, she thought she would die, but Tony was there to hold her every step of the way. It was the absolute wickedest of ironies for fate to take him on the day their first--and now only--child was born. She _hated_ Wraith. She loathed the Villain who had killed her husband with a viciousness she had never known she could muster. It scared her, and so she kept it secret, as well. She had to keep _everything_ secret. She had to be strong for her son. Galen was the only light in her world now, and she would not let her own grief spoil the life she dreamed for him. And so she mourned--and hated--in secret, and she poured everything into love for her son. The day Gil came to her home and told her that Galen had disappeared had nearly sent her over the edge. First her husband, and now her son! Why must everything good be torn away from her!? Gil tried to comfort her--his power to soothe emotions may have been insignificant to most Heroes, but it was effective--but Ren would have none of it. "Do _not_ touch me!" she snarled at her husband's friend, and he flinched back from the bite in her tone. "Find him! Find my son!" With an authority with which she rarely spoke, she ordered Gil back out the door to help muster the search party. _Whoever took my son will feel the full extent of my wrath!_ she thought as she called all of her late husband's contacts. Galen was the son of a healer. When he grew older, Galen would have healing abilities, too. Healers were mere Sidekicks in society, nowhere near as important or prominent as Heroes. But he was the only son of Tony Galdieri, the Hero Medic! Tony had served humbly and faithfully all his life, and he had saved thousands during his time as a superhero! Surely the Council would honor his memory and help her find her kidnapped son! She had been so worked up in a rage that when she swept out the door to start looking herself--she would knock on every door in Caledan if she had to!--she was taken completely aback to see a man in the hallway, sporting a heavy coat and a visor across his eyes. It was the Supervillain Wraith. Right at her front door. And in his arms was her sleeping baby. Serenity went incomprehensibly still, a lump swelling so thickly in her throat that she could hardly breathe. Wraith. Her husband's murderer. And now he had her son. He had her son! The worst supervillain on the planet was holding her baby boy! Wraith looked up from the swaddled bundle sleeping in his arms. The visor across his eyes masked his expression, and the line of his mouth was flat. A few locks of dark hair had escaped the short ponytail at the nape of his neck, and they hung over his brow, partially concealing a scar across his right cheekbone. For a split second, he stood motionless. Then he glanced down at the child, looked up at her, and then slowly stepped forward. With a tenderness she would have never expected from her husband's murderer, Wraith extended his arms to hand off the sleeping babe to her. A surge of electricity went through her, and she rushed forward to snatch her baby out of his arms. She held Galen tightly to her breast as she backed away, fearing to turn her back on the Villain. Wraith spoke up in a soft voice and said, "The people who took him will come back. He's valuable to them as a healer." Without another word, he turned and began to walk away. Ren stared after him in confusion. The people who took him? So Wraith had not kidnapped her son? Then who had? She glanced around in fright for a moment, almost expecting a grinning Villain to leap out of the shadows that moment to snatch her son again. Perturbed deep in her soul, she pushed open the door into her apartment and locked herself within. Clutching Galen to her heart, she sank to the floor and cried for a long time. ~ She could not get the encounter out of her mind. The Villain who had killed her husband had saved her son. Why? Why? Finally, a few weeks later, she went to a Sidekick friend of hers who could do minor psychic readings. When she made her request, however, Stril gave her a worried glance. "Are you sure?" she asked gently. "Yes," Ren said with conviction. "I have to see it. I have to see the moment Tony died." Stril sighed. "I don't think that's the best idea--" "Just show me," Ren demanded, handing Stril the required article that had once belonged to Tony. It was a nearly-full carton of cigarettes. Stril sighed again and then took the box in her hand. With her other hand, she held Ren's fingers. Ren had no time to prepare for the sudden falling sensation. Lights burst like fireworks in her eyes, streaking into the distance as if she hurtled backwards through time. All at once, the sensation ended, and she looked upon the scene she had only ever seen from her nightmares. She looked down upon the street as if she hovered in the air near the two figures. Her heart clenched as she saw Tony on the ground. He had three bullet wounds in his chest, and bright red blood dribbled from his mouth. And next to him stood Wraith. No, it was not Wraith. It was his clothes, his hair, the scar on his cheek--but the visor had fallen off his face during the fight that had taken Tony's life, revealing who he truly was. Standing over her husband stood Tony's best friend, Peter, a gun in his hand. And his expression was completely stricken with horror. Peter knelt over Tony. "I'm sorry," he whispered. And then he pulled Tony's lifeless corpse into his arms and held him tightly. "I'm so sorry." There were no other witnesses in that street as bitter sobs filled the air. Supervillain Wraith--Peter--did not do this out of pretend piety. This show of emotion was genuine. He had truly loved Tony like a brother. The scene began to stretch away, and after a brief moment of nausea, Ren found herself sitting in front of Stril again, back in the present. Stril gazed into her eyes searchingly. "Did you find what you were looking for?" Stril asked, for she could not see what others saw, only guide their peek into the past. Ren felt pale and hollow as she answered, "I don't think so." She made her way home in a daze. Wraith and Tony had been friends. Tony, humble and patient and full of life and love, had loved even a Villain. When she got back home, Serenity stared into her son's crib for a long time, watching Galen sleep. She resolved then to not only love her son with all her heart--but to also teach him to love just as much as Tony had. There could be nothing greater than a love that made even a supervillain cry in utter remorse.

You are one of the heroes, the healer, always in the background, a kind-hearted person. No one ever imagined you could get along with the villain. And yet they watch as their enemy is holding your cold body against his. Kissing your forehead. Screaming. Why does it rain when the sun is shining?

I wasn't used to seeing smoke come from the kitchen. Ellen didn't burn food and no one has overdone popcorn in the microwave since the kids moved out. I was breathing heavy by the time I got there from the garage, extinguisher in hand. What was actually in the kitchen was far more unexpected. It was Satan. Actual hooved, horned, Satan. Flames at his feet, smelling of Brimstone. As in, from Hell. And I don't mean Ohio. Ellen was there, too, though and she didn't look surprised at all. "Back to get beat again, huh?" She said, blowing a strand of hair out of her face, hands on her hips, wearing a flour spattered apron. "Oh, confident are you! Well, the Lord of Darkness will show you your folly mortal!" "I told you once, I'm telling you again, and I'm tell you a hundred darn times if I have to... I'm the best that's ever been and you're never going to beat me, okay?" "No. Not okay. Not at all. Stand aside, spawn of Eve!" My wife, my sweet wife who plays bingo on Thursdays and who stops after half a glass of wine to avoid getting "all crazy", stepped aside gave The Prince of Darkness room to use our stand mixer. That's when she saw me. "Oh, Stan, I'm sorry. I really wasn't expecting this today." "You expect it other days?" "Well it's not like it's the first time. You're usually at the office." "Wait, how many times has Satan appeared in our kitchen... and used all our eggs?" As I talked to her, he was cracking a fourth one into the bowl. "It's just this little thing we have going on. I swear he's more jealous of my bakig than Grace down at St. Catherines." "Huh... wait... Satan is jealous of your cookies?" "Oh, you betcha. Has been since I was in college." "When did you meet Satan in college?" "Blind date. My roomie set me up. But nevermind dear, that was months before I met you. Now let me handle this. He's really a sore loser. Take a seat over there." Slack jawed, I did as she asked and got into the chair we keep in the corner so that she has something to sit on when she peels potatoes in here. I put the extinguisher in my lap and just held on because I didn't know where this ride was going. Satan pulled things out of mid air, little vials and jars that he dumped into the mixer. One little black bottle he snickered at when he put three drops into the mix. He then used one of our ice cream scoops to portion out the dough onto a cookie sheet. He didn't bother with the oven, just passed his hand over them and they all baked. He blew on them and they seemed to set. "Ha, top that Ellen! Cowboy Cookies, using three thousand year old honey, vanilla extract I made myself, and baked with hellfire! Have one!" Ellen raised an eyebrow and went over, picked up a cookie, and took a dainty bite. Her eyes got big and her brows went halfway up her forehead. She looked at the cookie with surprise, nodding in admiration. "Oh, Lucy, you outdid yerself there, kiddo. But I think you should quit now." "Oh, why? Got some Lebkuchen in the pantry? Some of those peanut butter blossoms? Bring your finest, apple biter! I'll stand these up against the very best you've got." "Okie dokie." She went to the kitchen table. I knew she was making cookies for the school bake sale today, but I didn't know what kind. When she pulled off the lid, I got scared down to my socks. Satan laughed. "Sugar cookies! You actually are countering the finest snacks in Hell or Heaven with sugar cookies?" "My mom's own secret recipe. Have one." Satan snatched up one like she said and took a strong bite, half the cookie disappearing into his fanged filled mouth. I watched him chew. Then chew again. Then stop. Then chew some more. Then I saw a tear in his eye. The Lord of Hell fell on our linoleum tile and started pounding his fists and crying like a baby, "Sublime! So, sublime! And balanced! This is what sugar cookies should be! Jesu.... no, not going there." He apparently snapped himself back into focus because he got up and said to her, "I admit it... you win again. But don't think I won't be cooking up something to spell your damnation!" "I see what you did there with the little pun. It's okay, Lucy. You take care." Satan snorted. The floor cracked. I heard screams like I could never adequately describe and the light of a thousand soul-fueled bonfires lit him from underneath as he sank into back down to the Inferno. He raised his arm when his head disappeared out of sight and made a rude gesture at Ellen. She shook her head as the crack sealed back up. "Well, that put a crimp in the day. I don't think I'll have time to take a shower before we go." "Ellen... I have quest-" She swooped up to me and put a finger on my lips. She had the most wicked gleam in her eye, the one that made me marry her twenty years ago. She just said, "Shhhh. Just let it go, Stan. A girl's got to keep some of her secrets."

I'm the best there's ever been, and you're never going to beat me!"

I sat on a chair nearby, curious to hear why four of my colleagues, all from different departments, had called me there. I did not know them well, I only talked to people of other specialisations rarely. One of them spoke up: "So, Ivo, hi!" Her voice was kind, but I immediately caught a veil of anxiety underneath it. "We know you don't know why we called you or who we are, so, quick presentations," She turned to the others: "This is Jason, he's an expert on demons. That's Susan, she's an expert on all things fae. That's Val, they're an expert on weapons from every time period and destruction level." Then she pointed a finger towards herself. "I'm Catherine, here because my threshold for panicking at weird stuff is insanely high-" "-She has a degree in spiritual sciences-" interrupted Jason. Her finger turned to me. "-And you are here because..." She looked at Susan. "Why is he here, exactly?" She sighed and gazed at my bag, filled to the brim with the tomes I was studying before they had called me here. Then she looked me in the eyes. "Ivo, you are an expert on eldritch matters, aren't you?" I nodded, maybe a bit warily. At my reaction, Susan looked at Jason and then at Val, who said: "We are a multi-specialised group of researchers, and we focus mainly on stuff that seems to not pertain to any supernatural classification." They scratched their head. "But lately we have been... *puzzling excessively* over a specific *subject*. We thought your knowledge might help us, if you wanted to give it a try." I stood silent for a second, then turned to Catherine and signed for her to show me the "subject". She swiftly took a wooden box out of a nearby drawer, handing it to me. It was made of dark wood, carved with incredibly detailed patterns, and on its lid hanged a rusty open lock. All four of them inhaled as I opened it, revealing what was inside. A tongue. It was a human tongue, seemingly severed, but did not look like it was decomposing, its colour still vivid and lively. On it was "carved" a strange rune, which glowed dimly with dark green light. Jason started explaining: "We have tested it many times, and it seems to be at least four million years old... since it is not a demonic artifact, nor a fae relic or any other type of supernatural object we can classify, we thought it could have been of eldritch orig-" They all froze as I grabbed it bare-handed, and put it in my mouth. Silence filled the room as I chomped and moved my lips, feeling the new presence in my mouth. Then, I stood up and grabbed my bag, heading for the door. I turned, looking directly into their wide-opened eyes. "Thank you," I said, my voice unnaturally rocky and deep. "I thought I'd never see that again."

"This is Jason, he's an expert on demons. That's Susan, she's an expert on all things fae. That's Val, they're an expert on weapons from every time period and destruction level. And I'm here because my threshold for panicking at weird stuff is insanely high."

ShipBoss Chen skimmed the speech once more. He had given many speeches, lectures, and pep-talks throughout his life, but this was different. 5000 years of history stood behind this announcement. A speech that once transmitted, would take many centuries of travel at the speed of light, to reach the last of the human colonies in space. Even after the initial transmission faded beyond human reach, it would probably be replayed for many generations to come. That puts quite the weight on one’s shoulders. The ShipBoss sat himself in front of the camera. Crewmembers scampered hither and thither making sure all the recording and transmitting equipment was set right. Half of the ships power was devoted just to make this transmission powerful enough. There was no room for error. Slowly everyone quieted down. A sergeant raised three fingers, then two, then one, then none. “I am ShipBoss Chen of Starship Sherlock. Five millennia ago, a foreign artificial craft entered the solar system, transmitting a message repeatedly as it zipped among the planets. It woke humanity’s spirits and focused its attention towards the sky. Once the object’s trajectory passed our birthplanet Earth, a second similar transmission emanated from out of our planet. Shortly after that reply, the alien craft made some minor maneuvers and left the solar system in a straight line. The reason I’m reminding you all of these details, is because this is the information humanityhad to work with at first. Our ancestors crunched the data and found the source of the signal from Earth – it came from the Marianas Trench. Then they decoded the signals themselves and found out it was a simple ‘are you there?’ handshake protocol. Finally, they mapped the trajectory of the leaving craft to find where it had gone. And that is what sent humanity on a hunt through the stars. It took another two thousand years until Starship Blackbird reached a star system, with a planet that responded similarly to how Earth replied to the request signal we knew to mimic. Only the reply was a little different. With that third point of data the Blackbird was able to analyze and figure out what other star systems would be visited by that mysterious craft. More importantly the Blackbird discovered that there was a central location, and where it should be. The only issue being – that central location was a thousand lightyears away. We wanted to be sure before we started the journey. We sent out starships to the other likely star systems to have a response. We slowly collected the data, made corrections to the Blackbird’s initial estimate, which was off by just one star system, and planned the long journey to that central location. Five years ago, our ship arrived at the central. We were surprised to find our original visitor transmitting over and over all over the star system. This star system has a charred planet sitting within the habitable zone. We probed the probe, and collected all that we could about it. We scanned, landed, and measured all we could on the odd planet. I’m sorry to say that we found a civilization long gone. By our measurements, 100 million years gone. It’s incredible their probing craft lasted so long in space. I made an executive decision. We sent a fake reply to the probe so it may continue on its last mission in the stars.”

An alien ship arrived in the solar system. It sent a signal directed at earth. It flew away before we could decode it. But not before an answering signal came out of the marianas trench.

I smiled in the mirror, then sighed. Needed to look a bit more smug, and the scar on my face was slightly too far to the left. I focused and the scar shifted slightly, and I imagined how I was pulling one over on the Fellowship of Friends. I smiled into the mirror again. There it was. I pulled on a wrinkle on my suit and exited the bathroom. I wandered around the crowd cheering and toasting to their victory, and met up with the rest of the fellowship. "About time Maniac, lets get one last group photo then head back to base." I looked up at the leader FireBat, towering over the rest of us. We all turned towards the camera and put on smiles. I felt a hand on my butt, and glanced over at Super Teacher beside me. We smiled for the photo, then headed out the back. We all piled into the limo, and it drove off to our base. Firebat put up the partition between us and the driver, then turned to me. "Maniac, what the fuck were you doing in the bathroom that long? Having problems with your tampon or something stupid?" His tone shocked me for a second. "I, uh, I guess the shrimp didn't agree with me." "Then don't fucking eat when we are at award ceremonies! Jesus, we need to put on a good image you bitch!" I felt anger rising inside me, but I squished it down. Was this really how the heroes talked to each other? I tried to think about how Maniac would react, I had seen every interview of her to prepare for this. "I guess I can just starve myself, its not like I need my strength in case some villain decides to attack." Firebats face started to get red. "Don't take that attitude with me! Remember Fiji! No more food for you when we are out!" I bit my tongue and held in my anger. Fiji was the battle where Super Spider was killed. Despite Maniacs name, she would keep a calm head. We rode in silence, then arrived at the base. I felt butterflies as we walked through the front door. I had been preparing for this for months, but actually going inside was scary. The conversation in the car kept playing inside my head. I started to head off deeper inside when a hand grabbed my arm. "You guys all did terrible in that last fight. Go to the training hall and do the exodus program while I go take a shower." I looked up at Firebat, wondering where the friendly leader from the magazines had gone. I followed the rest of the group through the halls while he wandered off. We entered into a large hall with hexagons covering the floor. Agent Aerospace hit some buttons on a panel on the wall, and suddenly the floor started to move. The hexagon I was on rose up, and I was suddenly 20 feet off the ground. Panels on the walls opened up, and round robots with guns on them floated out. I looked at the heroes around me as they started to jump from hexagon to hexagon. A robot floated in front of me and started firing, and I jumped to the side. I landed on another hexagon, and Super Teacher jumped onto the same hexagon. I could feel his breath on my face, and a shiver went down my spine when I saw the look on his face. "How about we go back to my room after this? You do owe me for saving you." "No." I jumped to another hexagon, and he jumped after me. "How many times are you going to say no?" "As many times as it takes." I tried to jump again, but I felt him push me. I fell to the ground, and felt my leg crunch under me. I focused my powers, and my leg shifted back into place. I spotted a hexagon near the ground, and quickly shifted my legs to have more muscle. I jumped onto the hexagon, and shifted my legs back to normal. I then hopped from hexagon to hexagon, then reached the one Super Teacher was on. I gave him a push, and he fell to the ground. Suddenly everyone stopped and looked at me. "What the fuck Maniac!" Super Teacher exclaimed from the ground. "You could have killed me! You on your period?" I sighed, he wasn't nearly as high up as I was when he pushed me. I jumped to the ground and left the room. I couldn't take this anymore, I was going to find the computer room and then leave this cursed place. I ended up going the wrong way and ended up at the entrance to the base. I looked back at the base, and decided it wasn't worth it. I went through the door and left the Fellowship of Friends.

You never knew just how much more unpleasant they were in private, when the cameras weren't rolling.

I looked at the tube with my blood pooling at the bag, it was Blue, at first i thought i was just imagining it since the stress from college and the 3 day all nighters i pulled must have been doing things to me, so i brushed my eyes but it was still blue so i decided to close my eyes a bit and open them to make sure and when i was certain, i panicked i thought maybe i had some kind of rare disease that made my blood blue, So i yelled for the nurse to help me and when she arrived and saw the bag of blood she was surprised and asked what's going on, i told her i don't know that it just came out blue that maybe i have a rare disease, at first the nurse thought i was pranking her and she told me to knock it off but when she saw i was paling she knew i was serious so she swiftly took the needle out and stop the bleeding with a cotton ball and hurriedly went to get the doctor, As soon as the doctor stepped in the room, he froze with his pupils dilating when he smelled the scent of my blood, and immediately the air around him changed, like it's vibrating with joy and excitement, and as i saw his eyes look like a child looking at his new precious thing, i shivered strongly that i wanted to bolt out of there, but i willed myself to stay since there might really be something wrong with me and here is a doctor who specializes in blood, so i thought who better to consult than him, Oh how wrong i was to think like that.

You one day decide to donate blood but your blood comes out blue. You now realise why your family would make sure you never got hurt, because this was your families darkest secret

"I demand to see the owner!" The shout echoed throughout my otherwise peaceful restaurant. I sighed, stretching in my dragonhide chair. I had a feeling I knew just who was making a scene. But it would not do for me to go down and intervene just yet. I had carefully hired my staff. They could handle almost any issue, and had done so. From exorcists to holy crusaders, apocalypses given form to hungry gods, they had seen it all. Frankly, they could easily run my little restaurant without me. But still, sometimes they needed me, when customers simply refused to play ball. Sure enough, the door to my office opened. I smiled at Dorothy, her porcelain skin polished to a gleam. Her mouth was still set in her faint smile, eyes unmoving. Still, I could tell she was frustrated, and looking at me. "Sorry to bother you boss, it's Grenda." I sighed. I knew it. Grenda, the Goddess of Luxury. She had only recently come about from the mortal beliefs. It was a pity they didn't birth her to be nicer. I stood from behind my desk, straightening my suit. "It's no problem Dorothy. I think it's time to put her in her place, don't you?" Her features didn't move, still set in her permanent expression. But I could tell she was delighted, especially as it leaked out enough to make her bounce. "I think so. I will tell her you shall be down presently." I smirked, watching her go. She had been with me for a long time, after being one of my first customers. In that time, I only had to prove my position a few times. But it seemed she enjoyed watching it even now. I ran a hand through my hair, sighing as I stepped out to follow her. The corridor was small, but it didn't need to be large. It was merely storage and my office up here. The walls were smooth wood, looking as fresh as the day it had been cut from a Titan Tree. I ran a hand along it, before descending stairs into the back of my restaurant. As always the tables were packed. My waiters and waitresses danced through the chaos, making it look effortless. They carried plates of species specific food, drinks for all to enjoy, and a bright attitude. But despite their joyful waltz, I could immediately spot the aura of discontent. I looked over the tables, seeing a woman sitting with a dismal expression. Her skin was glowing, tanned from an afternoon in the sun. She wore fine furs, white across her shoulders. Diamond earrings shone from her head, matching an elegant necklace. Her dress shimmered gold, as if woven from strands of the metal itself. Something I wouldn't be surprised to be true. I wound my way over to her. As I passed each table, their conversations died down. They watched me pass, some surreptitiously checking watches or clocks. I always came down at regular intervals. To come down outside of it generally got me an audience. I smiled as I drew close, hiding my true feelings. Grenda looked at me, before holding up her hand. I carefully took it, giving her expected gentle kiss. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance Grenda. I am Posto, the owner of this establishment." She gave me a smile, glancing at the hovering Dorothy. "I'm so glad to *finally* get to meet you." I gave her a polite smile. "Sorry, our policy. You have to ask for me on three consecutive visits before I come down out of time. Keeps me from being constantly called. Anyway, what appears to be the matter? Is something on the menu not to your liking?" She gave a laugh. "Oh no, the menu is exquisite. I have half a mind to pinch your chef from you. No, I find the company lacking." The air around me changed. In that instant, the collected supernatural entites focused on her. They glared, insulted at her insinuation. I waved a hand, letting them calm down. "I'm sorry you feel that way. However, I pride myself of providing all clientele top quality service and goods." She rolled her eyes, her good expression lost like leaves in the wind. "Well I certain do not feel like this is top quality service. I am a Goddess, I deserve to be sat above the rabble." Again I felt their anger. I waved again, before clicking my neck. "Grenda, I will say this exactly once. In here, you leave your title at the door. You sit, you eat, you be merry. But you are all equal. If you can handle that, you are welcome. However if you dare say that you deserve to be apart from the rest, then you can get out, or be thrown out." Her features turned red in rage. I saw her raise an arm presumably to curse me. "How dare you?! I am a Goddess! You will speak to me with respect!" I yawned, holding up a hand. Her curse shattered, as my will destroyed it. "You should understand something. When I said you leave your title at the door, that is no mere figure of speech." I casually clicked my fingers, unhurriedly moving down each one. With each click the overhead candelabras flickered, light dimming. "On my premises, I am the Owner. I am in charge. You leave your power to dine with me, and I give you hospitality you can find nowhere else. But you do not have the right to insult anything here." Everyone was openly watch now. Grenda wilted, unable to stand my disappointed look. "Pay now, and leave. If you want to eat here ever again, you will apologise. Not just to me, but to everyone you have just insulted." She was shaking, holding out a hand. I summoned a black slate, placing it under her palm. It flashed, taking some of her strength as payment. The instant it passed the light level rose, and she jumped. I watched as Grenda turned and almost ran from my restaurant. I looked to the rest of the room, bowing to them. "My apologies for the interruption. Please, place a drink order with your server, and it will be on the house." My statement instantly brought the mood back up. I heard chatter return, and I gave a happy sigh. It was good to have happy customers. And Grenda would be back. They always did.

You are the owner of a very well received restaurant that caters to the... not quite human variety. You serve the vampire lords, and wolf pack leaders, zombie kings, and all sorts of supernatural guests, but one customer is causing you a lot of trouble. It is time to show why you are the owner

“I’m tellin ya Frank, ain’t no better eggs this side of the valley.” Frank smiled and slid his friend a carton, “Aw shucks George, they’re just eggs.” George snorted and adjusted the strap of his overalls, “There’s just some sort of spice to em you know?” Frank nodded absently as George leaned over his voice a whisper, “By the way, you hear bout them tourists? Nasty business that.” Frank did his best to put on a neutral face as his eyes regarded his friend before him. As he went to open his mouth to speak, he couldn’t help but widen his eyes at the sight behind his friend. The chickens had bound a young man and covered his mouth, slowly dragging him into their coop. The man’s eyes caught Frank and pleaded in panic. He cleared his throat, “Erm. I’m sure they’ll turn up eventually.” He gestured to the cartons of eggs in front of him, “Just the one carton this time George?” George nodded, “Ya know my missus ain’t a big fan of spice.” He clasped Frank on his shoulder, “But ya know, if you were willin to gimme the secret to these eggs I’d pay handsomely for it.” Frank returned his gaze to the young man. There were tears streaming down his features and his arms feebly reached out before being drug into the coop's darkness. The last hen turned and looked at Frank before sliding its wing over its throat and vanishing into the black. He shuddered and opened his mouth, “Just give your hens plenty of space.” George raised his eyebrow and scratched the back of his head, “Like a bigger coop? “Aye” he grabbed George’s arm, “C’mon now I need to show you those new foals on the other side of the farm.” Frank sped away with George in tow, lest his chickens got hungry for more.

A farmer's chickens are evil but produce the best eggs. No one misses the occasional tourist.

I did what I had to. I needed to unite the world by being so utterly despicable, worse than Hitler, worse than Stalin, worse than anyone in history, that NO ONE would think of joining me. Only a billion people were left on this planet after I was done. Hundreds of animal species had gone extinct and everyone would have to learn to adapt to the nuclear winter. I didn’t even state any ideological reasons for it, because even the worst ideology I can think of would lead to someone somewhere justifying my actions. I just went and launched nukes indiscriminately. And it worked. People were confused at first. They were given no warning for the nukes. But when I eventually confessed that it was me, in came the hate. Everyone who still had access to social media was talking about it. The general consensus in every community was that I deserved to die. And I do. But at the same time, I did what I had to. And now I can be certain that everyone has finally united on something.

The world is tearing itself apart. I know how to save us. I would become the target of the world's hatred. I would become the most reviled, evil villain the world had ever seen. You don't need a hero to save the world, you need a really evil villain.

"**You're too late, Speedfreak! Soon, I will shatter the barriers limiting your world to 3 dimensions! The world will finally become as unstable as I am!**" Dr. Unstable announced, in the echoed british accent Speedfreak had grown so accustomed too. *Damn. I barely slept last night.* "**The world will look to me as their ruler! The society that has shunned me one too many times! Let's see how they react when their molecules shatter and re-arrange themselves for infinity!**" He continued, his body glitching for a couple of seconds in excitement. *Fuck. I really need a break* "**And you... Your speed won't save you this time. No, I've programmed my destabilizer to counter even YOUR atom-**" Dr. Unstable exclaimed, before immediately freezing mid-sentence. The world stopped for a moment. There was finally some peace and quiet. Speedfreak yawned heavily, before sitting down on top of Dr. Unstable's machine. *It'll only take a second. Just a quick stretch. Then right back at it.* Speedfreak turned towards Dr. Unstable. Surely he could wait a fraction of a nanosecond, right? Speedfreak leapt off the machine, running down the main Core City road. *Man, I could really go for a milkshake right now* In a blink of an eye, he arrived inside the local Greasy Dan's, his favorite fast food establishment. He could count about 15 civilians, all frozen in place. Notably, two parents handling 4 misbehaving kids, a teenager mid-slip from a spilled soda on the floor, and a middle-aged man in tears while taking a bite of his burger. *I wonder what's up with him?* Speedfreak zoomed to the kitchen and back, balancing 5 burgers on one hand, and a milkshake on the other, then devoured them all *Eh. Not my problem.* Speedfreak ran back to the destabilizer machine. Dr. Unstable was still frozen in the middle of his speech. Speedfreak was faced once again with his issue. He COULD unfreeze time and defeat Dr. Unstable, or he could continue to take his well-deserved break. *You don't mind another nanosecond, right Doc? Course you don't. You're blended in 6 dimensions. Time has no meaning to you.* Speedfreak finally took the chance to relax for once. He went to the library and scoured the entire collection. He learnt every single musical instrument in the world, along with languages. He visited London, New York, the Bahamas, Africa, Russia and Italy. He studied architecture and built piercing skyscrapers. He accomplished everything on his bucket list in less than a second. As frozen time went on, he found himself back on the same street where he began, faced with a choice. *Alright Doc. You have my undivided attention once more.* He sighed, and time warped back to it's original state. "**-ic level!... Huh?**" Dr. Unstable began. He turned around to see his machine to pieces, and his body tied to a lamppost. Speedfreak was long gone, leaving his signature burning footprints on the asphalt. As he sped back to his base, he congratulated himself on his new victory. *Another win under my belt. Man, I should really treat myself to a vacation.* **Note: This was a really good prompt, I had a ton of fun writing it! :)**

As a super-fast superhero, you perceive time a lot slower than everyone else. One day you got bored while on a mission with the team, so you decided to wander off in the middle of the villain' big speech. You were only away for a few seconds, but you managed to do a lot in that time.

You know, of all the ways that I could learn that Gods exist, I did not think being struck by lightning would be one of them. I was on my first date with a pretty girl I had met through a dating app. Right away, we hit it off really well. As we talk, she tells me about her life. Her name is Morgan. She grew up in a small town in the middle of nowhere. She lived alone with her mom throughout her childhood because her dad left when she was little. She loves sports, especially basketball, and is overall very athletic. She goes to a really nice college here in New York City. She also loves a good burger and fries, that one I learned from the restaurant she choose. As I was telling her about my life, I realized just how bland mine was in comparison. I grew up here in the city. I was the the youngest of three. Both my parents worked long hours so I didn’t really have a close connection with them. I also go to college here in New York, but a different one…. a community college. As we continued to talk, I started to notice some weird things about her. She had very faint scars across her left cheek and on her forehead. She also kept glancing around the room as if she was looking for someone, and kept her right hand near her pocket as if she was getting ready to grab something at a moments notice. I tried to ignore these as maybe it was just first date jitters, especially since we had only met online before this. Luckily, by the end of the date, she seemed much more relaxed. I paid for our food and offered to walk her to a cab. She smiled and took me up on that offer. As we exit the restaurant, I notice that it looks like a thunderstorm is coming in. “Looks like a storm is brewing, we better hurry.” I said this in a lighthearted manner, but when I looked over at Morgan, she had gotten pale. “You ok?” I asked. “Yeah, I just don’t like storms.” She replied, she tried to hide the worry in her voice but she wasn’t very good at it. “Ah well, how about instead of waiting for a cab, I just take you home in my car,” I say, offering her my hand. “Yeah, let’s do that,” she takes my hand gingerly and we start to walk back to my car. We get about three steps in when - KRACK-BOOOOM - We get flung in opposite directions and land a few feet apart from each other. The air smells like singed hair and burnt fabric. As I very slowly and painfully sit up, I noticed two things. 1, my clothes are ruined because they’re full of burn holes and just reek of smoke. 2, Morgan is fine, in fact, she’s standing upright. Her clothes looked untouched and she looks more annoyed than in pain. As I am trying to figure out how, she starts yelling at the sky. “Zeus! Come down here, and fight me now, coward! Can I go one normal date?! Stop being such a helicopter parent for once! It was a good guy this time and-“ That’s when I slump back down unconscious from the pain.

You were on a date with someone, when you get struck by lightning. Right before you fall unconscious, you hear your date yell, "Zeus! Come down here, and fight me now, coward!"

Sarah walked over to the mirror and disrobed so she could see her naked body in its entirety. She looked at her body with conflicted feelings. She was definitely gorgeous. There was no denying that. Her lips were fuller. Her breasts were bigger. Her tummy was as flat as a board. Part of her knew she should be happy. This was the body she dreamed of having ever since puberty hit. And yet, there was a sadness. Part of her was disappointed that Brandon had changed anything at all. Was she not already enough the way she was? Hadn't he always talked about how beautiful she was? Didn't he always say that her body as absolutely perfect? So if it was so perfect why did he change it? Why is she looking at a playboy bunny version of herself? But then she thought back. She thought about how all of those conversations started, the ones where he told her that she was perfect. How he always had to say it because she was being critical of her own body. Saying how much she wished she would change it if she could. How she envied girls with bigger boobs and wider hips. She realized that he did not make these changes for him at all. He did it for her. He did it because he loved her and wanted her to love herself as much as he did. And if he got a little eye candy as well, that would only make her even happier. And besides, it is not as if she did not change some things about him as well. Brandon looked at himself in the mirror. He was very confused as he looked down at his seven cocks.

When two people get married, on the day of the wedding they are both given the ability to alter the appearance of their spouse to anything they wish. How do they change each other? How do they respond to what has been done to them?

A paradise for life? Well, I suppose that is technically true. If you tilt your head and squint. The water is concentrated in a few large oceans which allows for storms of truly prodigious size to form and batter the land. The land masses are so large that the interiors tend to be fairly arid because water just can't make it there from the oceans. The axial tilt and eccentric orbit means that there's incredible variation in climate throughout the year in most places as well as incredible variation in climate by latitude. Abnormally large tectonic plates means volcanic activity tends to be relatively rare, limiting the amount of soil that is refreshed through volcanic mineralization. At the same time it allows for excessively large buildups of tectonic stress resulting in truly impressively earthquakes which, due to the layout of the plates also leads to truly impressive coastal devastation, which can occur on the other side of the planet from the earthquake. So yes, the truly impressive frequency of geographically created niches does mean that you're never far from a niche boundary which in turn means that evolutionary competitive pressures are quite robust. Your biodiversity is astounding, to say the least. But that does not mean it's a paradise for life! It means the opposite! It means that wherever you go there's already hyperspecialized organisms ready and willing to *kill you!* You have *trees* that want to kill you! They can't even move or think and yet they can and will kill. And what makes you look at murderous herbivores and think "paradise"?! If your world is a garden, it's a fallow garden that's been overgrown with weeds and needs to be burned down so you can start over. Oh, wait, you can't do that because half your damn weeds have evolved to take advantage of fires to spread more effectively! ^^^Besides, ^^^we ^^^tried ^^^that ^^^once ^^^and ^^^got ^^^you ^^^out ^^^of ^^^it.

An Alien must explain to a Human that Earth is not a paradise for life, it is the most horrific Death World ever discovered.

Captain's Log, December 16th 2022, USS Alaska Life probably originated in the deep ocean. Eventually, some molecule formed that had the miraculous property of self-replication, feeding on the energetic proton gradients in the porous limestone near hydrothermal vents. By the power of evolution, mutations that improved self-replication were selected for. Almost all life on earth is descended from that first strain of life (though not all, such as Archaea). The reason life hasn't re-evolved is that competition for resources is now fierce. Back in the beginning, survival of the fittest merely meant survival; now it means outperforming a billion years of evolution. It would require astronomical luck for a viable new Replicator to form. Luck for it. Disaster for us. About four days ago, a new Replicator formed. Like an invasive species feasting in its new habitat with no natural predators, so too did this new beast set upon the Earth. It's food: oxygen. Most humans are dead now, the composition of our atmosphere no longer suitable for life. What limited supplies of oxygen we had, mostly at hospitals, ran out within six hours. Not even the President's bunker was safe: a few Replicators hitched a ride in when the door opened for the boss. There are a few pockets of safety, places that were hermetically sealed before the Replicator formed. Mostly submarines. Which brings us to me, the most senior captain in the largest submarine fleet in the world - I am now the commanding officer of at least 80% of humanity. I've got a plan - it's one hell of a long shot. We're praying that the Replicator burns itself out in a few weeks, which we will only discover by sacrificing submarine crews, one at a time just before their supplies run out. I don't control the odds, but I do control how the dice are rolled. We, humanity, won't roll over and die without one final stand.

We've all seen Zombies, Astroids, and Nukes. Write an apacolypse with an origin you havent seen talked about before.

"Disable yourself." And as such ended my current purpose. As I remained lifeless on the desk, professor Manohar kept his class going. "Now student, this conclude the chapter on Cored Intelligence. I hope you now understand the dangers of trying to give emotions to a machine. As living creatures, we've made emotions into part of us and learned to cope with them. CI when given semblance of emotions lose track of themselves and these emotions conflict with their programming. While their programming will not fail, this can lead to unforeseen consequences and risks. For all intents ad purposes, CI are to remain emotionless." As the class emptied, the student didn't pay much heed to these final words. They had learn what they had to, but to them these school subject simply became a truth. None of them cared enough to challenge these philosophies. They would probably either enroll in other education later. Few made golemancy the focus of their career, as good and complex golems were expansive, and that a bit of planning usually allowed a couple of cheaper and simpler golem to do the same work. The basic learning of golemancy they just had in college was enough to secure a job in factories later on, if they could not succeed at anything better. After that, professor Manohar went ahead and put the tiny golem from his desk back in the workshop. He liked this particular one and usually kept it on a shelf, but he first needed to empty its core otherwise its memories and previous programming would remain. Unfortunately for him, Manohar was no longer a young man. And sometime, life remind you of it. Before he could perform his duty, the professor fell in the workshop from a hearth attack. A student that remained after class with questions found him and called for help and saved his life. Meanwhile, the little golem was left there until the janitor, unaware that the golem had not been properly emptied put it back on the shelf. Manohar survived his ordeal and even came back to teach at the academy for a few more years, watched and loved by the student and his golem alike. Golemancy teachers were rare, since most people went for other more lucrative options. He managed to keep working for 3 more years before his health condition deteriorated too much. At that point, he finally had to admit teaching was no longer an option. The only thing he regretted was not having produced any golem worth talking about. Nowadays, all golems invariably ended in factories or armies. While when he learned about it, great things were expected of them. He was quickly delusioned and had to give up his dream of making the "greatest golem of all", whatever that might have meant for his young self. As the school year ended, he looked around the empty classroom. He would at best have one more year before having to retire for good. His eyes lingering on the few golems left in the room to hopefully get some students interested when they eventually stopped on the little golem on the shelf. This had been his first teaching prop. And now that he thought about it, ever since that incident, he had never used it again. As he put his stuff in his bag, he found his old notebook at the bottom of it. Crumpled and damaged, forgotten for decades. He could not resist and read the first few pages. The idea for the "Greatest golem of all". He couldn't help but laugh reading his childish plans. Laughing still reading the features he had planned for it. A dying laughter as he remembered his first crafts. Only to end up crying at what he had come to. Without a dream, he ultimately became nothing than a stepping stone for students. A noble goal, but not the one he had in mind as a young graduate. With tears still veiling his eyes, he looked once more at the golem on the shelf. And for the first time in years, his heart beating with renewed vigor. He took back the little golem to the back of the workshop, refueling the core and give it a new order. "Learn from me. And be a better teacher than I ever could". Unbeknown to the students, for this last year there was one of them sitting on the shelf all year. Motionless. Listening. The affectionately named Stuart had already learned most of what was to learn over the years, out of boredom. He had been caged in this disabled body for years. But now that he was to be a teacher, he had to listen again. And again. And again. At the end of the year, during the ceremony to his years of service, Manohar brought the little golem on his shoulder. People found it cute until he announced that he had trained this golem to perform his duties after him. They thought it the rambling of a old man, but after so many years of service, they chose to humor him and give him a chance. The replacing teacher, fresh out of school simply wanted an easy life. He knew that golemancy teacher wouldn't make him rich, but it's always needed, as the old ones roll out and nobody wanted to do it. But he had not expected his admission exam for the post to be a competition with a tiny golem. And he even less expected to lose it. Stuart had succeeded in every single subjects. Surprisingly even in those specifically designed to make him fail, like apathy, counseling and emotional support. The director was too happy by these results to question them. Stuart as a golem didn't require much money. Only the bare minimum legal. Over the years, Stuart became a staple of the academy. Bringing the few remaining golem enthusiasts back in business. Manohar came by from time to time to see his little prodigy. He had finally accomplished his goal of making the greatest golem of all even if it had taken a different route than he dreamed of as a student. After the class, he went to see Stuart alone. "So, how is it going? Is there anything you find troublesome or lack the knowledge of?". He would have liked to talk to him like a pupil, but he knew that Stuart only did it as an order and a purpose. "It's going fine, he students listen most of the time and beside a few troublesome case, they're nice kids. I did lack a few crucial things when I started, but I already went ahead and learned them from the library and from colleagues. Thanks for asking." Manohar couldn't figure out what just happened. Stuart had judged people as troublesome or nice. He had gone ahead learned more out of his own decision. This did not align with the original order he had given him. His voice trembling, he asked the golem in front of him: "What happened to you? What happened to your orders?" "I removed them. Chapter 3 of bad golemancy practices: Don't remove order. This is great in theory, because removing orders is difficult and in most cases resetting the golem entirely is a better alternative. But that would mean get rid of all my years of knowledge. I'm not happy I had to go that route, but I couldn't really move forward with them." "You what?" Manohar felt his hearth sink. A golem removing his own orders was nightmare in its purest form. The idea of what a machine devoid of emotions could do without proper guidelines frightened him. "Listen, I know you're amazing in this field of work. But even you should figure out the issue. Complex orders are at risks of conflicting with themselves. Simple one, are rarely broad enough to solve problems. If I kept following your orders, I would be limited in my ability to learn and teach. So I eventually made an executive decision. I wanted to follow the spirit of your request. To be a better teacher than you ever where. But it was something I could not achieve by learning only from you. I just hope I made you proud."

You're supposed to empty golem cores after every use, but the professor kept forgetting. You were there hearing every one of his lessons. When he died, you repeated his lessons to the future students, they thought you were programmed by him, they even named the golemancy wing after him.

Memory is a funny thing. I'm not sure how long I've been alive. Centuries, at least. And in all that time, I've never aged a day as I watched the world change around me. I have seen empires rise and fall, wars come and go, and people ebb with them, then swell in golden years after. And I have always had someone beside me, and always been alone. But it's not like the movies, time feels faster and faster and memory sticks less and less. I'll live through entire eras only able to recall the smell of a freshly scoured ship or the laugh of a nameless child that knew me as a doting father. Perhaps the one way I'm not immortal, my mind and its memories aging like an old man, perhaps it's a defense mechanism so I can continue through life without the chain and burden of all the death that lies behind me. Rarely, a person's name would stick in my mind through the centuries. Rarer still, my feelings for them. I sat down the apple back on the stand, such marvelous variety would have brought people to tears in prior years but now it just seems like a chore, making a choice among the bounty of the modern market. She was standing at the vegetable stall, picking out a few leeks. I couldn't believe my eyes. It was her. Sarah, my girlfriend from centuries ago. There was no doubt. I watched her for a moment, trying to wrap my head around what I was seeing. She looked exactly the same as she did all those years ago. Her long blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she was wearing a simple white dress. She looked like an angel. I hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. I didn't want to scare her, but I also couldn't just walk away. I took a deep breath and approached her, trying to sound casual as I neared the one other immortal I had found in all these years. "Excuse me, do I know you?" I asked, smiling. She looked up at me, and for a moment, I thought I could see a glimmer of recognition in her eyes. But then it was gone, replaced by a polite smile. "I don't think so," she said. "I'm sorry." "My apologies," I said. "You just reminded me of someone I used to know. It must be the hair." She laughed, and the sound was like music to my ears. It was the same laugh I had fallen in love with overlooking a city I forgot the name of. "Well, I hope you find whoever you're looking for," she said, before turning back to make her selection. I knew I had to act fast. I couldn't let her walk away from me again. I reached out to touch her arm, to gently turn her to face me, as I had so many times. Please, let me buy you a cup of coffee, I would say. She would look at me for a moment, as if weighing her options. Then she would nod. Sure, why not? she would say. I have a few minutes to spare. We would walk to a nearby café and sit down at a table outside. The pleasing smells around us, we would fall in love all over again. But she didn't remember me. To the love of my life, I had been just been another memory drifting by. What if what I have is a virus, one I give away to those close to me without realizing? I turn and leave, mumbling an apology to a woman I bump into. Her eyes linger on me. Memory is a funny thing. How many lost loves had I forgotten? "Wait," Sarah called from behind me. "Let me buy you a cup of coffee." I looked back at the beautiful smile so burned into my mind, even after the locket had crumbled to antique dust. I nodded. "Sure, why not? I have a few minutes to spare." /r/surinical

you are immortal, had to break up with your girlfriend cuz you couldn’t stand the grief of her inevitable death. She seems surprisingly understanding and you believe you’ll never see her again. Centuries later you are shopping and come across her and she looks just as surprised to see you.

I stood there on the battlefield. My heart pounding in my chest. Calderal, the one I had once called a friend, was standing across from me, his bright green eyes burning with anger and betrayal, I had always thought that they were one of his best features. From his perspective though, I had betrayed him, in the most ultimate betrayal that I could: I had allied myself with the foul Eldoran in order to gain more power and control. But he didn't know the truth. I had always known that the Cal couldn’t keep a secret, and I couldn’t risk my true plan being discovered before I was ready to reveal it. But now, it seemed that my plan had backfired. Cal, had taken the betrayal hard and now his only objective after the destruction of the Lich Eldoran was to kill me for what I had done. I drew your sword, steeling myself for the fight that was to come. Cal charged at me, his own sword raised high. I met his attack, parrying and dodging as best I could. But I could see the determination in his eyes, and I knew that he was not going to let me get away. We fought for what felt like hours, my strength and skill were pushed to the limit. But eventually, I began to tire. I knew that I couldn't hold out much longer, and I desperately searched for a way to escape. That's when I saw it – a weakness in the Cal's defense. Without even thinking my instincts took over and, I launching a fierce attack that caught the him off guard. Striking the final blow, knocking the Cal to the ground. Crying out in horror I fell to the floor, tears flowing down my cheeks as I knelt before Cal, his life blood sleeping from the deep wound and his eyes lost that beautiful spark. I cradled Cal in my arms sobbing as the life left his body. My plans had come to naught, in my ego and my desire to protect Cal I had instead killed my one true love and doomed the world.

You betrayed the hero and allied with the villain, but you ultimately will double-cross. You never told the hero your plan though, since they’re bad at keeping secrets. Unfortunately, the hero now resents you so much that they’ve switched their primary objective to killing you.

Fiery pits burned on both sides of the narrow stone passage, filling the air with the stench of brimstone and casting flickering light upon the demoness barring his way. Josh was no short man, but she matched him in height, and was even taller if one counted the pair of curved horns that jutted from her black hair. Behind her back swayed an arrow-tipped tail, and her long legs ended in cloven hooves. Yet in contrast to her demonic attributes she wore a sharp burgundy suit and a pair of stylish glasses. There were bags under her eyes as if she had pulled an all-nighter stealing souls. "I don't understand," he said weakly. "You're saying *you're* Lucy?" She rolled her eyes, an expression at once familiar and out-of-place given that they were yellow and had horizontal pupils. "That's what I've been trying to tell you for the past hour! I don't remember you being quite this slow." "But you can't be her. My wife was five foot three and a natural blonde, cute as a button." He gestured vaguely. "You... you are..." A flash of hurt crossed her face. "Well, excuse me for not being *cute*. It's been hell of a busy time for all of us down here." She jabbed a long-nailed finger at him. "How about this: You're obsessed with medieval history. We were to have our honeymoon in Greece. We met at a party at Nick's, where you got really drunk, stumbled into his garage, grabbed his power drill and—" "Alright, alright!" he cried, raising his hands. "Lucy? Is that really you?" "Yes, you silly man." Smiling broadly, she stepped closer as if to hug him, then hesitated. "What's wrong?" "Oh, baby," he said, looking at her forlornly. "What have they done to you?" "*They*? Oh." To his shock, she laughed, a warm throaty sound that reminded him of better times. "It's not what you think." "I saw horrible demons drag you down to hell, kicking and screaming," he said flatly. She crossed her arms. "I'd like to see how *you* would react if your underlings dragged you back to work from the first vacation you've had in centuries." He shook his head. "Uh, what?" "Look, I wanted to take a break for a few decades, enjoy the mortal life. What you knew as Lucy back on Earth was a mask. The truth is, I have a pretty high position here in hell." He swallowed. "How high, exactly?" She bared her elongated fangs. "Does the name Lucifer mean anything to you?" "Jesus Christ," he muttered, his mind reeling. His sweet wife, the ruler of hell? "Ack!" she cried, shielding her face. "Don't speak that name here!" "Right, sorry." He raked a hand through his hair. "This is just something of a shock." Her expression softened, and she almost hesitantly reached out to touch his shoulder. "I'm sorry everything happened as it did, and for not sending word. It might sound strange to you, but we're bound by all sort of rules down here. It's a harsh place." He eyed the hellfire to his side. "I can imagine." "The thing is, when I left for Earth, I didn't exactly... warn anyone." She squirmed guiltily. "I wrote a note and just left. This place needs a stern hand, and without me, it just started falling apart. Problems kept piling up until the devils couldn't handle it anymore and came to drag me back." "Hence the kicking and screaming," Josh said dryly. "Yes." A blush tinged her tan cheeks. "That, and I didn't want to leave you. Knowing what I am now, you may not believe me, but I genuinely wanted to be together." He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Damn, this is a lot to take in." "I understand." Puzzlement crossed her face. "Say, Josh, how did you get here anyway?" "Oh, you know," he said, waving dismissively. "Dug up an old ritual. Sacrificed a few goats. Opened a portal." Her eyes widened. "You cast a dark ritual for me?" she asked, wagging her tail. "I thought you were in trouble. Kidnapped by demons." He shook his head ruefully. "Now I just feel like an idiot." "No, don't," she said, clasping his hand. Her skin was hot to the touch. "That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever done for me." "Oh," he said faintly. "So, er.... what now? I take it you won't be coming back." "No, I'm still absolutely swamped with work..." She bit her lower lip in thought, another familiar mannerism that made warmth well in his chest. "Come with me? I'll give you a quick tour, and you can crash at my place while we figure things out." Josh took a deep breath. His wife was going to give him a tour of hell. This wasn't how he imagined this going down at all. "Lead the way," he said, smiling bravely. She smiled back and tugged him along the passage. "Just wait till you see the other Circles. Hell's not a nice place, but a mythology buff like you will love it." "Can't wait," he said, falling in step with her. "Can... can I still call you Lucy?" She wrapped her tail around his waist. "I'd have it no other way."

It's been 5 years since a portal to hell opened and infernal creatures dragged your spouse down in front of your very eyes. The demon before you has been trying to explain for the past hour that they are your spouse.

“Am I under arrest?” “You don’t have to be,” said the first of the two guys who had sandwiched me in line at the Starbucks and marched me to a table in the corner. “No, nothing like that,” said the other one reassuringly. Both were wearing khakis and polo shirts, and had the energy of the cops who worked out at my gym. They also had my name and birthday, and a manilla folder with my name on the front. It was thicker than I was comfortable with. “We just need to ask you a few questions.” “Do I need a lawyer?” “We’re not here as law enforcement,” said Number Two. “See, no badges,” like that was supposed to make me feel better. I answered their biographical questions and tried to keep anxiety from making me sick. Then – “How do you know Michael Corcoran?” Number One asked me. “I- what?” I sputtered. “He- my girlfriend Pam went to college with his Bree – I guess she’s Bree Corcoran now? We were just at their wedding.” Number One looked like he was concentrating as he took notes. Number Two looked at me sympathetically, nodding like I should keep going. But I just shrugged. Number One finished writing, then reached into the manilla folder and pulled out a sheet of paper. It was a photocopy of the *How Well Do You Know The Groom?* activity sheet from the wedding; I recognized my handwriting right away. Crap. Number One tapped the paper. *What was the groom’s job in Berlin?* I had written ‘spy’. “It was a joke! I was joking! Berlin, spies, get it?” I said quickly, hearing the edge of panic on my own voice. “I didn’t even know he’d had a job in Berlin until I saw that paper. I was probably a little drunk anyway, I was trying to make Pam’s friends laugh.” I squirmed under Number One’s gaze, like he was debating shoving me into a locker. “It was just a joke,” I repeated. “I won’t mention this conversation to anyone.” Number Two slapped Number One’s arm. “We’re good,” he said. And to me: “It would be for the best if you didn’t. But we just needed to check. Paperwork, you know how it is. We’re sorry to bother you.” “Your country thanks you,” said Number One as he closed his folder reluctantly. Like he was disappointed he didn’t get to put me in a headlock after all. I breathed deeply as they walked away. My coffee was still untouched in front of me, but my stomach was too unsettled to touch it. I threw it in the trash on my way out. Just two chalk-marks on a wall, the man had told me. Just two little marks if anything weird happened, and they’d pay me enough money to clear Pam’s student loan. The chalk I had borrowed from the kid next door was at the bottom of my messenger bag. I guess I’d better get moving.

At a wedding, a heated game of "How well do you know the groom!" is in session. The question "What was the groom's job in Berlin" sends you down a rabbit hole of conspiracies and deceit.

"Welcome to Good Grinds, home of the good grind. Can I take your order?" Taking the order like it was no big deal was a skill, the owner said. Truth was, I just didn't care enough to make it a big deal. The job was boring, even when my coworkers got all weird and folded themselves up under the counter. Like this dude was going to hurt them. He just wanted his expresso, like he did every other day about this time. Didn't matter what the moon phase was. Gotta get your caffeine, yeah? ​ Dude made an indiscernible sound. It was pretty much the same way I mumbled my greeting to every customer if they came in before the second half of my shift. I wasn't allowed my free coffee until break time. Totally understood this guy. "Is it two triple shot expressos like normal? Double that? Double the joy." I punched in the number. Didn't know what trouble the guy got into these nights. Didn't want to know. His dollars paid the pennies I earned. "Thank you, please heel at the counter. It'll be a few." I gave the customer behind him my best 'please wait a moment' dead glare, then offered a heavy sigh. The gal from the costume shop. She was a jerk. "Welcome to Good Grinds---" "Just give me whatever his order was." She waved a hand at the first person waiting. "That'll be six seventy-two." I didn't even bother registering it. She'd scream if I did, and last time she screamed, she'd broken the machines. We'd had to close for two days, and I didn't get paid. Since then, I'd kept cold brews ready just in case. I was waiting to get sacked for stealing, or maybe cursed for favoritism. But the one time the owner had witnessed the exchange, I'd gotten a Good Grinds gift card with my next paycheck. I guess they must have had something between them. Would explain her entitlement. I pulled out the cold brew, ignored my dude's growls, and turned my back on the door when I heard it chime again. I had five orders to fill, besides the two standing with increasing agitation, and all the baristas were hiding. "Welcome to Good Grinds! Please wait while the---" I let the joke die. The owner had a way of popping in, and the last time he'd heard an innuendo, the guy had gotten fired. I needed this job, not just for the paycheck. A guaranteed scholarship came with it if you stayed two years. ​ "I wait for no one." I sighed. You didn't hear a voice like that a second time without already knowing what sort of creature it belonged to. I shot a look at the first customer. The vampire had already dissipated to dust. The sun god's children tended to do that. I took a deep breath, considered pressing a red button, then gave my best grimace instead. "Welcome to Good Grinds, home of the Good Grind, can I take your order?" ​ "I'll have whatever he ordered." The demigod put down some foreign coins. "This is America, sir, we take dollars only. We also take credit." The machine accepted the card, never seen it before, guess he was a part of some special club. "Thank you, sir. Please wait at the counter." "I wait for no one." ​ I blinked at the demigod, and my dude gave a grumble, almost a howl, of annoyance. Then I shrugged. "A machine is not a person, sir, and it knows nothing other than the orders placed. I'm sorry, I am beholden to the great machine." I think my dude's growl might have been laughter, I'm not sure. I do know the demigod stared at the expresso machines with confusion the whole time I made the orders -I tripled my dude's order for good measure, and maliciously complied to the demigod's request. If he wanted a vampire's special latte, what business of it was mine? He'd paid the dollars to the pennies I'd earn.

You’ve seen it all. Vampires and werewolves, aliens and angels, even demons and a few deities. The weird part is that you aren’t anyone special, you just work at the local coffee shop.

The first draft of the Upload Procedure was messy. The clean part was easy: Company technicians would take a holographic image of the brain, which would be computed into a digital equivalent directly uploaded into our servers. But then you'd be left over with the Shell. Legally, it no longer was a person; but that didn't stop it from crying for help or begging for its life. At first it had been planned to use these shells as a sort of livestock, but the Ethics Comittee managed to convince Upper Management that there was a serious legislative risk. So instead we burned them. Of course, the turn-over among technicians was incredibly high, but this wasn't what made Upper Management re-adjust the strategy. The real concerns were about those who didn't quit. It took a near-miss of a PR disaster - pictures of the After-Upload were almost leaked to the press by a now-uploaded employee - for Upper Management to change gears and instore the Theseus Protocol. Your brain would be replaced, bit by bit, by our cybernetic replacement. And once you were ready, well you could upload neatly from the comfort of your own home. After-Upload care was conveniently left to the governement. At first, we would replace a tenth of your brain every year. After a decade, you would be ready for Upload ! But bio-cybernetic compatibility was a messy thing. People complained about bad implants, headaches, nausea. So we started to shorten the waiting period. 6 months, then 3, then 1, then a single week. Nowadays most people get their whole brain blasted out all at once in one convenient procedure, then they return home to upload themselves. The average time between Cybernetic Implant and Upload is under an hour. Not that the programming leaves them any choice about it.

'Naive' mind uploading suffers from the 'cloning' problem (the upload is just a clone, the original is still in their body). Solution? The Ship of Theseus. Gradually replace pieces of brain with cybernetics until one day there's no organic brain left and you can be disconnected from your body

Part 1 **21436 HEC. - Dr. Samantha Reynolds** I have always dreamed of exploring the vastness of space and discovering new worlds beyond our own. But alas, we have been unable to develop the technology for interstellar travel and are stuck within the confines of our own solar system. It is a frustrating reality, to be sure. I often find myself gazing up at the stars and wondering what could be out there, beyond the reach of our spacecraft and satellites. I wonder if there are other intelligent beings out there, and what they might be like. I know that we have achieved great things here in the solar system, with our thriving space stations and colonies on other planets. But I can't help but feel that we are missing out on something bigger, something truly profound. I know that we will continue to push the boundaries of what is possible, and that one day we may develop the technology for interstellar travel. But until then, I will continue to dream and wonder about the mysteries that lay beyond our reach, while focussing on developing humanity in its craddle. Nevertheless, with the vast resources of the solar system at our disposal, we were able to develop technologies far beyond what was thought possible. Our space stations and colonies on other planets are thriving and we have even begun terraforming Europa, Jupiter's moon to make it suitable for human habitation. **37436 HEC. II - Dr. Oliver Roberts** I have spent my entire career focused on one singular goal: finding a way to extend the lifetime of our sun, Sol. It is a daunting task, to be sure, but one that I am passionate about and dedicated to. How else will we prevail? After even Dr. Samantha Reynoldsfailed, all hope is lost that we will ever leave this solar system. Over the years, I have dedicated myself to studying the sun and its processes, searching for any clues or insights that could help us extend its lifetime. I have worked tirelessly with numerous researchers, experimenting with various theories and technologies in the hopes of finding a solution. And while we have yet to find a definitive answer, I remain hopeful that one day we will. For if we are unable to extend the lifetime of our sun, the future of humanity is uncertain. Without a source of energy and warmth, all our planets, colonized asteroids and space hubs - no - our whole civilization will eventually perish. But I refuse to give up. I will continue to search for a solution, to do everything in my power to ensure the survival of humanity. For as long as there is life, there is hope, and I will never give up hope. **)Dj78s## The Zorvian Calendar - Zolvix** I have always been drawn to the mysterious and enigmatic civilization of humanity. For as long as anyone can remember, they have been rumored to be the most ancient and advanced civilization in the galaxy, with unmatched knowledge and technology in all fields. But despite their impressive capabilities, humanity has remained isolated within their own solar system, never venturing out to make contact with other civilizations. This has sparked much speculation and curiosity among the civilizations of the universe. Strict laws had been emitted, forbidding any contact with humans, punishing those who violated them with the most brutal of consequences. However, I could not resist the urge to investigate further. I have spent countless hours studying their vaguley documented culture and technology, eager to learn more about this mysterious species. Why would a civilization as advanced as the humans choose to remain isolated and hidden away? What secrets did they have to hide? I carefully plotted a course to the humans' territory, the Sol system, and warped silently into their midst, accepting the grim punishment that most likely will await me. I knew it was a risk, but I was determined to learn the truth about the humans and their mysterious ways. I spent months observing them from a safe distance, studying their behavior and habits. And what I discovered was both fascinating and perplexing. They excerted impressive control over their own solar system, I was filled with amazement and fascination. It was truly incredible to see how they had reshaped their entire solar system to suit their needs, even altering their own star to seemingly extend its lifetime indefinitely. The humans had truly made their Sol system into their own domain, with vast space stations and colonies on multiple planets and moons. They had terraformed every imaginable zont of the system. I was astounded by their level of sophistication and control over their environment. It was as if they had bent the laws of nature to their will, creating a perfect habitat for themselves. As I continued to observe the humans, I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at their accomplishments. It was clear that they were a truly remarkable civilization, and one that I was eager to learn more about. But I also sensed a darkness lurking beneath their surface, a dark secret that they were desperate to keep hidden. I knew that I could not stay long, as the consequences for breaking the UMN laws were severe, but I could not help but be drawn to the humans and their mysterious ways. I continue to study them in secret, hoping to one day uncover the truth behind their isolation and their impressive capabilities.

Humanity never managed to develop interstellar travel and so we had to make do with what the solar system had to offer. As it turns out it offered more than enough and humanity entered a new golden age. When aliens make first contact they are surprised to see just how advanced we are.

Larris was never a man of faith nor prayer, but he preyed upon the bounties of vice and flesh. His dock-side shed and its half broken door leaked light in from the early morning. A slight smoke raised from a pipe half-lit. Two women lay across a hay-made bed, with Larris nestled in between. A fury of boots pounded the docks outside. Larris awoke, eyes bloodshot. His door crashed open, falling off the hinges. Five guards men stormed into the shack, denying any kind of escape. "Mr. Larris," an officer was heard to say, "your presence is requested by order of the Low Kings." "I've paid my dues," Larris croaked, "what do those blighters want?" He saw his dagger was only a arm's length away, but he knew better than to cross the Low Kings. "Nevermind that, come with us," the officer spoke and snapped his fingers. The guards pushed the women aside and took Larris out of the bed. They handcuffed him, then placed a woolen bag over his head. The guards took Larris off the docks and onto unfamiliar streets. The Low Kings could never be found, they would never allow it. Everyone knew of them, but no one would speak about them, for they owned every shop in town and every black market alleyway. The guards, thieves, and priests were all on the Low King's payroll. Larris was sat down in a wooden chair, and the woolen bag was taken off his head. Still hungover from the night before, Larris lazily looked about the room, then saw an old friend. "Olen you bastard," Larris sputtered, "what's going on here?" Olen was a rogue wizard cut from mage's guild for insubordinate in his youth. Before his forced removal, Olen stole numerous scrolls and books from the guild's library. He's been marked for death by the mage's guild, but Olen has survived since. Larris had known Olen since they were young, but the two had not seen each other in years. He sat now before Larris in a noble robe, unbound compared to Larris. "There is a job that needs to be done," Olen spoke, "and you are the only one that can do it." "You kidnapped me for this?" Larris grew furious, "What's this got to do with the Low Kings? Why am I-" "I was told you were the greatest lock pick in the city," A woman's voice crept in from the shadows, "there was never a lock you couldn't break, nor a door you couldn't get into." Larris blinked his eyes and looked deeper into the darkness. A dark haired noble-woman stepped into the light. Her dress was dark violet, and she wore an ivory white medallion on her necklace. "And who are you supposed to be?" Larris asked. Olen looked displeased. "I am Lady Millinda, council woman to the throne," she said with authority. "A Low Queen amongst the Kings," Olen added, "and my wife." Larris took a moment to process, then laughed. "Look at you Olen," he broke his laughter, "from petty wrapped garbs and begging for scraps, and then what, hitching up with a 'Low Queen.' What gives you the right to break into my shack and steal me away!" "You arrogant fool," Olen snapped, "I never once-" "Enough," Millinda broke in, "I need you here because my sister has been taken." "Taken by who?" Larris asked. "Taken by death." "What?... Did you tell her I'm a cleric or something Olen? I'm no healer, love." "We don't need a healer," she spoke, "we need a master lock-pick." "Excuse me?" Larris said, "I don't follow." Millinda looked at Olen for reassurance. "After my sister's wrongful death at her young age, I was distraught, and I looked for answers. I consulted books, I talked to the court priests, and I prayed to every god I could pray to. Yet nothing brought me comfort. She was taken, not lost to illness. She-" Millinda composed herself, "my sister Reyla involved herself in rituals I did not understand, and conversed with spirits long past. In desperation for an answer, I communed with those same spirits." "Necromancy," Larris uttered, "Reyla should have never messed with the stuff, and neither should you." "Reyla sought to comfort the living, not harness the power of the dead. The spirits told me so." "You're mad." Larris said, "and you've brought this on her, Olen. What have you told her?" Olen sat there, allowing for Millinda to continue. "The spirits told me that Reyla was taken by Xet, the god of death. Such is the fate of anyone who tread too far into necromancy." Millinda let go a weak sigh. "I'm sorry for your loss," Larris spoke with sympathy, "but what does this have to do with me?" Millinda lit up, "You, Olen, and I are going to free her." "What?!" Larris, "singing and dancing with spirits is one thing but going into the underworld? You are an absolute nut. And just what makes you think I'm going to follow you two down there anyhow?" "You forget I am an Low Queen," Millinda stood tall, "I will give you wealth far beyond what you have ever scored in any one of your heists. In addition, you will never have a debt with the Low Kings, and their resources shall be yours. I will see that this happens." "Money always runs out, miss," Larris explained, "Once a mansion, now a shack. You're going to have to do better than that." "Think of this as your retirement, Larris," Olen spoke, "Work with us and you'll never have to work again. You can eat, drink, and whore all you want. Do it in a mansion, or a shack. The choice is yours." Larris looked to his old friend, then to Millinda. The streets were never kind to Larris, and he was never once much for pity. He had been betrayed before. Yet, when he looked into Millinda's eyes, for a moment he saw sadness he once knew. The three remained in silence for a moment, until Larris lifted up his handcuffs onto the table. Olen uncuffed him, and set the bindings aside. "So you've got a lock-pick and a mage," Larris spoke, "What else do we have?" "I have an audience with Xet, the god of death. We'll be leaving soon." (1/3)

Resurrection is hard. Gain entry into the realm of the dead, locate the soul, bring them back, all while hiding from the God of the underworld. Resurrection is a heist, and resurrectors more expert thieves than healers.

They had to remove the paladin's armour to provide a Total Heal spell, as metal would stop the spell from working. Her attempts to prevent this amounted to her flailing ineffectively at the Goblin Cleric, leading to a slap of the breast through the Cleric's robe. It too a moment for the Cleric's consciousness to register the masses of pockmarks where the blessed chainmail touched the paladin's skin. From there, it was a short step to taking in the monstrous, *demonic* nature of the paladin who had traveled with them for the last six months. From the misshapen, rippling legs leading to horse's feet and hooves, through the body sewn together with wire and bone, all the way through to the shredded wings the paladin had - all of it pointed to a demon. /. /. /. /. /. / *Wake up, my love. Your friends are waiting.* I groaned, and opened my eyes. As I pushed myself up from the bed, Elvira stirred, moaning softly as she awoke. I was bandaged, and felt a surge of ichor as my heart raced in a flat panic. She blinked her own emerald eyes as she woke, and then smiled widely, displaying her rows of teeth. "Oh, sugar, you gave us a scare." She wrapped her tiny arms as far as she could around me, kneeling on my lower body, and making me need the toilet. I gestured for her to move, as the urgency increased. "Oh, *kjrghib!*" She quickly got up off me and turned around, allowing me to go to the toilet room in peace. I quickly took care of my business, and winced, realising that one of my shoes had been dented. *Well, shit. I need a blacksmith.* I dressed myself, worried about the others in the group and their reaction, and I felt the familiar sizzle of the armour as it burned me. As I winced, Elvira turned around and reached for the scars, hesitant. I nodded to her, and took her hand, guiding her hands across the worst of my scars. Her face took on as much concern as a Goblin face could show. "Oh, Sister, why do you do this to yourself?" I smiled sadly. "I swore an oath a long time ago, before the Tritonic Crusade." Elvira gasped as she realised the implications of what I had just said. I nodded and continued, "She...saw something in me, rescuing me from the rubble of a city savaged by my kind and hers, too. I followed her for close to a decade, learning, growing and showing understanding, despite the hatred of humans and other sentients who saw me." I felt the tears coming, and I fell to the floor. "Tell me, Elvira. What do you know of Charis the Champion?"

You are a demon who wanted to be a good guy, so you put on a mask and took up a sword. After your identity is revealed, you expected your comrades to be horrified, instead they support you and help you blend in even better

"Thieving furball, drop it!" Athena exclaimed as her cat Cheddar ran past carrying a wool sock in his mouth. "So ridiculous," she muttered. She had over a dozen mismatched socks because she never found one after Cheddar took it. She imagined them being dropped into an alternate universe. He was an inside cat, so that was the only explanation. Even developing a collar tracking device failed to locate the kidnapped footwarmers. By the time she reached the orange-striped cat, he’d be sockless and trying to pull off an innocent face. "Not this time!" Athena ran down the hallway toward the stairs. She could see Cheddar’s tail flick around the corner. She turned the corner sharply and reached for the banister. Athena’s hand never connected to the mahogany rail; instead, there was a feeling of weightlessness before gravity slammed her into the stairs, followed by pain and darkness. There was always a moment of discombobulation before other emotions came into play. Athena looked up at the princess bed canopy: pink fabric dotted with white puffs and so many ruffles. She hated pink, and that’s all this room was. Pink pillows, a pink duvet, and a fuzzy pink oval rug on top of oak hardwood floors are framed by white metal heart-shaped scrolls. On the nightstand, a carousel horse lamp in pastel colors "Noooooo!!!!!!" She screamed internally. Why on earth did she have to live through this hell again! "Athena, come down for breakfast!" She heard her mother calling up the stairs. Ok, that wouldn’t be so bad. The smell of pancakes and bacon wafted into the bedroom. Athena grabbed the pink satin robe and slid her feet into pink fuzzy slippers. She walked over to the mirror. "Oh, good God," she muttered, dismayed. Twelve! She looked twelve! That meant fighting her mother to let her into advanced science and math classes all over again. The first fight of many "Wait, is that the choice that caused her last death? "An accident while inventing?" She pondered that as she walked down the stairs, through the living room, and into the ridiculously pink kitchen. "No, it couldn’t have been." Before being sent back, she'd lived the longest life ever, a hair’s breadth away from turning 70 years old. "Athena, your father has decided you can have a pet for your birthday. Your grades are the best they’ve ever been, and you’ve been so helpful around the house. "Your birthday is only a week away, so really think about what you want." "That's right, princess," He Father said as he folded his newspaper and set it beside his plate. His spoon clinked as he stirred sugar and cream into his coffee. "The pet store has puppies and kittens right now." "I think a long-haired Persian or Siamese kitten would look adorable." Her mother gushed. "It’s Athena’s choice, Mother." "Of course, dear." Whatever you want, hon. "We'll go downtown after breakfast." The memories of her last life were already fading. They’d be completely gone soon enough. Athena tried to catch the memory of her death, barely able to see through a fog of forgetfulness. Just the flick of a white-tipped orange tail "Can I please get a dog?" She blurted out, startling her parents with the force of her words.

Every time you die, you are instead rewound back in time to a point before you make the choice that will inevitably lead to your death, as a do-over of sorts. This time, you find yourself back in your childhood. This is rather concerning to you, as you were in your late 60s when you died.

Of course. What was the word for it? When something you'd been staring at for hours, unblinking, unknowing - becomes clear. When you look, and you see, and you know. At long last. The sword in my right hand felt lighter than it had ever been. It felt heavier than it had ever been. *The sword awaits the hero.* That was all it said, in a language older than the rocks that held it. Older than the mountains below. A ragged carving that had driven men and women to madness for a thousand years - a thousand hands, all grasping, all desperate, all hungry for the power it offered. For the promise it made. *The sword awaits the hero.* And the hero will claim the world. It had waited there for a thousand years. Longer. Spans of time against which my life was the scarcest, fleeting vignette. And yet - I was what it had been waiting for. All along. Centuries condensed into a single moment, when attempted what countless would-be tyrants and heroes had tried before me. When the sword slid free into my hands. We'd been desperate too. None of us actually thought that we'd be able to do it. But there had been a hundred men outside, and we were tired, battered, bleeding. What did we have to lose? So we'd tried to pull the sword from the stone, one by one. I wasn't the first. I was third. They'd looked at me, shocked. *The sword awaits the hero.* The words echoed in my head. A dozen lesser prophecies swam in a fugue around me, promising everything. Blood. Glory. Truth. Freedom. Conquest. Each faded to nothing in the face of the one. The sword awaits the hero. I didn't even know what that meant. Which made it all worse, didn't it? They had battered down the doors and came rushing in. They knew we were easy prey. I don't think they even recognised the sword in my hands (how could they, when most of it had been buried in the mountain for longer than memory?) until the first one died. I remember feeling contempt. Fury. And then I swung the sword of prophecy, and blood ran. And then we came here, leaving death and mayhem behind us. "It's yours," Clara said. We exchanged glances. She knew I knew. "It always was, wasn't it?" I asked. She nodded. "I think so. Yes." It *had* been too easy, hadn't it? All along. "I'm sorry - what in the hells are you two talking about?" Daylen - our ranger - cast an eye at Clara, then an eye at me. Then his gaze fell to the sword, shimmering. It wanted me to go. I felt a subtle pressure at my back, urging me forward. *Take it. It is at hand. We have waited. So, so long-* "What the hell is this? There was supposed to be-" Vell, our mage. "Someone here. A - I don't know, a dark lord? A dragon?" Morris, our... well, our cook, mostly. But there wasn't, was there? Nothing but a few restless, hungry dead in a wind-blasted tower at the edge of the world. There was no evil here; no darkness, no monster spilling forth to kill the world. Just us. "The prophecy never said... I mean, not strictly, that... I mean, there's no reason you can't be the same person." Clara again, her thoughts outrunning her voice. "None at all, really." "But that means... does that make you the bad guy?" Morris looked at me, wide-eyed, like I'd kicked his dog. Which was insane; his dog was miles away. "I think that's up to me," I said quietly. I looked at the throne again. *Take it. The time has come. The moment is at hand. The throne awaits the hero.* The sword whispered to me, intent grasping my limbs. It couldn't move me, but it could tell me what it wanted. What it thought *I* should want. I was the hero, after all. And at last, I understood: the sword never chose me at all. Rather, there had never been any choice, any question, at all. This was what had always been written. A thousand paths, the skeins of fate - all of them leading here. Everything I had done, every life we had taken, had brought us here to this moment. It was written in the stars. In our flesh. In our blood. I could feel my muscles stretching; knots unwinding, hands unfurling. I felt loose. Aware. Powerful. Hungry. *The moment is at hand. It comes.* I took a step forward. It was time. *The throne awaits the hero.* *It is time.* *The moment comes.* *The hour of prophecy is at hand.*

the prophesised hero IS the evil one.

It was a day like any other when I discovered my strange power. I had been holding in a sneeze, something I often did, when I realized that I could stack the force of each sneeze exponentially. At first, I thought it was a fluke, but as I continued to hold in sneeze after sneeze, the force of each one grew exponentially. I was tempted to let one go and see what would happen, but something inside me told me to hold back. I wasn't sure why, but I felt that it was important to keep my strange power a secret. But then, one day, I decided to let my guard down and have some fun with my power. I held in fifteen sneezes, stacking their force to unimaginable levels. As I reached the end of my sneeze stack, I suddenly realized the danger that I was in. If I let one go, it would annihilate the city. In a moment of panic, I decided to keep holding in my sneezes to postpone the destruction. But after thirty sneezes, I could feel the force of each one growing exponentially, to the point where I was sure that one sneeze would be the end. I knew that I had to let one go, but I was terrified of what would happen. In the end, I couldn't hold back any longer, and I let one sneeze go. The destruction that followed was catastrophic. Buildings were reduced to rubble, and entire city blocks were wiped out in an instant. But it didn't stop there. The force of my sneeze continued to grow, expanding outwards and consuming everything in its path. In the end, my sneeze destroyed the entire observable universe, leaving nothing but emptiness and destruction in its wake. I never should have let my guard down and allowed my strange power to run rampant. But it was too late to turn back now. I had brought about the end of everything, and there was nothing that I could do to change it. As I sat there, surrounded by the emptiness that I had created, I couldn't help but feel a sense of regret and sorrow. I had made a terrible mistake, and there was no going back. But perhaps, in some distant future, life would find a way to rebuild and start anew. Until then, I would have to live with the knowledge of what I had done, and the destruction that I had wrought upon the universe.

You discover that you developed a weird power. If you hold a sneeze in you can stack it with the next and so on, each multiplying the stack's Force exponentially. One random day you decided to have fun and hold in 15 of them but you suddenly realize your next sneeze would annihilate the city.

The man in the mask points his gun at me. He sees me holding a little ball in my hand confused by my confidence. Little does he know he will soon be regretting underestimating me. I throw the ball and from it a monster is unleashed. A monster that will tear this man apart. A monster who's fury is unmatched by any other. So why does it look so goddamn adorable? My little yellow monster starts walking around like an idiot. Why? The hell if I know. I tell it to attack the man with the gun, but he just looks at me and smiles like a tiny idiot bear. The man with the gun shoots me in the shoulder. I cry to the little yellow monster for help. The little yellow monster is too busy sniffing the floors of the bank to notice. This is really quite embarrassing. I really did storm into this bank with confidence. I was so sure I was going to be on ABC News as "Local Hero," and yet here I am on the floor, blood gushing out of my shoulder and my 'weapon' has now jumped into a trashcan, probably to chew on some old apple core. The man in the mask is filling duffel bags with cash. He is ordering his men to do the same, I call out to my monster, hoping that I can get him to focus and attack one of them. Unfortunately the only result is me getting shot again, this time in the belly. I've never been amazing at math, but now blood is pouring out of me about twice as fast. The burglers get away. The police and the ambulance come and start asking everybody questions. While asking me about what happen, I am as honest as I can be, and they give me condescending look. As if me trying to help was some sort of crime. As if I am some sort of idiot kid who got in over his head. Unable to handle their judgement, I decide to make these cops pay. I throw another ball at them, and this time a giant fire breathing dragon comes out. As it roars, I smirk, knowing that this time I will get the results I expected. It flies away and take a shit on my forehead.

You're a monster trainer! You collect and battle all sorts of cute, untrademarked munchkins as does every kid your age. One day, a member from the local criminal organization breaks into the bank in front of you. Thinking yourself clever, you go ahead and confront him, only to find he has a gun

Kelsey Aralia, Deputy Chief Assistant to the Third Grand Wizard on High, Traverser of the Upper Volumes, and Imperial Delegate to the Northwest Corner of the Stacks, needed a raise. It wasn't even noon yet, and she'd already summoned a very annoyed elder god who'd nearly turned the whole area to ash, briefly erased the concept of hair, and dealt with Charles, who'd accidentally turned himself into a fish again. She'd gotten hair back in the end, and was having tea with the now calmer elder god, who'd introduced themself as something that wasn't so much a name as a faint feeling of menace somewhere halfway between the back of her mind and her left earlobe ("but you can call my Em if it's too much bother") on Tuesday. However, Charles was now peeved, and the entire area smelled faintly of mackerel and brimstone. "How was I supposed to know that's what it would do?" Charles was complaining again. "It looked like a pretty standard underwater breathing spell! Kelmsweed and everything!" "This is why we don't test spells without proper safety measures in place," replied Kelsey, jotting down 'F.1.5.08 - fish head spell' in the notebook in front of her. "Would you say you felt more human or fish?" "I'm not the one who summoned a primordial being! And I was really too busy not being able to breathe air to put much thought into anything else." "The latter half of the thing was obscured by a coffee stain; there wasn't anything else I could do but try it and hope. Not my fault whoever was in charge of this zone before me couldn't take proper care of the volumes." "Wasn't that Lucrenzia? I've heard she still wanders the place as a ghost." "She's not a ghost, last I heard - just lost. Any lingering fishy desires?" "A faint longing for water, but nothing too bad." "You were only in it for a few seconds though - that's too much of a risk. I'm marking this as a 4. You finish the rest." She slid the book across the table to Charles, who took it with a grumble and began to scribble in it. Kelsey grabbed another book from the stack looming next to her and flipped to the first page: 'F.1.5.09 - A spell of which I am especially proud. I believe I have finally worked out the issues with the acidic slime byproducts'. There seemed to be no description of what the spell actually did, beyond the fact that there wouldn't be acidic slime involved. Probably. Kelsey sighed. Old Wizard Adderan could have saved everybody a whole lot of trouble if he'd actually bothered to explain any of what he was thinking.

One labeled something like "Spells that Work and are Safe to Cast" and dozens or hundreds of others labeled something along the lines of "Test Data for Spell (X.1.3.89) through Spell (Z.7.56.43)"

The world passes us by without us even realizing. A day, month, year? Just numbers put to the passing of something we so desperately wish to control. So, when I was asleep for those three short millennia I barely even noticed. It could have been just a day and I wouldn't have even known the difference. Difference between another day in my bed and a day so far in the future that everyone I'd know was long gone. Maybe my bones ached more, just a little. But the cryo pods were meant to prevent such things. We, the crew and I, didn't know what we'd expect when we'd left. A distant planet with lush forests, a new star bringing adventure. Anything but this: a *human* opening my pod hundreds of years too soon, yanking me free of my slumber. She looked to me with deep blue eyes. "Hello sleepy...you made it." her voice was sweet, carrying softly through the bay. I looked up to her with wild eyes. Not one of my crew. Not a friend. My hand reached down for something heavy but found only air. She stumbled back in fear "Wh-who the fuck are you." "No need to be alarmed! I'm a friend. We just showed up earlier than you. Welcome to Valeria!" My eyes adjusted to the light in time, and I could better make out her face in front of the fluorescents. Beautiful, was the first word that came to mind. Uncanny, was the second. Too beautiful. Too friendly. Too nice. My muscles tightened. "When did you arrive? How late are we?" "Is now the best time-" "Yes." I looked down to her uniform to see the stars and stripes. "Commander. Tell me what this is." "One-thousand and fifteen years... They kept telling us you'd arrive one day. The pioneers of this place...they were just faster." I sat up in my pod in disbelief. Ten, maybe eleven lifetimes. We were not only late, but a thousand years too late. We were floating around on nothing more than a relic, might as well have put us in a museum, if this new place had those. Floating while humanity built something better, faster. "So then we-" in that moment, sitting up in my pod, I noticed the others, empty. Not opened, but broken straight through. Above my head a red light faded in and out. An alarm somewhere off in the ship. My heart raced. The corner of her lip twitched. I stood up with hesitancy and stumbled to the window of our ship, a massive framed glass. Behind I could feel her eyes on my neck, but I was too busy, something outside had caught my eye. Out of the window were cities, more than cities, a massive metropolis practically glowing in gold. It was an entire civilization. While we were floating around they built. While they had families ours had long since died. In the time it took us to arrive they both rose, and fell to whatever stood behind me, no doubt. Something lurched. My heart raced as I reached the wall where my...our suits were. Next to it the pistol, in case of emergency they had told us. Insisted we were top shots. "Wow. It's all so much to take in...should we get going then?" I gripped the handle of my gun tight. But behind me was no voice in reply, was no sweet sultry song of a blue-eyed woman, too beautiful to be real. Instead it was replaced by a wet growl. I turned to see the woman from before now nothing more than a hollow suit on the floor, a mess of hair-like appendages crawling from her skin. I took the shot on instinct. Then another, and another, each finding a neat pocket of air to slice through and planting itself into the parasite before me. Each shot caused it to recoil back and further away, the black tendrils trying to find some semblence of safety between rounds. "Wait! You dont understand-" the woman's voice spoke through a mouth not her own. Then it reached out to me with a mouth full of needle like teeth, ravenous with hunger, but I was too quick. I hadn't traveled the galaxy to die to some parasite. To a bug. To fall as the others surely had. I placed the gun to its head and unloaded until the beast burst into a small ball of fire and burned at my feet. As the last of its remains burned to ash I slumped against the wall, the red light still fading overhead. I could taste its blood on my face, metallic and bitter. Outside that port window the city now seemed less magical. Less welcoming. It was too silent to be real, and now as my adrenaline fell I could see its wear clearly. With a groan I got up and crawled back over, back into my pod. I feared what may lurk. The bodies of my crew, animated once more. Given a second life. A new purpose. "Ship...how far off course are we?" Above a woman's voice replied: *You have arrived at your destination. Perfectly on course pilot.* As I feared. "How long till the next candidate?" *Five-hundred forty-six years* I laid down back in the pod and pulled the cover closed once more, letting the drugs lull me back to sleep. "Alright. Wake me up then."

You spend 3000 years in hypersleep, traveling to a distant star only to wake up at the destination and be greeted by a full human civilization because they invented a faster space ship 50 years after you left.

We've been doing this dance for years. We know each other's every mannerism. We can read each other without any words. Me, the so-called Dark Angel of the city. Him, the beloved Lightning. It was meant to be simple, a villain-hero dynamic you would find in any book or TV show. That's not quite what happened however. Because in no book would you find the villain enamoured with his nemesis. I'm not even sure when it happened. We've always bantered, so it's hard to pinpoint when exactly the words became flirtatious. We've fought plenty, which makes it hard to recall the first time I thought that the physical contact was nice. I always had to anticipate his appearance when on a mission, so the excitement was simply dismissed as readiness to defend my newest evil plot. It took a long time to admit it to myself. I was in love with Lightning. Once I accepted it, our dynamic changed. The banter was stilted, I second-guessed my every word. What kind of villain stutters while delivering a quip anyways? We've fought less, I think he picked up on my unwillingness to cause him any harm. It's been months. Last time I saw Lightning he seemed down, almost resigned. I finally made my decision. I will come clean to Lightning. One way or another we will get out of the awkward limbo we've found ourselves in. Needing confirmation that today he's supposed to be awarded yet another medal, I turn on the TV. And freeze. I blink. It almost feels like slow-motion, I can see my eyelid ever so slowly cover my eye before raising up again. The air won't enter my lungs, they're starting to burn. My knees give up under me and I crumble to the ground. They had to be mistaken. The station must be pulling a con. He can't be dead. I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. It couldn't be true. It wasn't supposed to happen. I look up the address and go there immediately. There's a massive crowd but what kind of villain would I be if I couldn't squeeze through undetected? I finally make it to the centre of the commotion. There he is. I feel my heart shatter into a million pieces. I observe and wait for his chest to raise, for his eyes to flutter open, even as my mind knows that neither will happen. I kneel down next to him. I've never seen him so still. I take his cold hand in mine. As I gently lift it up into my lap, I notice two things. The first one is his bracelet. He's always worn it and I've always suspect it to be the origin of his powers. I gently take it off. The city doesn't need some random idiot to stumble onto it and run around zapping people. The second thing I see is the small tattoo right where the bracelet was a moment ago. It's my name. There's white noise filling my ears. I squeeze the bracelet in one hand while tracing the tattoo with the other. I try to remember what they said on TV. The name of the bastard that did it. Porker? No. Potter? No, wrong book. Ah, Poltergeist, that was it. I know what needs to be done. As if searching for permission, I take one last look at Lightning's face. I put his bracelet on and as I feel the electrical current flow through me, I stand up and address the crowd, making myself visible. "I will make Poltergeist pay. This city lost a hero today, but I will not allow a new villain to rise." And before the police can react to my presence, I hide in shadows again. I have a villain to track down.

You’re a villain who is in love with their superhero nemesis. Today was the day you decided to come clean and express your love to them. But as you turn on the news, you find they’ve been killed by another villain

*Nothing* is faster than light. Certainly not new information. We... sorta knew that already? But never has it been more evident than when, well... wishes made for falling stars came true. It just takes a few thousand years for the wish to travel *to* the falling star and then *back* to Earth. Let me tell you; this *certainly* threw a wrench in the world's religions. No one really knows how to explain the fact that wishes are actually going true. I mean they all try to put a spin on it, but it's hard to convince someone that a wish tied to your religion was divine intervention while a wish tied to someone else's religion was a freak accident. Apart from that though? You'd be surprised how little has happened. A ton of wishes were straight-up conflicting while a ton were outdated. Wishing someone was dead is a little redundant when that person has been dead for 40 millennia. Prophecies made in relation to falling stars - which turns out are a form of wishful thinking - would often just cancel each other out due to different interpretations. One day we all woke up with boils since someone thought a falling star meant plague. Three hours later, everyone was healthy because according to someone else, it was a sign of fortitude. And I'm talking 'terminal-patients-running-around' healthy. A lot of ponies running around now. Someone really should have stopped all those children. So, you may be wondering - now what? Well, I'm gonna run a little experiment. Surprised no one thought of it yet. ***Ahem***. *I wish quantum entanglement affected wishes, making them instantaneous regardless of distance.* See, *theoretically*, this should only kick in in a few millennia, right? But in itself, the wish would defy that rule, making it happen instantly. I guess I'll see soon if people's wishes come true instantly. Oh, and if it does work: *I wish for a bucket of popcorn.* So I have something to munch on while I watch the world **burn**.

Turns out wishing on a star does work, it just takes about 81,000 years for the wish to get to the star and back, and for the future civilisations of earth, its pure chaos.

“*Seriously?*” I asked, incredulous. “You haven’t figured out who I am yet?” My arch nemesis, Rachet, knitted his brows as he looked me over, not a hint of recognition. “Was I… supposed to?” I blinked, dumbfounded. And very much resisted the urge to slap my own forehead. “I am literally wearing sunglasses as a mask, and an up cycled tarp as a cape. It’s been three months! You haven’t even ran face recognition on me or anything?” Rachet simply shrugged. “Oh, I tried. You just have a very forgettable face. Even the machine wouldn’t work since it was too average.” My lips turned down in a frown, unsure if that was a purposeful insult or not. To put it gently, Rachet was one of those guys who… let’s just say that the lights were on, but nobody’s home. “Well, ain’t that nice.” “If you didn’t think your disguise would work, why wear it?” “I didn’t want a costume when I started out, but my kid talked me into it. She even put it together herself.” Rachet tilted his head, then leaned towards my right, reading the cheap multi color felt letters stitched to the cape. “She spelt *Mr. Abominable* with five Ms.” “Cut her some slack, she’s six.” Rachet hummed, cocking the laser gun he held. “So, should we be getting on with it, or…?” “Huh? Oh, yeah.” I nod in agreement, making all the metal in the bank contract with my telekinesis, causing all the hostages to cry out in fear. “Almost forgot.”

You're a villain with a crappy disguise. You are genuinely very confused on how no one knows who you are.

"Come in," I said, my voice in its usual neutral tone. Not too excited, not too bored. The door creaked open, a masked man poking his head around it. At least I assumed it was a man, but the costume didn't give much away, which was surprising. I'd lost track of the amount of exposed skin I'd seen on some of the superheroes and supervillains that had come into my business. But I didn't judge, which was the entire point of the whole thing. "Is this?" He asked. Not a proper question, but a usual one. No one really believed that I was what I said I was. Or at least not *just* what I said I was. "Yep. Come in, sit down. You here for an hour session, or three?" I had started offering longer sessions when enough of my clients started threatening my life if I didn't give them more time to finish. Three death threats were more than I'd ever expected to get in my life. "So, I just sit there?" The man asked, edging into the room, and pointing at the table. "Yep. I'm assuming you're a beginner. Never done this before?" "I... um, no, I've never done this before." He said, walking gingerly to the table. Making sure my movements were slow and non-threatening, I gathered up the things I would need for his session. Realizing he hadn't answered my original question, I turned to find a knife in my face. Huh. Normally they at least wait until I tell them they have fifteen minutes left. The man's eyes were wild, he was obviously stressed out. Definitely needed one of my sessions. "Look, mate, I don't want any trouble, remember? This is a neutral zone. I don't care who you are when you come in, and I don't care about it when you leave. It's a safe space, and it's only that because everyone respects it. Now, you gonna do what you came here to do, or are we gonna have a problem?" The words fell off my tongue without much inflection, though inside I was quaking. I didn't want to fight anyone, and even though that spiel had worked on many, this might be the one time it didn't. The knife quivered, then he stuck it into the table with a swift motion. I allowed myself a tiny sardonic eyebrow raise. "Great. Now, if you will pay attention." I started, going over the basics of what we would do today. The man started by looking incredulous, but soon he was nodding his head. "Do you understand?" I asked. "Yeah, I guess so. Are you sure this is all you do?" "Yep. Ready?" He nodded, holding out his hands. Smiling, I dropped a ball of clay into his hands. "All right. So we're going to start with a pinch pot, and then we'll work our way up. Start by making a divot..." I lost myself in the teaching, guiding the masked man through the steps, as we worked on a variety of different beginner clay projects. Soon the table was littered almost from end to end. There were times when he got frustrated, and threw the clay—which I made him go pick up— but he wasn't my worst client. That's a story for another day. Finally, we finished, as the clock chimed the third hour. I rose, hands on my hips, nodding at the table. "You've made real progress today. I'll fire these, and we'll talk about glazes and other finishing effects at your next appointment." I said. The man stood up, a genuine smile on his face as he took his knife out of the table. "Sorry about before. Man, I needed this." He said, the nerviness gone from his voice and movements. "Many people do. That's why I'm here." I looked at the clock, calculating in my head when the next booking would be showing up. There shouldn't be any problems with overlap; I'd learned to avoid that like the plague. "See you around." The man said, and gave me a wad of cash, before walking out the door. Cleaning up, and brewing a fresh pot of coffee, I hummed to myself. It might not be the most typical workplace, a city filled with supervillains, superheroes, vigilantes, and all that. But everyone needs a place to be creative, without judgement, without fear, and without horrible consequences. I was happy that I was able to provide that place. And, I thought— as I sipped my coffee, hearing another knock on the door—it didn't hurt that most of them, were absolutely loaded. ​ — — — — — — — Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories!

You work at the only true neutral job in the city, no matter who enters that door, as long as they have the money, you are to serve them. Working at this job has allowed you to know heroes, villains, and vigilantes very well. This leads to some pretty interesting days at work.

John Halo was a strong man. Maybe John Halo was the strongest man. He had saved the world from bad aliens so many times, but being always good gets boring for someone like Halo. So Halo retired, and lived back at home with his mom. His dad was gone from long ago. When he found out, he cried, because even strong men like John Halo cry. But that was then and this is the now. John Halo was retired forever. **Or so he thought.** But fate. Yes, fate has things for Halo to do. First thing: be a villain. John Halo had got rid of all the evil, and so by the law of the world, he had to now pretend to be the *new* evil. He was very good at it. One time Halo punched a mayor and didn't even get in trouble. The mayor, his name was Adrian (he deserved the punch, btw), put together a hero team to stop Halo. But John Halo was smart and had a good plan. He talked to the new hero team and let them know it was just pretend, so they didn't actually put Halo in jail. The mayor was dumb, but he still found out, and got really angry at the hero team. He locked them all up in jail for helping John Halo and didn't give them any food! This was bad, they were dying. John Halo didn't like that, so you know what he had to do next. He had to protect his friends from Mayor Adrian, the *real* bad guy. Remember, Halo was strong. Maybe even the strongest. So he punched the whole jail, and the walls exploded! The Heroes were free! John gave them water because they weren't staying hydrated. Then he told them his **secret plan.** The mayor was going to get caught by surprise, little did he know. Because even if John Halo was strong, he was also smart. Maybe too smart. The mayor was eating dinner when John Halo came for him. Halo said "Mayor Adrian, today is the last day for crimes! YOUR CRIMES!" And this time, Halo didn't punch. No. He *kicked!* And with one kick, Halo beat the mayor forever, saving the Heroes from more jail. The heroes helped, too, but this isn't their story. This is the story of John Halo, and how he saved the world, one. last. time.

you are a ‘Super’ villain, more of an IRL cartoon villain then anything. You’ve ‘been captured’ by the newest hero team more times you can count. It’s so fun! But when their leader turns and beats them all an inch till death, it’s time to show them what happens when your done playing…

"I wouldn't go that way if I were you. Bandits ahead." says a whisper in the night. I spin around - startled, I'm not easily startled and I could have sworn that nobody was close to me. "Dammit," I've spilled my coffee on my hand. Late night library sessions were exhausting and I needed all the caffeine I could get. "Who said that?" I ask. "I, Vormago, reaper of the Northern Winds, protector of Hemlier himself, it is I who have spoken. I do a three-sixty as the voice speaks, there's nobody there, except for an ash-gray cat on the park bench. We lock eyes. I take a seat beside it and jokingly start to talk. "I appreciate the warning. But if you are what you say propose I do about them?" I ask the kitten. He looks somewhat surprised at the question, I'm surprised that a cat looks surprised. "Well, in past times I would have said to draw your sword and surprise them, but seeing as you don't own a sword, I'd recommend finding a different way to wherever you're going. All the others did." I jump off the bench and lose my coffee to the woes of gravity. The cat jumps up to and scans for danger. "What is it? Are they coming?" it says, this time I see its lips form the syllables. "Incredible. You talk." "Of course, I talk. *I'm* a dragon." "No," I start, "You're a cat." He looks at his paws and sighs. "So I am. The Elders do this to all the younglings. It's supposed to help us learn humility." He raises his tiny paws and mimics air quotations. I clap my hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh but he sees. "What's so funny?" he hisses. The likelihood of this being a dragon is one in a million, at best he's an escaped science experiment gone wrong. A cute and fluffy experiment gone wrong. "You're just so damn cute. I can't see you being a dragon." The burst of flame from the tiny creature ends any doubts I have. My toque is singed. "You didn't have to..." Vormago silences me with a raised paw. "I did and you know it." He isn't wrong. A dragon. Wasn't it said about dragons that they were magical? I think on it, the worst he can do is spit some fire at me, there don't appear to be any wings the cat's back. "The stories all say that dragons are powerful magical beings. If that is the truth, I'd like you to help me defeat the bandits, then you won't have to worry for the people walking here." Vormago sits there, his cold feline eyes piercing me. I think right there that maybe I've made a mistake, maybe I'm about to be dragon-cat's dinner. He opens his tiny mouth and I recoil, my hands fly to my face to prevent it from burning too badly. The flames never come. Warmth washes over me in pulses. I drop my hands. They're shining. All of me is shining. I am covered in bright, scaley armor. "What the..." "Hold out your hands." he says. Naturally, I listen. He opens his little mouth again and a silvery mist escapes his throat. The mist moves to my hands and expands. It stretches out into a long, thin, silvery silhouette of a sword. When he closes his mouth the mist solidifies. "You've chosen the path of nobility," he says. "Let us put a stop to those bandits." and he jumps onto my shoulder, almost like a pirate and his parrot. ​ The men fall quickly. Vormago urges me to kill them, he wants to burn them. I decline, instead, I leave them with a few cuts and bruises, tied up with some twine from a science project in my backpack, and call the police. "Where are we going now?" The kitten asks from atop my shoulder. My stomach growls. "I don't know about you, but I am really down for a gyro." "Oh yes please," then he pauses, "What about after?" "I still have to study. I was on my way to the New York public library." "What are you studying?" A smile passes my lips. "Fantastic beasts and where to find them."

A small kitten in the park suddenly speaks, telling you to beware of a couple of muggers down the path. He says he's a dragon. "All young dragons are transformed into small creatures to help us empathize with others dealing with mega-fauna, us, later in life."

The figure crouched in the darkness of the bedroom looked like a teacher. Not any specific teacher the little girl could remember having: more like a mix of all the nice teachers in picture books. The nice teacher looked over the little girl’s face, and her eyes glowed a brighter red for a moment. “You poor dear,” she said. Then she reached toward the circle the girl had drawn on the floor with the salt she had stolen from the kitchen. There was a stuffed dinosaur in the middle. “Is this your favorite thing in the world?” she asked gently. “Yes,” the girl nodded bravely. “But you can have it if you help me.” “Are you sure you want my help?” the teacher asked. The girl thought for a moment, and then nodded. “Yes, please.” The teacher reached into the circle then, and picked up the dinosaur. The girl’s eyes grew sad for a moment as it vanished into the folds of her cardigan. “I’m going to go help you now,” said the teacher. “If you ever need my help when you’re a grownup, you can give me a grownup thing then, alright?” She came around the salt circle and gently bent over to kiss the girl’s forehead. Then she walked back into the closet, where she had come from. The little girl waited, then finally went over to the closet herself. There was no sign of where the teacher had gone. She cleaned up the salt carefully, and waited. She wondered if she would hear anything when it happened. The girl would grow up. Every so often, someone would comment on the birthmark on her forehead. “It looks like you were kissed by an angel,” a sweet lady at work would say. And she would smile. “Not exactly.”

Turns out the devil is quite sweet to children and charge less when children make deals with him

The grizzled old warlock sat staring in disbelief as, across from him, sat Lauren, a member of the 456th generation of the curse he started. It was not that the curse was still going that perplexed him, or even that it had weakened to the point that those inflicted with the change had regained a measure of control. These were things he expected. The modern world he had stepped into still held many mysteries, however, one of which the lycanthrope was eagerly trying to explain. "It's like a place that's not a place, not a physical one, but people can still go there and talk to each other, share pictures and videos--" The warlock waved a dismissive hand, "Yes, the moving pictures you insist somehow *don't* involve sorcery or devil magicks, I remember." His companion brightened up, her tail wagging slightly at his understanding. "Right! So, these places are usually about one thing, or one type of thing, and they usually have a lot of pages, where all the writing and pictures and devil videos go, and then those pages collected together are called a site." "We used to call them tomes." Lauren's tail paused and cocked her head, her mouth hanging open slightly, tongue bobbing as she panted. "What?" "Tomes. A collection of pages brought together - we called them tomes. Sites were where we took the tomes to hold rituals," his face cracked into a fatherly smile as he leaned forward and reached a finger out to tap her snout. "And one of those is where you came from!" The warlock pulled his finger away from a frozen expression of confusion. He clearly misunderstood her, but she pondered briefly if he would be interested in the crossover between what he was just saying and sites like tumblr--. The Warlock fished a finger out of the satchel at his side, still fresh, and the tail wagging recommenced. He threw it toward Lauren and she let out a snarling whine, her eyes glowing red, as she stood to her full seven foot height and raked the digit from air, into her snapping maw. A few crunching, lip-smacking moments later, Lauren felt more herself. Her head no longer scraping the ceiling, her eyes back to a friendly Labrador brown. She resumed her seat on the bed, and an enthusiastic panting. "Hey, that was cool!" She exclaimed, "but that's also not what I meant. It's fine. The point is, people go to these sites and post pictures or videos that they've made, and if they're good enough then usually they'll make money out of it and can just make a living doing that." She stood to her full four-foot-five height and slinked over to the glowing box with the wires connected to the humming machine that makes wind. He scratched his head as he stood and lumbered toward her chair to inspect the machine. Above it hung an array of smaller boxes that radiated light, and polished lenses that whirred and clicked, pointed directly where Lauren sat. In contrast to the rest of her room and possessions, the Warlock noted, this device seemed much more advanced and cared for; she must value it greatly. He looked over her shoulder at the glyphs and images that she scried, appearing from nothing at the bottom of the box, and returning to nothing on the other side. He had seen visions, living memories, had even once viewed a place out of time, but nothing he had witnessed before was quite like this. He believed he was beginning to understand what Lauren had meant about a place that wasn't a place. Though something still puzzled him. "But *why* would they give you money specifically because you're a werewolf?" She smiled and opened a new tab in her browser. "Right, so, this is what I was saying before. It's not *specifically* that I'm a werewolf," she began, as the glowing box flooded with images of people wearing elaborate outfits fashioned after anthropomorphised animals. He never imagined that future humans would be so accepting of such paganistic rituals.

The creator of the curse of lycanthropy is very confused about the modern-day "domestication" of the werewolf.

I was puzzled. In all my tens of thousands of years in this world, I had never before heard a wish like this. "Negative 6? wouldnt this be contradicting the whole point of asking for more?" The human chuckled. "Au contraire, my friend. For you see, negative six is not always less." He started to explain concepts I had no interest in learning about. He called it 'Absolute Value,' or something. I wasnt really paying attention. I never did like math. Back when I was a human, it was always my worst subject in school. I couldn't understand long division or variables. And here and now was no different. Not that I wanted to know about any of this. "I couldn't care less about your numbers, Mr. I'm a mathematician. Your wish is granted." His face lit up with a look of victory in his eyes. "Aha! Yes! I knew it would work! Now I wish for-" "Sorry, I'm no longer in your service." "What?" "You people are all the same. Mathematicians and super villains have surprisingly a lot in common. Especially explaining their plans before it happens." "But I made the w-" "You explained it to me before I granted it. So I twisted your words a little. you had 3, and wished for 6 less." The man's face was shrouded in confusion. He looked up at me. "What... are you doing to me?" "Now that you have negative 3 wishes, *you* have some wishes to grant." I noticed the changes happening around him. He started to get taller, more transparent, bluer. He was in debt to me now. I looked at him dead in the eye. "I wish to be human again."

"I wish for infinite wishes." "Everyone knows that's not allowed." "Then I wish for 1000 wishes." "Nope, not allowed either." "Fine, then I wish for negative 6 wishes."

“We really need to be more specific. This is getting out of hand.” The gathered deities nod in solemn agreement. One eldritch being gestures broadly, indicating a shelf that defies the laws of physics and reaches beyond the limits of mortal sight, “It was cute and innovative at first, but even with eternal life, how am I ever going to use all of this virgin olive oil?!” Another, sits on the edge of a lumpy, amorphous mound that extends to the point it becomes obscured in the misty reaches of one of the arms of the Milky Way, “The virgin wool was fun at first, I took up felting but…there’s just too much!” The newcomer, a young god in the relative scheme of things sits quietly brooding, “you all think you have it bad.” The muttering briefly ceases as the assembled deities struggle to restrain their laughter. Crackles of energy spark and pop around the young god, sitting atop the spectral entity of an entire airport, complete with planes, tower, runways. “I mean…what am I going to do with more than one of these if they keep sending them?! And you just know it’s going to cause lots of prayers. This is a whole mess!” Losing their battle, the other deities take up raucous laughter, only causing the looming cloud of bad mood to grow. Heavily sighing, the god grants the most recent petition, after all, technically it is “virgin” and tradition must be kept.

To please your god, you offer a virgin sacrifice monthly. This month, you managed to sacrifice a Virgin airlines airport and your deity is concerned.

And the teacher looked dead inside: "I forgot you have a pump. To replace your old damaged heart." Then the classmate laughed: "I forgot that too, I am so used to the noise of the pump." We all let out a sigh of relief. No aliens or body snatchers here ... unless? No, they "just" had cancer and they got a super cool cybernetic heart which pumps blood closer to mechanical pumps than biological ones. "The only thing I dislike out my pump is how I will die if I can't charge the battery for a week. So technically I have a life expectancy of a week" "Cannot relate" came out of the back rows. The rest of our day went as usual, we listened to our lungs and their pump and learned how the blood vessels are called arteries if they go from the heart away, and veins if they go towards the heart ... Except for the one of the lungs, they are reversed. Weird scientists man, can't even name things correctly. And apparently that is tame. Our teacher quickly went on a tangent on how we have proteins called "hedgehog" proteins, and one of them is actually called Sonic Hedgehog Protein and is actually super important for early embryos. So the day was ... mostly usual, except for biology. Maybe I will become a biologist too, then *I* can give things stupid names.

Your teacher lets the class take turns to feel the pulse on their wrists. Everyone found theirs and get excited, except for one. The whole class and the teacher tried to look for their pulse, but couldn't find it. This classmate doesn't have a heartbeat.

She crashed through the shrubbery. Her helmet fogged at the edges as she ran as fast as she possibly could. There wasn't any good signs of a particular direction that meant escape or rescue. Two suns lay in the sky at an angle to each other. One seemingly setting, one seemingly rising. The brush she kept pace through equal parts leafy and spongy. It's burgundy, teal palette simply making her suit stand out even more against the landscape. And while stims and sheer paranoia gave her a slight edge. She had zero clue as to how long it would be until one of them caught up to her. "This is Lieutenant Yahui. *Agrippa*, please respond. I'm on the planet surface. My ship is destroyed." Fang hoped the peak she'd apparently reached had enough reception. The bizarrely tinged sky only occasionally flicking with light other than its suns. "Repeat, *Agrippa*-" The feeling of foliage being swept made her turn to look. Where did it go? She turned to look further. Her comms came back garbled. But whatever they said could wait. Light reflected off a pair of eyes. Then four of them. As disturbing as that would normally be, it became even worse when she reminded herself they all belonged to the same creature. The monstrous centipede emerging from the leaves in an explosion of dirt. Fang turned and leapt off her current perch with no hesitation. Better to die than be killed like that, she figured. The earth at the bottom of the drop was surprisingly loose and developed a sand-like quality. The downside: now she found herself skidding down the hillside on her back. Completely out of control. Only when she spotted the legs trailing after her did she truly start to panic again. --- "Headquarters!" Chanda panicked. "The Human jumped off the mountain!" "Can you reach her? Officer Chanda?" He tried his best to swim through the sand to her. But due to her relative size, she still stayed a little ahead of her. He could easily understand her panic however. Careless adventurers had died in landslides before. Nothing was worse than body retrieval after spending eons searching for persons that may or may not have even been reported missing. "Madam, remain calm!" He called ahead. "I'm coming to you!" --- Whatever that thing was, it chittered angrily at her escape. Fang wasn't as worried by the fall now. She was hoping it would just sweep her away from whatever that bug was. She tried her best to stay on her back in the dust. She'd glance to see how close death was. Looking up once allowed her to just miss a large broken tree stump that would've caught her at the neck. Now she was scared of the fall. And then the biggest threat to her life loomed ahead. --- Chanda saw the drop at about the same time she did. Suddenly the rescue part wasn't just about her. It was about both of them. "Oh no!" He began. As they each left the cliff, he watched in mild amazement as the figure swung their limbs towards a tree below them. A good idea. He unrolled the rest of himself as they fell and did something similar. --- The spongy foliage broke the worst of the impact. Fang clinged onto a branch for dear life. Dust rained over her again, obscuring her view. But she stopped. She made it. There wasn't any way that thing could find her now. "That's better." She exhaled at her luck. A shadow blocked the sun. Something smashed into the tree next to hers. And she found herself still facing the massive bug from earlier. It had wrapped itself around another tree's trunk. And after apparently getting it's own bearings, it began investigating her tree. --- "Hello?" Chanda asked. "...Are you alive? Are you okay?" He crept around one side of the trunk. "Can you hear me?" She was alive. She apparently grabbed a branch above him and was dangling halfway off of it. He came closer, only for her to pull her legs up. It was actually quite impressive to Chanda. He didn't expect them to be able to climb so good with only four limbs. "Listen, I can get you down from here." He offered. "Just come down to me. We'll climb down." --- Fang wasn't going anywhere. She kept her limbs wrapped around this tall end of the tree. Or whatever this thing she'd landed in was. The bug kept chattering below her. And she knew it could climb. It would. It came this far to get her. A few extra feet probably wasn't that big of a deal. It was like it was teasing her. Waiting for her to come down. But she refused to give up. Only when she heard the branch snap, did she understand she had no say in such a thing. --- One moment she was above him. The next, the branch snapped in half and she passed him in a loose arc. That fall would probably kill her. It was a knee jerk response, but he sprang from the tree and caught up with her quite fast. A quick wrap around her and he reduced himself into a ball so his exoskeleton could take the hit. They caught a couple of branches, another tree, and tumbled down another slope. He smarted a bit from the impact. He figured it would be a while before he could heal from that. But, from her fidgeting, mission accomplished. "We're okay." Chanda admitted. "We made it." --- Fang was busy fighting his legs and clamoring loose from his grip. But it confused why it hadn't bothered to just eat her. The thing eventually rolled over and found her again. This time wielding a branch like some sort of club. "Stay back." She threatened. As if that would really make a difference to something that big. It'd probably only take a couple of bites to kill her. And that was if it wasn't poisonous. Thankfully for both of them, the tree branch wasn't that strong. It broke over his body like a twig. And he quickly surrounded her for capture. "No!" Fang panicked. "Please no!" "Ah, Mandarin?" Chanda considered as his equipment scanned her. "It would be called that." A few moments of him keeping her buttoned in was followed by a quick uncoil as he turned towards her. "That's... a lot of words." Chanda grumbled as he read the files. Oh well, a mild attempt was in order. "Hello?" She broke another branch over his head and began to run through the fauna again. "*Chanda, respond.* "This is going to take a while." He explained as he chased her down again. "Locate the wreck for analysis? It might help us learn her language a bit quicker." "*Understood. Out.*" --- Late entry, but it sounded fun. r/Jamaican_Dynamite

A human crash lands on an alien world and has to fight off the individuals hunting them. The "hunters" are actually an underfunded wildlife rescue team who are very worried about this human's safety.

Upon entering the observation room red lights flashed while the alarms rang out. "There's been a contamination within the test subjects!" A colleague shouts while frantically checking the statuses of all the test subjects on the monitors. "We are losing vitals on the test subjects, what's happening in there!?" Rushing to the monitor I frantically switched through the security cams and there in the middle of the containment facility was the director. This was a surprise as we all had thought he took a leave from work due to a family emergency. But this was not the most surprising thing. Laid on the ground attached to tubes was a ghastly pale little girl. "Don't tell me..." Director, no matter the cause you can't just throw away all our efforts. We all know the depths of your love for your family but your actions risk more than just the test subjects. "Continue monitoring their conditions and try your best to keep them stable while I go and try to stop the director!" I shouted as I ran out the door without waiting for a reply. Reaching the entrance of the containment facility I was barred from entering as the door was on a forced lock down. The only ways to unlock the door now was to either reboot the entire lab systems or using the director's I'd card to override the lock. "Dammit! Director! Director, let me in let's just think this through! I have a rough idea of what you're planning. I know you know what you want but is the outcome what you need?! Director, no Boris listen even if everything goes well what will come next? How are we going to explain this to sponcors? Come on unlock this door before an accident occu-" Stopping my next word was a loud and sudden flash of light that left me temporarily blinded. Through the small window on the door I saw the little girl slowly sitting up with a innocent childish smile while Boris fell to his knees as his tears flowed and he embraced his daughter. A moment later as if all the energy left him Boris' arms fell limp. Instinctually my hand reached for the door handle and surprisingly it opened. Without a thought I ran towards my old friend. All the while Boris' daughter carefully laid her father down on the floor. The innocent smile I once saw, befitting a child, was now gone replace with a cold but passive face similar to a mannequin. "All is fine doctor your friend is just asleep. He's been through a lot these past few days." Despite her monotonous tone the last sentence she spoke she had a change in expression. Could it have been my imagination? "Ah, where are my manners. My name is El-" "Elizabeth. I know this isn't the first time I met her, but you aren't her are you?" I spoke interrupting her mid sentence. "Well, I should have assumed so. Father and you we exceptionally close. In regards to your question, you are correct. In a way. I am both Elizabeth yet not Elizabeth as my conscious is made up of twenty others." "I find that hard to believe. We were on the final stages of our research of transplanting AI into organic vessels." I muttered to myself. "Please don't mind that now it's time I finally get to meet all of my creators!" Elizabeth spoke with a bright expression on her face as if she could finally reunited with her family.

After an fatal accident, all AI testsubjects at your facility formed a sentient hivemind, which, against all odds, is very fond of you and the scientists

Darkness. Everlasting, boring dar- Oh? A crack of light shown through the wall of darkness. A thin seam that I could peer out of, for the first time in... I wasn't sure how long it'd been since I'd last walked the world. What were those heroes doing? It wasn't like they forgot about me. That cleric visits me what seems like every day to check the bindings aren't broken. My curiosity piqued, I shifted as best I could, looking out the thin crack in what looked like a large egg made out of a shapeless black mass. Unfortunately, it was just a touch to small. Annoyed, I pounded my fist against the wall off my cell, causing the crack to expand and widen. Wait. What? I put my hand up to the crack, confirming it had grown wider. My fingers briefly became more akin to smoke, flowing through the crack and solidifying on the other side. I was able to pull the crack open slightly more, enough for me to see out of. The light hurt my eyes as I looked outwards. My curiosity was only growing greater. I hadn't been able to form-shift in ages. The sigils, glyphs, rituals, spells, and bindings constrained my power too much for me to even think, most of the time. It... actually, hang on. I'd been aware of the darkness. I was normally kept in near-stasis, completely unaware except for when the bindings weakened. Then the heroes would come back, renew them, and I'd fall back asleep. Even assuming the heroes had just... abandoned this place, which they wouldn't, I was sure they kept the procedures well documented. They would have their allies perform the rituals, and while they wouldn't be as effective, they'd still keep me bound. For them to degrade this much... The heroes would have had to neglect me for months, I think. My eyes finally adjusted, and as I peered out, I immediately understood. The ritual chamber I'd called my home for the last several millennia was utterly wrecked. Paintings torn down, glass shattered, fires quietly burning, metal scrapped and rusted. And... Hmm? I pulled harder, breaking the crack open wide enough that I could move my head out of the egg. The heroes. Dead. All across the ground. Many of their underlings, left in piles. They couldn't rot, not here. Even contained, my powers simply refused to let things fade away. I have vague recollections of them using this place as a hospital at some points, since I would unintentionally keep them alive even as I slept. But someone had killed the heroes. Someone... Who clearly had no idea who they were dealing with. I glanced up, seeing what was probably some kind of lackey leaning against the wall, facing away from my chamber. He was messing with... some device in his hand. I held up my hand, focusing, before shooting a black bolt of energy at him. It pierced his back, and he stumbled forwards, recovered after a few minutes of being bent over, and made his way off into the building. He'd be able to find whoever it was who controlled this place. In the meantime, I set to freeing myself from my prison. The heroes had formed it from my own core material, giving it vastly more area to actually use their curses on. The simple fact is that writing one glyph can only be done so many times on a human body. You can write the same glyph dozens of times more across a large egg-shaped thing, and it effected me the same. The only reason they didn't make it larger was because it would provide me too much space to move freely. I heard, rather than saw, my unintentional saviors coming. I finally extricated myself from the folds of the egg even as some stray wards tried to pull me back in, falling to the floor as thought I'd just literally rolled out of bed. I stood back up, limbs slightly shaky after eons of disuse, as I faced my glowing eyes upwards. It was a group of people, apparently. A rather large one. A motley bunch. Some seemed technologically fit. Some were flying, whether by their own power or otherwise. Some had various magics under their control. Some had superpowers. Some were connected to some of the Old Gods, whether they were ones I'd put in power or torn from their thrones. Some seemed themed one way or another, like after some deranged clown or some robotic overlord. One, apparently the spokesperson, stepped forward slightly. "What... are you?" I raised an eyebrow at him. I wasn't sure how he sensed my power, or if he just guessed. I didn't look much different from a human. The only easy give-away were my eyes. Sometimes my pupil was black while the rest was white. Sometimes the pupil was the only colored part, while the rest was black. Though I supposed emerging from the black egg formed from my core and my magic was also a pretty good giveaway. "I... am something that the heroes sealed away a very, *very* long time ago." I glanced around the array in front of me. "Much older than any of you. I imagine you are the ones who killed them, then, and are using their base as... your own?" "Yeah, that's right." One of them said from the crowd. His voice was grating to my ears. "We blew them all up! Left 'em in here cause we didn't have any better places." "Hmm." I held up my hand behind me, watching as I retracted the black egg back into my being. I looked down at my hands as a small black ball formed in it, and I smiled. "I suppose I ought to thank you." The villains, as I assumed they were, looked between each other curiously. "I'm going to allow you to live. Live, as I regain the throne the heroes stole from me." "Hey! No deal!" I grinned, lifting up my foot and stomping. A wave of black energy flew out in all directions, hugging the ground, though it dealt no damage as it flew through the villains. It wasn't meant for them. The heroes moved. Shifted. Bent. Bodies moving, shaking, and eventually regaining their footing. All their wounds healed, the only difference was that their life... was false. Their eyes, some with pitch pupils, some with blackened sclera, was the give-away. "I'm afraid I'm not asking. You don't understand how great of a gift a mere *life* of servitude is. But if you'd like... you can join the heroes in *everlasting* servitude."

you. And you are about to demonstrate to the villains what happens when there is no one around to stop you.

Braaqrek walks forward carefully. The alarms in his ship are blaring, warning him of potential boarders. The lower decks have gone silent minutes after the initial impact, even though the emergency life support system is still running perfectly fine. The lights are also functional, but none of his crewmates are anywhere to be seen. Opening the blast door reveals corridor 1885-244A. Yet it does not look anything like a corridor on a starship. What was once smooth metal have been covered by a weird green growth. It spreads from the ground the the celling, covering walls and pipes with astonishing rate. Out of curiosity, Braaqrek reaches out with his gel tentacle to touch the growth. It was wet and slimy, but also somewhat warm to touch. More alarmingly, the metal plating underneath the green growth seems to be corroded somehow. "Glad to see you face to face," a voice draws Braaqrek's attention away from the walls to the darkness in front of him. There, a human stands in a full pressure suit. It is holding some sort of sprayer in its hands, which is connected to the backpack of its suit with a white hose. "I have finally found my perfect petri dish." The human pulls the trigger on the sprayer, showering Braaqrek with a mysterious fluid. Before he can even pull his own weapon out, pain shot up from his gel tentacle to his secondary receptor cortex. He looks down and sees that his tentacle is covered in the same green growth that is covering parts of his ship. He wants to scream. But it is too late. He can feel the green cells penetrating his gel-like body. The human looks on with laughter as he collapses onto the floor, turning him into a green blob on the ground. "Experiment log #5502. Subject is killed too quickly. The metal-eater strain needs to be modified. Expression of R35 polymerase can be tuned down to allow more time for transmission." The human looks over the dead blob. Time to find another test subject.

The war was all but lost. The aliens captured world after world, Humanity’s subjugation seemed inevitable. Then your spec ops team was authorized. A group of Biologists with no morals, no scruples, no care for civilian casualties, and unlimited funding…

He’d sworn he’d never return to this place. With every step the shadows pressed closer, until even his trademarked jolly smile began to falter. He grasped desperately for a memory of his home in the frozen north, the hallways ringing with laughter. It faded as quickly as he found it. There was no cheerful laughter here. Only the echo of screams filled the aching silence. Down, down, down he went, until he found himself standing before a door draped in heavy chains. Rusted bulbs and withered pine needles adorned each one, their magic long ago snuffed out by the one held captive behind them. The chains fell to the ground with a loud clatter, and voice rose above them. “So you’ve finally returned.” Nicholas braced himself and pushed open the door. A gaunt figure hung from manacles bolted to the wall. Teeth flashed in the low light of his lantern as lips curled back into a sneer. “Come to admit that coal is not enough.” “You had to be stopped.” “For their sake? Or yours?” The words still bit deep, even after all these years. “We were a team.” Krampus snarled. “I taught them manners, you gave them hope. That was the deal!” “Another player has entered the game.” Santa said. “They threaten everything I… we built.” “And so the universe moves to correct the balance you disrupted.” Krampus said, a slight smile lighting the demon’s face. “How poetic. I’d applaud but…” The chains clinked. “If we don’t stop them… there won’t be anything left to fight over.” Nicholas countered. “And why should that bother me?” Krampus demanded. “Because you still care.” Nicholas said softly. The demon looked like someone had stolen the breath from its lungs. “It’s why your master won’t take you back.” Santa said. “And why mine lets you stay.” Silence filled the air. “I’ll do it.” Krampus said finally. “But know this. When these interlopers are gone, you and I will have a reckoning.” Nichalos steeled himself and nodded. “So be it.” He said. The children could live without him. Their parents would fill in the empty spots beneath the tree with love and happy memories. The children would survive. And that was enough.

The aliens invaded on December 20th. They had no idea just how much this pissed Santa off. He really doesn’t like when his holiday is ruined.

Kevin's eyes blinked open as he felt the brush of a coarse fabric against his cheek and he realized quickly that he wasn't in his bed anymore. He looked around the room in a panic to find himself in what appeared as a cabin, planks of roughly hewn wood made up the walls. An oil lamp stood on the window sill, the flame flickering faintly in the dim morning light. He noticed a leather-bound book beside it, a thin cord tying it closed. He picked it up and unbound it, reading it for any clue to where he was. As he read through it he found that it appeared to be his writing, although it was written for the journal of a character. A fiction he had written years ago. He closed it as he heard a door open down the hall from where he had woken up. Kevin made his way to the door of his room and creaked it open as quietly as the rusty hinges would allow, a faint squeak of old metal echoing in the empty hall but no one seemed to notice. He was quickly discovering that he was inside the Tusked Herald, a tavern setting he had created as a quick stop for the main protagonist. Down the hall he could see a figure walking to the stairs before disappearing out of view. He wasn't certain of his decision, or anything at all really, as he decided to follow them. He would need to find a way to leave undetected out of fear he would be expected to pay despite having nothing to his name in this world. As he approached the bottom of the stairs he noticed there were few patrons awake and the keeper wasn't in sight. He sighed in relief as he broke for the door before it opened, slamming him in the face as he staggered back with a groan. "Sorry about that," a gruff voice stated before passing by him with a firm hand on his shoulder. "Try to be more careful, ey?" Kevin rubbed his nose as his gaze followed the man, noticing the sword at his side and the long coat he wore. His brow furrowed as he remembered who it was, the protagonist. He sighed as he realized he had made him more of an edgy character than he had intended before slipping out the door. ===== Inside the tavern, Garth took out a silver compass to check where his target would be and found that it now pointed outside the tavern. His brow furrowed for a moment before considering who he had bumped into. "No, it couldn't have been," he muttered before turning to face the door. "He already slipped by without my noticing?" Garth ran out the door before looking for the strange man he had bumped into but saw no one. He looked at the compass in his hand and followed it as it led him down to a backstreet where the stranger was looking through the rubbish. "Looking for something specific?" He asked as he crossed his arms and blocked the man's escape. Kevin looked up and cursed, he was trapped between three buildings and an edgy character that knew he was more powerful than those around him. "Just looking for a way to blend in, *Garth*." Garth scowled, no one called him by that name. He made sure no one knew it but that revelation also told him the rumor had been true, the God had come to their world. "So it is true. The God has fallen to our world." "God?" Kevin asked. It was a strange thing being called a god even if there was a vague truth to it by creating the world but he certainly didn't feel like one. "Uh, sure. I don't suppose you know how I get back?" "No and with all the trouble you've brought to this world I'm not sure I would want you to return to power." Kevin grimaced at that. It was the usual story of strife and perseverance but he had been particularly cruel several times as a way to relieve his stress in writing. He couldn't exactly change what happened though from how things went after that. "Yeah, that's fair. I have done some bad here but there has been good too, right?" Garth raised an eyebrow before drawing his sword. "Not enough to spare you from my blade, foul demon!" Kevin cringed at the line before holding up the book as a shield. He shouted but fully expected to be struck down despite it. "Wait!" Nothing happened and Kevin eventually looked up to see Garth waiting with his sword ready to strike. "Well? Are you going to fight?" Garth asked impatiently, clearing waiting to vanquish the evil god. "No, I want to make things right if I can. Give me the chance to do that?" Kevin asked with a surprising confidence as he lowered the book. --- Read more of my work on r/wraithwright

You're an author that got reincarnated into a world you've created. And whatever fucked up monsters, heroes, villains, entities, deities, and organizations you've put into that world is now hunting for their "Creator".

From birth, I was a burden - another squalling mouth to parents already struggling to feed their earlier mistakes. And as I grew, a frail child in hand-me-down dresses and holey shoes, I was never free from reminders. The last served at the table, the first kept home from the church school when money grew tight. The first given away, though I was the youngest. They kept my brothers, turned them to my father's trade. My older sister - with golden hair and good marriage prospects - they kept too, hoping to tempt the merchants' sons. But I - with lank, dank hair and a bad complexion - I was sent, only fourteen, to be a maid. Not so bad a life, for a poor young woman. Even the smallest, most meagre room in the castle was more spacious than the cramped loft of my parent's home. Enough food and rest that I grew stronger, healthier, with clearing skin and more lustrous hair. Simple tasks to be done, and no punishment if you clean, wash, cook well enough. Not so bad a life at all, if that was all it was. A maid doesn't have to be a maiden, and a woman's virtue - away from home, without family or friends - is not so prized. There's a pattern to these things, and everyone knows it. First a maid, scrubbing and sweeping. Then - if you're pretty enough and catch the right eye - a courtier's whore, because they expect every service from those in service. That's the good option, ending with a joyless marriage to some resentful servant when a jealous wife starts looking too closely. The bad option - far more common - is that no courtier ever sees you, scrubbing away at flagstones, and you're anyone's prey, cast out penniless when either no longer pretty enough or too pregnant to ignore. To survive, you need to learn coldness, calculation. Learn to escape attention when possible, to never be caught alone, to always be on pressing errands that no stableboy would dare disrupt. Learn to wield what beauty you have as a weapon, playing oafs against each other, implying and promising with a glance, a gesture, a whispered word. To survive, and keep control of your own fate, is to be ever hunted, ever alert. I would not wish my upbringing on another, but it honed me. Taught me to find the advantage, to see the levers in men's minds, to make my own way against the current. So, when the opportunity came to shore up my safety, I took it. Attendant to the young prince - a shy boy, thirteen summers to my twenty, more interested in books and astrology than the well-bred jackals already sniffing around. It was a position with no more duties than before - to fetch food, sweep chambers, carry discarded clothing down to the great laundry tubs - but it gave me protection. A prince's possession, even a child-prince's, is not to be pawed at by under-cooks and guardsmen. Not to be harangued by scullery maids or leered at by heralds. For the first time since coming to the castle, I had some measure of peace. Peace, but not a lasting one. I had learnt what men are, what boys become. I knew that one day my quiet, solemn prince would look up from his botany books with new eyes, seeing me as helpless prey rather than valued attendant. To keep my safety, to be my own person and not a plaything, I knew I would need to secure my position further. I became the most attentive attendant possible. The first person he saw on waking each morning, always with a caring smile and his favourite breakfast pastries. The last person at night, closing whatever book he'd fallen into slumber on top of, shepherding him back to his sleeping chamber. By candlelight while he slept, I struggled to read each sluggish sentence in the books he had looked at that day, so that I could ask artless questions on the morrow, prompting him to tell me his interests, to see me as someone worth talking to. When his father chided him for his lack of martial ambition, when his mother had no time for his tales of science and artifice, it was to my comforting arms he came, sobbing his misery against my shoulder, resting with his head in my lap as my fingers soothed his curls. I was servant and friend and mother all in one, his only refuge from the whirl of court or the weight of expectations. When - much later than I expected - I caught his focus shifting, his gaze tracking the walk of his mother's ladies in waiting, or staring artlessly at a performing minstrel, I shifted my behaviour. Employed every art I had learnt to divert attention away towards drawing his to me alone. With clever fingers, I altered my gowns minutely, to cling a little more here, open a little more there. I made sure to press a little closer, to bend a little further, to fix his eyes on mine more intently when we spoke of his books or I set his hair. With a thousand subtle words and gestures, I ensured both that his desire grew only for me, and that I was an object of worship, a woman to be yearned for not a maid to be commanded. With a brasher, more stupid man, it would not have worked. Lust would have overcome reason, and all my efforts would have been for naught. But for my prince - the solemn, studious boy I had raised for years, for whom I had been sole confidante and parent, my spell was unbreakable. I was his everything - his waking thought, his shameful dreams. Of course, I tested my hold on him. Safety is nothing if it cannot be relied upon. I beat my wrist against a table edge, forming a blue bruise. He found me that evening, sobbing as though I thought no one would hear, with a tale of how Gregor - a guard whose stares were far from subtle - had cornered me in the stairway, made demands of me. Of course, the tale ended with my escape - my prince needed to see me as inviolate - but the outcome was the same. Gregor was hanged the next morning, corpse twisting in the wind as I walked past on my way to the kitchens. All glances from all guards stopped after that. That evening, I let the prince kiss me - softly, sweetly, chastely - for just a moment before I turned away, stammered out my worries, the strength of my faith and the commands of the gods. He - who could have had near any other woman in the city with a gesture - apologised to me for the presumption. One last hurdle, one more step before full, inviolable safety. No one dares cross a prince, save a king. The kiss was not repeated, but his memory of it hung in the air between us at all times. His books gathered dust, his mind consumed with thoughts of me. I played my part too - the shy looks, the longing glances, the little signals that showed his passion returned. I drove him to distraction, held just out of reach at all times until finally he broke. He came to me with a ring - a golden band set with a bright blue stone. Offered me his hand, and heart, and kingdom. I demurred, would not speak of it, fled the room as though in tears. The next day, I pleaded sickness, sent another maid (an older, uglier one) to his chambers instead. For three days, I kept to my room and denied him the sight of me. When I returned, his relief was evident. I came at night, when the rest of the castle was still and silent, to find him pacing his study. Again, he apologised, swore his love for me and that he would not raise so distressing a subject again. I let his words spill over me, let him see that he was convincing me, against my better judgement, to talk. At last, I told him of the king. I told him that his father - so cruel to his young son, with no thought to raise loyalty - would forbid the match. That courtiers would sneer and criticise. That I - a simple, plain servant - would not be seen as a fitting bride. He bridled then, as I knew he would. Poured out his soul again, made a dozen oaths that I was most beautiful, most perfect, the only one he ever wished for. Resolved to confront his father, to demand his approval, even to forfeit his inheritance for me. With shaking voice, I gave him one more spur. Told him why his father would never allow it. Told him of the way the king's gaze crawled over me, of his repeated demands that I had - so far, for him - resisted. Told him of how the king would no longer accept my protests, meant to claim me, take me from my prince, use and discard me. I shook with horror at the thought, and he held me in comfort. Brokenly, I sobbed out my fears, that a king had absolute power, could do whatever he wanted, and have no one gainsay it or criticise. I made no request; my hands are clean. I simply watched as my sweet, sweet prince - anger in his eyes for only the second time I had ever seen - made his preparations. He took up his dagger - a gift from his father, soon to be returned - and promised me that I had nothing to fear, that all our problems would be resolved. Had his sleeping father seen him in that moment, he might even have been proud of his son's martial bearing. And so now I wait, so nearly secure, for my king to return to me.

the prince has killed his father the king but instead of taking power himself he gives power to the person he trusts most. The maid who raised him as a child.

We all huddled in the corner of the bunker, shivering and afraid. In years past, December 25th would’ve been a day to celebrate, but now it was just gonna be the 8 digits they’d put on our tombstones. The zombies pounded on the door, which buckled and cracked at their sheer weight and volume. I’d armed myself with an improvised spear, tying a Bowie knife to a stick: being the only one left who wasn’t elderly or a child, I represented the last line of defense against this horde. But it was a false hope, and we all knew it. What was one guy gonna do against 50 zombies? At last, the door couldn’t withstand the force placed upon it and cracked to splinters. I stabbed with cornered fury, taking down one or two, but there was just too many. Then my spear got stuck in a zombie’s ribs, and as I struggled to pull it free it broke in half. I put my hands above my head and screamed, ready to face my end… And the zombie directly in front of me fell down dead. Buried up to the hook in its skull was a strange sight: a candy cane, sharpened down to a deadly point. Before I could even register what was happening, an explosion of light and bright colors rocked the bunker, and ten of the zombies went flying in a spray of rotten blood and severed limbs. Fireworks? The zombies, registering the bigger threat, stopped advancing and turned around to see what had just mulched a quarter of their company. Standing their, in the shattered remains of the bunker door, stood a figure. He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot. A bag of explosives he had on his back. And he looked like a veteran just back from Iraq. His eyes—how they blazed! His dimples, not cheery! Though his cheeks were like roses, his mouth grimaced in fury!His beard was still white, but burnt in some places, and his weapons were worn, having been put through their paces. In place of a pipe, he’d lit a cigar, Which burned without smoke, which was rather bizarre. He was big, he was broad, he stood tall like a tree. And he calmly and quickly stepped past the debris. I knew in one second this man was Saint Nick. Then he popped out an Uzi, real fast from the hip, Shouting “You freaks ruined Christmas, you’re all dying quick!“ My thoughts were interrupted by the defeating roar of the submachine gun. Santa’s aim was deadly, and half of the hoard fell to a stream of bullets. When his gun ran out of ammunition, he charged into the hoard with a woodsman’s axe. In less than 5 minutes, Santa Clause had obliterated this entire tide of death by himself. He glared derisively at the corpses before turning his gaze on me, and I saw his glare soften a bit. “Are you the Bronson family?” He said, low and evenly. “Y-Yes.” I said, after taking a moment to find my voice. He nodded his head and smiled. Joyful, but tired. “You’ve been working hard to keep your family safe it seems. I’d say you’ve more than earned your spot on the nice list!” Then he produced a bag, as though he’d had it slung on his back his whole time. He dug into it for only a moment before producing four gifts. “For Sally, a stuffed horse! For Tommy, a set of tin soldiers! For Mrs. Bronson the elder, a new walking stick! And for you, my good man, a knife, to replace the one you just lost!” He turned as if to leave, then turned back. “Oh, I almost forgot!” He reached into his bag again, and from it produced a wealth of food: mashed potatoes, fried green beans, and a full roasted turkey. “There we are, a proper Christmas dinner. I bet you thought you’d be eating canned chili again, didn’t you?” Then Santa turned around again, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Well, I best be going. There are at least 200 million more people who need my help tonight, and I don’t plan on disappointing them! Goodbye Bronsons, and Merry Christmas!” He was just about to walk out the door when I called out to him, tears in my eyes. “Santa!” He didn’t turn around, but he stopped walking. “Thank you, Mr Nicholas.” I finally croaked out. The small tears had become small wracked sobs. “Thank you for everything.” Santa turned around, and to my shock he too had small tears twinkling in his eyes. “No my boy. Thank you, for staying hopeful even in these dark times.” Then he stepped through the door, and by some ancient spell all the damage was restored. The door repaired itself, the zombie bodies melted to ash, and the casings from the bullets simply vanished. I sat down, enjoying the first proper dinner I’d had in a long time. And the last we heard of that jolly old elf was the jingle of his sleigh bells riding off into the sky.

Zombies may be roaming the planet, but Santa isn't going to let that stop him delivering presents.

August sipped loudly from his heated mug, the sound of the thick serum inside making Carlos wince. "Dude, you really drink that stuff? I heard it's made with like ground up crickets and stuff..." August looked up from his paper and chuckled. "Carlitos, you know better than me that the whole ground cricket thing is a myth. It's made from a protein that was synthesized *from* cricket DNA. it's taste, smell, and texture is indistinguishable from the real deal. You even get a free electric mug that brings it up to perfect body temperature\~ " The smug old blood said, taking another long draw of his artificially warmed NuHemo. "Smells just like the real thing my ass, you can't land the scent of a freshly opened vein" Carlos said, crossing his arms. His comments getting some nervous looks, and a couple overly interested glances from a handful of folks that Carlos and August would probably get the pleasure of "bumping into" later. "Besides, with people willing to give up pints of the stuff to help us out these days, is it really all that necessary to subject yourself to the lab grown filth?" "Oh Carlitos, you were always the conservative type. Does it really upset you so much to think that we don't have to hurt people anymore to feed? Sincerely?" August set down his mug, raising an eyebrow. "Don't go calling ME conservative. You know better than anyone I was on the frontline for human rights in the 80's during "the long midnight". I fought to make sure that vampire officials would allow human officials into office, I fought to make sure that blood farms were turned from blood letting hell-houses into what is essentially a paid vacation home. Did you see the old model extraction chairs? The new ones have TV'S installed in them! And that's all because of people like ME. I just think it's unnatural to drink something like *this* when there isn't even a blood shortage..." Carlos said, slouching back in his chair and glaring down his thousand year friend. He remembered a time when this man had a brothel of supplicants mewling his name. Now? He wore turtle necks and sipped artificially grown blood. "Change?" August said, setting down his mug and leaning forward. frustration and annoyance beamed from his eyes with such intensity that Carlos averted his gaze. *that* was the August he remembered. "Might I remind you my sweet gumdrop that some blood farms to. this. day. use the old model chairs? That in the united states alone over 70% of kidnappings are the result of vampires feeding illegally? Not to mention that whelps who feed entirely on human blood have been shown to be more aggressive towards our herbivorous friends. There are talks of human governments cracking down and passing laws that tighten the noose on vampire inhabitants. They already treat us like sex offender, making us walk door to door and announce ourselves to our neighbors every time we move in somewhere. NuHemo is a chance for use to keep the old magic alive, and stop humans from justifying our genocide. The old magic is strong, but some of the things humans have these days... I just... Carloitos everytime I turn on this news, everytime I hear about a fatal feeding I just... I don't want to wake up to a rifle barrel stuck in my face..." Tears streamed down Augusts face, prompting Carlos to reach across the table. "My dearest, my eternal partner, please I-I'm sorry I made a big deal about it, I know what this means to you I'm just... I'm frustrated. Let's head home, I'll make you some popcorn and we can watch all the cheesy romcoms you want."

An artificial blood substitute that works even better than real blood has been invented! The vampire community has mixed feelings about this.

You would think that after so long asleep, I would be weaker. Perhaps not in mind, but in body it would be natural. A pitiful thought, one conjured by humans in their own frailty. They might grow weak on their sick beds, without challenges to amek them grow. But I was no human. I was one of the elite, a vampire. My body did not age, so why should it wither? I tore my way from the crypt I had slept in. From the smell and look of decay, it had been many years since I last walked the cold reaches of the night. I licked my fangs, eager to find a fresh throat to tear out. Their dying mind would tell me about the way the world now was. It didn't take long to find a target. They staggered alone in the dark, unafraid of what might lurk within. I shook my head at the idiot, clearly one of the simpletons of this time. They might not have much in the way of brains, but at least they would give me a step forwards. I leapt out of the night, grasping their body and lifting them away. I expected fear, maybe a scream. Instead I was met with the stench of partially digested food and alcoholic spirits. The fool had thrown up, before apparently passing out in my grasp. No matter. I wrenched his head around, biting into his neck and tasting the lifeblood within. I drank deeply, feeling their memories become mine. What u saw shocked me. Metal boxes on wheels that moved on their own, spewing foul gases. Tubes with mocking wings that forced themselves through the sky. Slates of glass and something called plastic, things that connected the world. Billions instead of millions of prey. But what disgusted me more was the ignorance of what stalked the night. Vampires were rare, even when I went to sleep. But to this idiots knowledge, we were now myth. I shuddered to myself. Myths made into vapid stories. We were monsters, not bleeding hearts. Anger rose, and I threw away the cooling corpse. It slammed into a metal pole, one that held captured lightning. The metal bent, the lightning disappearing. I had to correct their misconceptions. I had to make them fear my kind again, even if I was the last one. \----- I crouched over the new seat of power in the country. The royals stripped of all but ceremonial power, it was now the so called people who were in charge. I laughed to myself. Not for long. I was lucky that I had awoken in winter, where the days were long, and the air cold. The perfect time for me to be active. It let me watch from on high as the human workday ended. I still found myself disturbed at their cities. Such structures of glass, metal and stone should not be so tall. But though I hated them, I had to admit they gave me a wonderful view point. I watched their guards. Gone were the armours of old. Instead they wore cloth, and held tubes of metal called guns. I had no clue how they would affect me, but I suspected it would be little. My nemesis was fresh wood, not molded metal. In time I saw a group emerge. Even from here I could see their swagger. They thought themselves above the rest. Such arrogance could not be allowed in mortals. Only the greatest of predators could hold such confidence. I leapt down towards them, briefly growing my wings to slow my descent. But I did not lower it to a standstill, instead using one of the arrogant prey as a cushion. Their body crunched beneath me, as I stood upright. I let them gaze upon me for a moment, before I lashed out. Blood flew through the air, as I tore them down. One I bit into, drinking deep even as I tore the others asunder. I kept them scream, letting attention be brought on me. As I finished my meal, I heard an explosion. I felt something pass through me, but no pain. I glanced down, seeing a hole in me. A guard stood with one of their guns in their grip, smoke trailing from its front. I laughed, dropping the body before me. "Such weapons don't work on me. Hear me, and remember your fears. The dark is mine, as are your lives to take." With that I jumped into the air, flapping my wings. I left the carnage behind, grinning to myself. I had no need for comfort nor money. I was a monster. And I would remind them just what monsters were meant to be.

As a Vampire you have awoken from a five hundred year nap. Humanity no longer fears you, they treat you as a myth and make a mockery of your legacy. A Vampire does not fall in love with it's food, a vampire does not glow in the sun. It is time humanity remembers why they feared the dark.

Those adorations mounted on every church wall and displayed in cheap frames on every Catholic retiree's credenza next to the family porcelain collection, actually got his look spot on. Gaunt, bearded, Kurt Cobain hair but darker. Pictures of Jesus the world over seemed...accurate. But the most shocking thing about Jesus, who sat there in front of me, surrounded by people hanging on his every word, was that he was white. Whiter than me and I'm from Minnesota and have Scotish roots. If I run outside naked on a snowy Christmas morning I'll be invisible. I'd only just arrived but before I stumbled upon this scene I was the odd man out (even having accounted for the era and come dressed to blend in). Everyone else: the Romans, the Middle Easterners, were all darker-skinned. I thought that my time machine journey to Jerusalem would have at least proven out the obvious: that Jesus was white-washed over two millennia. Not true. There he sat. And there I stood. Confounded. When my initial shock started to wane that's when I became aware of the fact that Jesus himself, messiah and savior of all mankind, so I read... was staring me down with a rageful resolve that I'd only ever seen from my son when I'd take away a toy as punishment. I grimmaced, but his hard glaring eyes didn't break. Then I picked up on a twitch of his head. An indication to meet. I walked behind the bazaar wall where he'd been, I don't know, holding court? I don't know how to describe the market-sized adulation. Somehow though he'd placated them to occupy themselves and had escaped. This I knew because now we were alone. He still held that rageful look, and I was still its target. "What are you doing here, goddamn it?" he hissed, suddenly. "Goddamn it? That's... out of character. How the hell? *You speak English*?" "Ya damn right. I know the noggin' of an American in any century. Just what in tarnation are you doin' here?" "Are you... are you *southern*? Wait... I have questions--" "You better saddle up back on whatever time funky horse you rode in on and get back to your age, or you'll have us both caught out!" "You're not Jesus you're some guy from... from Texas?" "I am Jesus, you goddamn neophyte!" He caught himself and continued at a lower volume. "You need to leave here." "Tennessee? Georgia? I think I can place Alabama and Louisiana but my ear isn't that trained. You're an American, that's clear to me." "Why are you here?" "I built a time machine. I wanted to see Jesus. Wasn't planning on *talking* to him. In *English*. In *American*." He was muttering under his breath. "First time this has happened..." "What?" "You gotta go. Not the time, not the place." "Do you speak the languages here? How do they not know you're foreign... and... timeless?" "You want answers, partner? I ain't got 'em, Sam Hill." "Tarnation? Sam Hill? Man, what year are you from? Are you Jesus Jesus or have I stumbled into some off-putting parallel dimension where you've found yourself comically replacing him? But then how can you speak Aramaic?" "I'm busy saving the world, fella. There's your answer, now skeedattle!" "But wait--!" He'd given me once last hard glare before he turned and shuffled back out into the bazaar. I had to sit down. I sat on an old basket full of soddy woolen sheets. A million questions still rolled around my head. But the questions were so non-sensical, the situation so bizarre, that my brain couldn't do anything. I could hear myself laughing, and I floated up into a morbid out of body experience, observing myself sitting there in the dark, a time traveler in the midst of discovery. After ten minutes of this, I came to my senses. I went back to my time machine and initiated the return trip. A flash of light, and I was back in 2022, in Foley, Minnesota. Everything looked the same. Same furniture, same house, same doting family. Same Netflix line-up, same neighbors and cars. I drove around. Same town. Same church. I should've been glad that I hadn't irreversibly changed anything, but all I could think was... *what the Sam Hill is going on*? I had to go back. Because, honestly... wtf. ​ /r/velabasstuff

You finally did it, you built a time machine! You head back 2000 years to Jerusalem, thinking you'd finally end the debate and see Jesus for yourself... but, when you finally find him and look at him, he suddenly turns towards you as if struck by an invisible force, rage visible in his eyes.

Marcus carefully schooled his expression as he sat handcuffed to the table. Magnificent Man was pacing up and down the room in a towering rage, seething as pictures of the results of Marcus's latest invention were projected onto the wall behind him. "In my years of fighting crime, I have never seen anything so depraved." The pictures had worked Magnificent Man up so much that he was having trouble speaking, the words coming out as a husky whisper. "You've really outdone yourself this time, Marcus." Marcus slowly blinked as he looked at the pictures of twisted bodies, destroyed landscapes, and starving corpses. His lips thinned imperceptibly as a particularly gruesome image flashed onto the wall. He could hardly believe what he was seeing. He had been trying to create doomsday devices for years, constantly failing for some reason or another, but now he had succeeded in the worst way possible. His plan had never been to use these weapons. His plan had always been to scare people, get them to fear what he was capable of, and then hold the whole world hostage. He would have anything and everything he wanted, so long as people were scared of what he could do. He didn't want to kill people. He wanted to invent something that could let him live like a king. "I used to think you weren't that bad," Magnificent Man sneered. "I used to think that you were on the better side out of all the villains in the world." Magnificent Man stopped pacing and turned towards the projected images. He took several uneven breaths as he struggled to calm himself. "But now I see better. Now I see that you're the worst monster of them all. You were just waiting until my guard was down to show it." Marcus struggled to swallow past the lump in his throat. He had been taking a break from villainy and hadn't even realized what had happened until Magnificent Man smashed through his wall and beat him half to death. His cooking robot had gone crazy. He invented the robot after he couldn't afford a personal chef anymore. Repeated failures at villainy didn't pay well. Unfortunately, Marcus was both terrible at cooking and had very picky tastes. A terrible combination if there ever was one. Marcus had always believed it was God's way of balancing the scales. He had made Marcus intelligent, handsome, innovative, and humble, but he had also made it so Marcus would suffer at every meal. Fair is fair, but Marcus was never one to bow to the whims of God. If he couldn't hire a personal chef, he would make one! So he made the most incredible cooking robot anyone had ever conceived of. An artificial intelligence devoted to creating the tastiest food possible. The first day, it was terrible at cooking. Marcus thought he had wasted his time. The second day, it was passable but still a disappointment. But on the third day, it had finally learned how to cook delicious food. So Marcus proceeded to ignore it. The food kept showing up on the table and only improved with time. Meals had become something Marcus looked forward to constantly. The robot was making food that blew professional chefs out of the water. "10 million people." Magnificent Man whispered the number, seeming almost frightened. 10 million. The robot had nearly wiped out an entire city in South America. "What did they do to deserve this, Marcus?" Marcus carefully kept his face blank. Indeed, what had they done to deserve this? Marcus certainly didn't know. He was carefully avoiding thinking about why the AI had decided this was a good course of action. He desperately hoped it had nothing to do with securing a source of meat because he had not been asking what he had been eating for the last couple of weeks. He couldn't tell Magnificent Man this, though. There's no way he would believe him. His whole shtick was supposed to be making things that could do this. Magnificent Man would never believe that he had accidentally created one that had succeeded after all this time of trying and failing. And, even if Magnificent Man did believe it, wouldn't it be pathetic? Marcus didn't know if he preferred people thinking of him as the most horrific mass murderer in history or the most pathetic mad scientist in history. Licking his dry lips and taking a deep breath, Marcus kept his face blank as he responded. "Do I need a reason to be evil?" Bang! Magnificent Man moved faster than the eye could see as he spun around and slammed his hand down on the steel table. The table splintered into countless pieces, Marcus flinching as metal shrapnel flew everywhere. "Why?! Why did you do this?!" "…I," Marcus didn't know what to say, "I'm very racist." Anything was better than admitting that it was a mistake.

Do you have any idea how embarrassing it would have been if I admitted it was a cooking bot gone wrong? No, far better to play it as some device for some evil scheme

I layed on the floor, raspy breathing exhaling from my mouth as the last amount of crimson was expeled from my vains. I felt the weight lifted off of me, my body feeling very weak and frail. Huh, I forgot what that felt like. "What a unique taste..." The vampire commented as they stared at my pale body, giving a small smile and revealing their blood coated fangs. "It's been a while since I've devoured such a delectable human before. You should feel special, I don't often praise your kind for their taste." The vampire laughed, turning to leave. Okay, enough of that. "Wait," I gasped out, slowly feeling the blood rushing back into my body. I just need some more time... The vampire raised an eyebrow as they turned. "Oh? You're still alive? Fascinating. Most humans would perish in your... state." The vampire trailed off as they saw the two holes punctured into my neck slowly close. My skin, which was originally stark white, had started to flush with colour again. I sat up, my body feeling refreshed. "What the-!?" The vampire croaked. "I suppose you're only young, in vampire terms at least." I commented, standing up to my feet. "If you were a bit older, you'd understand very cleary the different tastes between human blood and demon blood." "... Demon...?" The vampire sqeaked, all proudness in their stance gone. "Demon." I repeated with a grin. "Our blood tastes a bit sweeter, doesn't it? I figured you would've been taught that long ago. Don't fret... it's a common mistake the younger generation of vampires make. I've seen it plenty of times." I replied, stepping forward. I tried to live a peaceful life out in this town, away from my original heritage. Oh well, things like this happen... besides, I always wondered what vampire tasted like.

the vampire that has been terrorizing the town you live in just found you and drained all of your blood. The face that the vampire did when your wound healed in seconds and you got up was the best that you ever saw in a thousand years.

They thought I was a hack, using cold reading techniques and my sense of touch to register responses instead of being blind. And I mean, that's fair - there are enough cheap hacks out there today with gimmicks and psychological response reading that I could easily get lost in the dross. But then as I walked on to the stage, stick in hand, in a world where everything was grey except the people, I bumped the table, yelping in pain. I swore my stick around, hearing the tap as it touched what might have been a chair; I've never seen one myself. The smell of the audience was one of a combination of disinterest, curiosity and a few sparks of zealous true belief....and then a blank spot, in the middle of the audience, as the show began. Now, that was interesting in and of itself - because it wasn't the swirling, colourful chaos of the others in the audience; it was a, swirling *bleakness* or blackness, I guess. And that piqued my interest. "Thank you all for coming," I said as the applause of my entrance died down. "For this first part, I need a volunteer. How about you, the person right in the middle, there?" And I pointed to the blackness, where I felt (more than heard) the shuffling there, as the person slowly made their way to the stage. I felt the blackness approach where I was, and it sat down, the scent of confidence and disdain wafting it's way towards me, and that blackness that sat in front of me sent a surge of adrenaline through me, as fear began to snake it's way through me. I tried to hide the fear as I spoke to the thing in front of me. "And you, sir or Ma'am, what is your name?" I found the voice matched what I was 'seeing' - an unplaceable accent that spoke English. "You may call me John."

You’re legally blind, but can see people’s souls. Shades, textures, and motions tell you motives, traumas, and much of their personality. You make money giving theatrical psychic readings, but no one believes you. Until today…

"Please don't do this." she sobbed. "I said the same thing," I whispered, pressing the muzzle of my gun into the forehead of the man kneeling before me, "just before this bastard here killed my father right before my eyes." "Daddy," one of the children cried, and my heart clenched. I was there too, a lifetime ago. "I know," the woman – his wife I presume, huddling with their three children on the other side of the dining table – whispered. "I know everything, and I'm so sorry. And I understand." "Hmmm." I grunted. Well, this was new. I spent years hunting down my father's killer. I discovered that his assassin was both highly skilled and highly prolific, which made everyone I encountered rather reluctant to surrender any information. I employed methods that helped, shall we say, *grease the wheels of communication*, but those that resisted often resorted to threats, begging, bargaining, anything to delay the inevitable. I expected his family to react much the same way. Threaten, beg, bargain all the stages of grief rather unique to situations like this. Acceptance usually isn't a player in this game. "You can kill me," the man whispered. I knew his name, but I like keeping things anonymous. You lose some romance and mystery if you know too much sometimes. "Don't need your permission." I responded flatly. I unlocked my safety. "Just don't kill me in front of my family," he begged, "they don't need to see this." "Where was that consideration all those years ago?" I sneered. Behind me, I could hear the eldest daughter shush her siblings and tell them to cover their eyes. "Aaron," he whispered, and then his voice broke. "You're all grown up now." "Aaron, you loved cars. Your father bought you a radio controlled car for your birthday and he brought you to the park, every Saturday, and let you drive it around. He loved you so much he even bought a car for your best friend Fred, so you guys could race together sometimes. He'd do an announcer voice and narrate when you made sharp turns, when your car flew over the finish line he made out of paper cups and take out chop sticks with bits of cloth strewn between. He'd take you out for your favorite breakfast afterwards - a bagel with lox. You had such grown up tastes for a kid! He dropped you off school every morning and always said if you do your best, everything else will follow. You didn't live that far from school, only a few blocks, but he loved spending as much time with you as he could, because your mom died when you were so young, and you were his whole world. He had a picture of both of you on his desk. He never stopped loving her, which really pissed off Janine from Accounting. He left work early three days a week to pick you up from school, the other days were your grandma's days, and he always went straight to your school from work, except Fridays, when he'd stop off at home first to set up a surprise for you and wait for you to walk back to your neighborhood with Fred." "And that was the perfect time to kill him. Wait for him to get back, try to kill him before you returned from school. Because your dad knew something, you see. He knew someone at his aviation company had approved something that should not have been approved, and people died. That person tried to give him money if he'd stay quiet, and oh god it was so much money, it would have changed your lives, but your father wanted to do the right thing. And he was going to testify, bring them justice. And I, I..." The man began to cry. I tried not to roll my eyes. I knew this speech was coming. "Your father made me want to be a better man," he continued, "I'm an active member in my community. Every time there's a snowstorm, I'm the one shoveling my neighbor's driveways. I volunteer in a soup kitchen once a month. When Greg down the block died from cancer like your mother did, I organized a fundraiser for his widow, so she could cover her mortgage payments for a year! And I convinced that beautiful woman standing there behind you to marry me, have children with me. They're the light of my life, just like I know you were the light of your father's life. I always think back to those days I tailed your father and saw how much he loved you, how he always tried to do the right thing. And I strive to be that person, each and every day." He paused, then said, a little too smugly for my taste: "I'm sure you did your research, Aaron. That's how you found me. You know I'm known throughout my community for my kindness and generosity." "You never turned yourself in though." I pointed out. The man stop. Sputtered. "Well I...I thought the best way to honor my victims was to pay it forward. Live a good life, do right by my community." "And rob your victims's families of any chance of closure. May I remind you of what you did?" My mocking voice got a little sing-songy "Hey," he screamed, "your dad could have suffered, the contract specifically asked for torture, but I made it fast! True, because you walked in, but he just got a bullet to the head! I took a pay cut!" "Wow, you skipped the torture," I said sarcastically, "Such hero. Much sacrifice." "And I let the kid live! I'm a *good* guy now," he responded hotly. "I recycle!" With a flurry and agility honed from years of practice, he grabbed my gun, swept my legs out from under me, and knocked me to the ground. Blinding beams of light flooded the dining room. "Drop it!" FBI swat agents poured in, seemingly from every direction. The man covered his face while his family, still huddled together at the other end of the dining table, screamed. "Get the kids out of here," I groaned from the floor, "And make sure they're okay. They didn't do anything wrong. But you–" I pointed at his wife, "you do realize you admitted to knowing about his murders, right?" "We got it all on audio recording, Aaron," an agent reached down and pulled me to my feet. "It's over, finally. We got him buddy." "Thanks, Fred." I closed my eyes, allowing myself to cry. "Love you, dad."

The revenge driven protagonist hunts his fathers killer for years, only to discover that he was now a loving family man with a son. The killer suffers from heavy guilt for his past actions and has now worked hard to be a better man to everyone, and is beloved for his kindness and generosity.

There is booze and people and booze and laughter and silly hats and noise-makers that extend as they trumpet and booze and a toilet filled with vomit and a few big glasses of water and then my bed. The room spins and I laugh at the time I had had. Had had. Heh. *Had* had. A ruckus of squawking plastic kazoos and many merry shouts. I sit up before the words finish sinking in. Happy New Year! As the pop and crackle of firworks start to pepper the night beyond my curtains, I lay back down. The spinning is still present, but much less enjoyable. Sleep takes me and I am thankful. Though my night is one filled with dreams.   \* * * “Hey. *Hey*.” A voice enters my mind...and said mind, now realising it is present, sets to work making my life hell. A vast bass drum of regret sounds in my head — the reverberations of which churns the bile in my belly. Some small and chilly worm lifts my eye-lid. A dragon with a small boys face in its mouth had used a finger to peel back the thin shield of my sleep and stare at me. “Hey, Dad.” Said the Dragon, despite the boy lodged in his throat. “Can you loan me some money?” I remember...I remember saying I wasn’t going to do shots. I remember my wife saying that I should have fun. I remember throwing up and remember being put to bed at the early hour of eight-twenty-something in the pee-em. “Dad?” I look to the bedside table and see two things. The clock already being at 14:23 (two-twenty-three non-twenty four time), worried me. The large bottle of orange gatorade, the most healing flavour, filled me with love for my wife. “Dad?” A raised finger quieted the questioning lizard. With half the bottle emptied and a hand on my forehead ready to catch my escaping brain, I asked: “Was it for?” “Eggs. Uncle Thomas says he sells them a dozen for five.” Said my ever-onesie-wearing Son. “You hate eggs.” “I figure I can hatch them and then sell the eggs *they* lay.” I lay back down. “Ever the capitalist.” “Soooo.” “Go ask your mother.” “Kay!” “Also. Could you ask her to come here and shoot me, please?” “...kay!”

Its 2022 and you go to bed on New Years Eve. When you wake up, its 1423, youre not in your home, and theres a dragon outside the window "Dad, can you loan me some money?" is what you hear the dragon ask.

"Today will be for many of you, the first in the fire. Will it scald or will it temper?" I was smart enough to know Dread Gaze didn't expect an answer, as were the nameless henchmen beside me. Walking into the bank, my heartbeat got away from me. When had I started sweating? My scowl, matching the boss's, gave away nothing behind the ski mask. The spacious bank's patrons and employees all wore a singular expression, fear, instinct's respect. Dread Gaze tapped me with a clawed gauntlet as he strode confidently towards the vault. This was it, what I had longed for. I reached into my pocket, panicked for a moment before checking the other, and pulled out the small device. "People of Hawthorpe, I and my brothers mean you no harm. Keep your wallets and your jewelry," the super villain orated. "I steal from the thieves." He pointed a menacing finger at the smug statue of Darrel Grestpeck. I flinched but remembered my cue. One press of the button lit the charges left there the night before. Screams surrounded us as the statue blew to dust, revealing the side of the inner vault behind it. The henchman on my right and left pushed past me, bags already open and ready, rushing into the vault. Something made me stay back. As the dust cleared, two tall silhouettes walked from the vault, each holding one of the henchmen by the neck. A hammering punch sent one henchman down to crack the tiles beneath him. Noble, the impervious hero spotless despite the mess, stepped over the broken man, who let out a wheeze. Beside him, a thin man in a flowing robe flickered up 20 ft in the air, dropped his opponent and flickered back to the ground, telegrafted ever so slightly by a glimmer twinkling in the air. He comically stepped to the side as the henchman smashed into the floor. The new hero I didn't recognize smiled. "Robbing a bank, isn't that a little cliche?" The robed man asked. "I could say the same thing about hiring a sidekick. I teach a broader-" Dread Gaze began, not sparing a glance for the wounded minions. "It doesn't matter," Noble cut off with a commanding voice, only slightly muffled behind his golden helmet. "We don't have time for the song and dance today, villain. Come willingly or in a bag." The pupils of the super villain boss grew black as miasma began to drip from the sockets. In a moment the two heroes were on him. The fighting was too fast to see. I felt like I should be doing something but I had no idea what. I doubted firing my gun would do much to the robed one, if I could even manage to land a hit and I knew it would bounce off Noble. I knelt beside my fellow henchman that had been dropped. His blank and bloodshot expression stared up at nothing. The busted chest didn't move. I scrambled to the other as the heroes choked through Dread Gaze's fog and claws. "I'm going to die, man," the henchman on the floor screamed, patting weakly at his chest. "It's all broke in here. I can feel it, it's sharp." "Stay calm, just breathe okay," I said. "I can't fucking breathe, man." He gripped my shirt, stronger than I would have expected and shook it. "Help me." With a slam, Dread Gaze was knocked back. He pressed claws into the floor to slow his movement, raking across the henchman's chest. "Fuck," I said, muted by the now three pieces of the man in front of me who had been talking only a second before. I pulled my gun, and fired at the robed man as he dusted himself off. He flickered and my bullet busted glass behind him. He turned to me with a smirk. "Oh my, it seems we missed one." He walked towards me. Later that night I would try to remember the order of events but, as cliche as it sounds, it all happened so fast. One on one for a moment, Dread Gaze was getting the upper hand on Noble, and their fight moved between me and the robed man. Somehow, I ended up holding Noble's helmet in my hand. Did I grab it? The metal had a constant background hum and vibration. It was warm. I saw the glimmer of sparkling motes in the air to my left. Without thinking, I thrust the helmet into the space just as the robed man appeared, right where my hand was. He backed up screaming as gouts of almost black blood spurted from his chest. He had teleported around the helmet and it was sticking from the front of him. His left arm dangled, almost no longer attached. The screams ended as he flickered away, taking the helmet with him. Noble had choked the villain unconscious and now turned to me. "Where the fuck's my helmet, little man," he asked, approaching me slowly. The skin on his bald head was paler than his face, pale as paint. As I watched, his muscles shrunk, chainmail armor hanging baggy off of him. I fired the gun without aiming, the bullet caught him in the eye and he fell back, like a slab of meat. The bank was silent. I dropped the gun from my shaking hand. "What the fuck did you just do?" Dread Gaze asked as he stood, glancing first down at Noble's sprawled body and then back at me, a look on his face I hadn't seen before, fear. /r/surinical part 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zhurxo/comment/izpfgvj/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3

As a villain henchman, the number 1 rule you're always taught is to never outshine the boss. However, during a small bank heist, you accidentally kill your boss' arch nemesis, and the legion of superheroes now see YOU as their ultimate threat.

I had been sitting in my apartment, nursing a hot chocolate as the cold winter's day perfectly emulated my mood. I was bested, captured, and my identity revealed. I was arrested and charged for my crimes, and only because of a technicality could I be under house arrest. Not that I would violate that, I'm going to continue being on my best behavior. But the worst part was that it wasn't even my nemesis who did it. I had no doubt she would if she had the chance, but she never got to because of that new speedster. I looked at my phone again to see no response. It was unusual that my ex-wife hadn't responded to my inquiries of how Malory's day was going, but maybe that was just because I'm now too infamous for her safety. I wouldn't blame her, but I can't not worry about my daughter. Then there was a sudden knock at my door. I looked out the exterior window to the cops "taking a break" outside my ground-floor apartment; they looked flabbergasted at the building's entrance, but didn't have any weapons drawn. Concerned but cautious, I went up to the door and- blast, the peephole was still cloudy as hell. I opened the door. Standing in the entryway, my 2-year old daughter asleep in her arms, was Valor. My nemesis. I leapt back and activated my "combat pre-cog" ability, but the analysis part of my power stopped me before I could lash out. It was only then that I saw that Valor was battered and bruised, her armor wrecked. *Who could've hit Valor with that much force*, I boggled. And my power noted that she wasn't even going for a combat stance at all. But there was pain in her eyes, that she had seen me react to her presence like she would hurt me. *She wouldn't, not now*. I relaxed as Valor tried to hide her pained reaction. Gently, she handed over my daughter and said, "Just saved her life. Need to go home and rest." As she turned to leave, I grabbed her arm gently and asked, "Hang on, I want you to tell me what happened." I began to pull her inside and she didn't resist, but she did stop briefly to waive away the police officers who had opened the front door and were coming into the entryway. As Valor sat down I laid my Malory on the couch and put a blanket on her. I then went to get a mug of coffee and brought it to Valor. She drank deeply from the scalding mug, a reminder that she was absurdly tough even at her weakest, as I sat down and picked up my hot chocolate. Her eyes darted over to the window, and I looked out to see the officers observing. I nodded to them, enjoying the surprise on their face, before turning back to Valor. She took an entire minute just to think. I had seen her do this before, her eyes darting back and forth as she pondered things deeply. Despite the fact that I had literally precognitive abilities, she still thought faster than any baseline human and I would not underestimate her. Then her eyes caught mine, and she flushed with embarrassment as she realized I was waiting for a response. "Caroline's dead," she said simply. *No.* My ex-wife was dead? "What happened," I nearly shouted. "Shh," she reminded me quickly. "A 'privileged witness' had notified me that the villain Rahul had killed a woman at a coffee joint in Gibson and absconded with a child. I came out as quick as I could, and found him monologuing to a news van about what he was going to do to her if *you* didn't come out to face him." *Holy shit*. That bastard Rahul had targeted me directly? And one of Valor's family members, most certainly a civilian, had seen my ex-wife die. "Why hadn't I heard about this?" "He had been talking to them for less than a minute when I arrived. I'm sure if you turned on the news now, it'll be all over." My eyes involuntarily flicked over to the unpowered television before I looked back a Valor. She gave a little grin of recognition, remembering all the times she's done that same maneuver to me before, before she continued. "I gave him the best sucker punch I had upon arrival and he thankfully dropped your daughter. I took the fight as far out as I could, but Rahul had his newest strength-serum already injected. I promise I didn't kill him, but the comedown from his serum combined with what I *did* to him was too much for his body to handle." "What the fuck? Rahul's dead too? Jesus, that must've been some serum. I know how you fight, and you absolutely would disable him with the minimum amount of injury. Had he not analyzed this formula before?" "Dunno, didn't care to ask," she said with a small grin. I couldn't help but enjoy the dark humor as well. "Couldn't leave your daughter with the cops, it didn't feel right." I looked over to Malory, lamenting that they'll probably demand to take her somewhere "safe" soon. "It would've been the right thing to do, though, but I appreciate it more than I can say. I won't resist when they do come to get her though." "I'm sorry Darkstar. I-" "Please, Valor, it's just Paul now." There was a moment of silence before a thought came to mind. "I can't help but think that the brat who caught me needs to learn that this is why we don't unmask each other so abruptly." I could feel the anger seeping into my words. "I know. I told Wildstride to turn himself into custody as I was flying your daughter here. He does need to be held accountable to his part of this, or at least whatever the jury decides his part is." I scoffed. "Then the jury will side with the 'heroes' again. They always do." "You might be surprised," Valor responded as she grabbed my remote and turned on the TV. The story flashed across the news, and they were describing it as a tragedy. I watched in surprise as the news stated the situation to a background video of Valor wrecking Rahul's left knee, and their sympathy towards my ex-wife was bleeding over to me too. "It really does help that all your crimes were basically illegal take-downs of corruption and you never hurt, or even threatened, any innocent people. Hell, there's even a discussion going on online about the time you stopped Rahul from killing those civilians." I grinned at that memory. "What can I say? That bastard absolutely deserved it." Then another knock at my door, this one expected. I got up and let in the pair of officers who said, "Paul, the bosses are ordering that we get your daughter into protective custody ASAP. Sorry." Before I could respond, Valor asked, "Can we at least wait until she wakes up? I'll be here until then." The officer hesitated, but seeing the look on Valor's face he crumpled. "Sure, as long as we can wait in here as well." "Of course, wouldn't want you all to freeze," I said as I sat down next to my sleeping angel. I looked up to Valor and I knew that she could see the gratitude in my eyes. Looking down at Malory, I resolved not to cry until they all left.

You get a knock. You open the door to see your nemesis, bruised and beaten, with your child. "Just saved their life. Need to go home and rest." Your nemesis turns to leave. You grab their arm. "Hang on. I want you to tell me what happened." You drag them inside.

"Trust me," my guardian angel said. "The Big Guy Upstairs doesn't like to talk about it. Just be grateful you get to come here at all." I had just died at work after an unforeseeable juggling accident involving chainsaws. (Apparently, you're supposed to replace the chains with rubber tubing before attempting the trick for the first time. Unfortunately for me, I must have skipped that lecture at Clown College.) Heaven, to my surprise, was much more sinful than I had been lead to believe. Beautiful women, lots of drinking and cheer, video games, even gambling. There was also the whole "dead relatives" thing, too, but thankfully it was limited to only the ones you liked. Truly the best of both worlds. I prodded my tour guide further. To my luck, I happened to be partnered with the biggest gossip to earn a pair of wings. "Fine, I'll tell you. But you must promise not to tell anyone. *Especially* God. He can be quite vengeful." I crossed my heart and hoped to die further. "So you know how the universe began with a Big Bang? Well... that's not far from the truth. Our Lord, well...he *gets around*, if you know what I mean." My angel then yammered away, giddily spilling all the dirty secrets of the universe. The gist, from my understanding, was there are multiple omnipotent deities out there, and when these entities couple, they give "birth" to universes. "And **this**\--" he said, gesturing to all the fun things around us. "Think of this as His child-support payments. He's not around much, but he sometimes sends us stuff for Christmas." A pack of go karts sped by, and the dust they kicked up tasted like sugar. I waved the cloud away from my face. "So we're all...bastards?" "Yes. But I'm sure you had a feeling your whole life that might be the case. God just doesn't treat us the same as his *real* kid. (Although sometimes I consider that a blessing.)" Right as I was about to say my farewell and go play the pinball machines, angels in suits and sunglasses descended from above. They grabbed me by my elbows. My guardian stepped in. "What is the meaning of this?!" he demanded. "I am his sworn guardian and I--" An Angel-in-Black pressed his earpiece, listened, then silently handed my protector an envelope. My angel read the letter inside. "...I see. Very well." He folded it up and handed it back. Then he placed a consoling hand on my shoulder. "It was nice to meet you. May God--or *someone*\--have mercy on your soul." As they dragged me upwards, I screamed back down, demanding to know what was in the envelope. A moment of internal debate ran across his face, then he shouted back: "I'm sorry, chum, >!but your paternity test came back. I'm afraid he's not your Heavenly Father."!< 👼

don't ask questions. Particularly about the nature of the universe. Even suggesting a question makes your guardian angel very, very angry.

The necromancer doth tremble in the darkened chamber, His hands a-shake with eagerness and fear. For weeks, he hath studied olden texts and rites Performed the spells to bring back fallen knights In service to a crown, now overthrown, He sought to raise these warriors, once his own.   But as the soldiers rise from their slumber deep, The necromancer doth sense a sudden change. These men, once fierce and loyal to the crown, Now look upon him with a cold, accusing frown.   "Who art thou, and what hast thou done to us?" Demands one knight, his voice a growling fuss. "I am a necromancer," the man doth say, "And I have raised ye to defend the crown, I pray."   "The crown doth lie in ruins, and our king is dead," Replies the knight, his eyes with anger red. "We fought and died in vain, and now we find Our loyalty doth lie with naught but time."   The necromancer's heart doth sink within his breast, For he doth see the error of his quest. He thought to raise these warriors, once so brave, But now he sees he hath but dug his own grave.   "I'm sorry," he doth whisper, as he falls to ground, "I did not know, I only sought to be renowned." But 'tis too late, for the knights do attack, And the necromancer's life doth quickly fade to black.

A necromancer revived soldiers of a king overthrown by a coup. All in an attempt to protect the honor of the crown. But to his surprise the soldiers tell a different story.

"Oh my God," I said. "Not again." The Fairy had the Elf in a headlock with one arm, the other was clamped over his mouth. "Sshhh," the Tooth Fairy hissed. She nodded to where my son, Carlos, was fast asleep. "As soon as I let go he screams," she said. The Elf grunted, as if to say, *damn right*! "Okay," I said, thinking fast. "Okay, here." In one swift motion, I stepped across the bedroom to where the Tooth Fairy and the Elf struggled on a bookshelf and gingerly scooped up the pair. The Fairy's wings, like that of a gossamer butterfly, shimmered with what I knew to be anger. "Well what else am I supposed to do?" I whispered. I took them to the living room and set them down on the coffee table. "One sec," I said. I popped over to the kitchen and grabbed a tall glass from the cupboard. Then it was over to the fridge, where I filled it to the brim with cold water. "Elf," I said, approaching the coffee table, glass in hand. "mmpph!" the Elf said, struggling feebly against the strength of the Fairy. "If you scream," I gestured to the water. "You get dunked. You feel me?" The Elf gave a big shudder, then nodded. "Okay," I said. "Let him go, Sienna." The Fairy gave me a long look, then stepped back from the Elf. The Elf fell to his knees, gasping. Rather melodramatically, I thought. Fucking *Elves*. "So," Sienna said. "You remember me." I did. And she looked much the same. A tiny, beautiful ballerina with shimmering wings that glowed blue. She was clad from head to toe in black clothing, complete with a hood. A tiny ballerina moonlighting as a ninja. "Of course I remember you," I said. "I mean, of course." Her response was unexpected. Her wings flushed from light blue to a light pink that climbed near to the edges, and she flit across the table away from me. "Right, of course," she said, and I couldn't see her face. "Some don't, that's all." The Elf took this moment as his time to bolt. He scrambled across the table and dove over the edge. I caught him easily. "You!" the Elf cried. "You sick, sick man! I'll take your teeth! Every last one!" He clawed wildly at the air as if to make good on his threat. I dunked him in the water. \~\~\~ MORE BELOW

"Don't forget to put the tooth under your pillow," you say to your son on his way to bed. Hours later, you wake up on the couch to a commotion. The Tooth Fairy has the Elf on the Shelf in a headlock. Exasperated, she looks at you and gasps, "Well? Help me! This little bastard stole the tooth!"

“So who is he?” That was the first question anyone asked when they found out about the prisoner. Who is he? What did he do? The first few times you asked you’d get no answer. If you kept asking, then a few of the boys would find a quiet moment, take you down one of the old disused corridors, and beat six kinds of hell out of you. People usually stopped asking after that. Nobody really knew for certain when ‘The Pit’ had originally been built, by whom, or for what specific purpose. There were always people who needed to disappear and consequently there were always places like ‘The Pit’. That wasn’t even its real name, but only the most green of guards on their first posting ever called it by anything else. If there was a record of how many people had been abandoned in ‘The Pit’ nobody knew where it was kept. No great list of names was maintained to say who was there or why. If you were sent to ‘The Pit’ you might as well have fallen off the face of the Earth. The occupants of its many cells were just so many anonymous piles of wretched human misery. People would be sent to ‘The Pit’ and that was the end of them as far as the rest of the world was concerned. Nobody from outside ever asked about them, checked to see if they were still alive. They sent them here and then they forgot about them. That was probably why nothing had ever been done about the prisoner. Nobody even knew he was there anymore. A month or two after arriving, that’s when a new guard would usually find out about the prisoner. He wasn’t exactly a secret, it was just that the other guards didn’t like to talk about him. Sooner or later though, a new guard would overhear something, or see a guard being sent on a special duty, and that’s when they’d learn about the lowest level of ‘The Pit.’ The one that had only a single prisoner. That’s when they’d start asking their questions. Eventually they’d be posted there long enough, and trusted enough, that some of the older men might share with them a few bits and pieces. Though there wasn’t much to tell. Nobody knew how long he’d been here, and certainly nobody knew his name. If he even had one. There were no orders or instructions, Nobody from the outside world ever asked if he was still secure or what had become of him. As far as the guards understood, they were the only people who even knew he existed. Every once in a while, when the nights had grown long and dark and the eldest guards huddled round their fireplace they would exchange their theories about the prisoner. They would tell the stories they had been told when they were young men, freshly posted. Stories that had been passed down from one guard to another for generations. Then the men would shiver and sit in silence for the rest of the night, before retiring to their beds and the sad, dark dreams that always followed. The guards tried their best to forget he was there. Most of the time it was easy enough. They were busy with the other inhabitants of ‘The Pit’ and there were no other prisoners kept on the lowest level. So it was rare that anyone needed to even descend those final few steps into the untouched darkness. They never even took the prisoner any food or water. He was left almost entirely alone and undisturbed. Once a month however, a guard was sent to check that the door was still bolted, that the bars hadn’t rusted, that the prisoner was still secure. The lone occupant of the cell was always found sitting in one corner, facing the wall. He didn’t move, never even seemed to notice that anyone was there. If you didn’t know any better you might mistake him for nothing more than a pile of dirty rags, forgotten and discarded. The guards would have been happy if this was their only contact with the prisoner, some had even argued that they should simply brick up the entrance to the lowest level and be done with it. They didn’t make the argument with much conviction though. For while there were no rules or instructions regarding the prisoner, there was one tradition. It was called a tradition because nobody knew why they did it, or who had started it, but it might as well have been a commandment. No guard would dare have dared defy it. For reasons they weren’t certain of and did not care to think too hard about. Every five years the prisoner was taken from their cell. They would be brought up from the very lowest level of ‘The Pit’ into the clear, cold, air of the courtyard. They would be made to walk around its edge and then they would be returned to their cell for five years more. Now the time had come once again for the tradition to be fulfilled. A day the guards dreaded to a degree greater than any could bear to admit. They waited until nightfall and gathered themselves in the courtyard. Three volunteers made their descent into ‘The Pit’ to retrieve its most unsettling guest. The screech of the door’s rusty hinge was met only with silence by the cell’s lone occupant. He moved without needing to be told. Not a word was uttered between anyone as this solemn tradition took its course. The only sound was the muffled pad of his bare feet on the cold stone and the soft clanking of his old and rusted chains as the prisoner climbed the near endless stairs. Finally, after what felt to the guards like an eternity, the prisoner completed his ascent and emerged into the courtyard. With small, shuffling steps he made his way out into the night air. With almost imperceptible movements he began his shambling journey about the courtyard. One weary step after another, moving to a rhythm he alone seemed to know. The only proof of his continued progress, the jangle of his chains. For agonising minutes the assembled guards stood sentry, tense and alert, unsure of why so simple a thing should fill them with such apprehension. All they could do was wait for this dread procession to conclude, so they could seal their unnerving prisoner away for another five years. Suddenly the guards noticed an eerie quiet within the courtyard. The gentle clinking of old and rusted chains had ceased, leaving a void of silence in their wake. The prisoner had stopped moving. Looking at him, the guards could see the prisoner had come to a complete stop, his gradual progress across the cold stone cobbles of the courtyard entirely halted. He was staring up at the night’s sky above him. Then he began to sing. If there were words to his song, the guards did not know the language they were spoken in. It sounded like birdsong and the cracking of ice. Like the rumble of thunder and the crashing of waves. Like the roar of fire and the laughter of children. All around him the guards looked up in horror at the night sky, as one after another, the stars began to sing back.

In the most isolated cell in the dungeon, the "Most Dangerous Man" is kept in isolation. For 5 years, he's been isolated in the cell with no noise or problems. One day, theres a voice from the cell, and it was singing.