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"I don't wanna fight you, low-level bandit." Says the Lv.100 Hero, who killed the embodiment of space-time. "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither." Says the low-level bandit.

"I don't think you understand," the Hero said. "It's not that I'd lose, it's-" "You'd win, yeah. I know," the bandit said defeatedly. "I mean, of course." "What do you mean?" asked the mighty hero, vanquisher of all evil. "I mean come on. You've killed dragons, monsters, gods. Obviously, I know who you are. I just thought, that, maybe if I fought you, it would..." the bandit motioned his hand vaguely, "*mean something*, you know? That ***I*** would mean something. But... no challenge, no glory. No point. I get it." The Hero stared at the downtrodden man silently. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you. I really- I really shouldn't have, I'm sorry-" "Are you alright?" the Hero asked suddenly. The bandit looked up, his face pale and gaunt. "What? I- I mean, sure. Just tired is all. Look I'm sorry, I'm not even really a bandit, just wanted to-" "What are you, then?" The bandit paused for a moment. "Not much of anything, really," he sighed. "I mean I try, I really do try to do different things but it always just... fails. All of it." The Hero considered the man's words. They were... painfully familiar. "Would you like to grab a mug of mead and talk? Perhaps about what makes you happy?" the Hero smiled. "What? No- of course- no, thank you kindly. I'd hate to drag you down," the man said hurriedly and raised his hands. "Nonsense. Come, it's on me," the Hero said jovially and pushed the man forward. Seemingly distressed but genuinely relieved, the would-be bandit accepted the helping hand and set off alongside the great Hero. It wasn't a quest. It wasn't glory. It wasn't a promise of riches that motivated the Hero. It was the right thing to do.

You, a demon, have been trying to convince a person to sell their soul to you. Unfortunately that person possesses actual common sense and refuses every time.

“Hi this is Marco calling about your—“ I hear a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. “Marco The Demon?” I clear my throat, “uhm uhh yeah that one.” “I told you to stop calling. PUT ME ON YOUR DO NOT CALL LIST.” I hear a click and the line is dead. For months I’ve been stuck on this human. No matter how many times I call, how many times I appear in his dreams, or precisely at the worst moments of his life, Tim Landry refuses to sell me his soul. There was the time in his hospital bed when he had just started the beginning of dying. I told him I’d extend his life by 10 years if he sold me his soul. “Fuck off, I don’t want to live,” he told me. There was the time his dog, Pearl was lost. I told him I’d bring it back to him for his soul. He shooed me away, “She’ll come home if she wants to come home.” “What if it dies?” “Then Ruth can have her.” And of course, lately I’ve been calling him once a week about his debt. The medical bills. The mortgage. The car loan. “I’ll waive it all. In exchange for your soul.” He usually doesn’t even reply anymore. Usually just hangs up. Today was different. He actually spoke today…maybe he’s cracking. I transport myself to Tim’s living room and tiptoe up the stairs once the hospice nurse leaves his side. “Hey buddy.” “I’m not your buddy,” he says. Which hurts. Considering I’m the only one that’s called him in months. The only one that knows what’s going on in his life which is fizzling out minute by minute. He doesn’t look too good. His face looks waxy and pale. There’s little beads of sweat on his forehead. “You don’t look so good,” I tell him. “Well you always look ugly. And you smell,” he tells me. I lose my temper a little bit because I definitely put on deodorant this morning, “the smell is you, you asshole. On account of you’re dying.” He chuckles a little. Or at least he tries to. The chuckle turns into wheezing and then coughing and then he’s clutching his belly and his body shudders to a stop. Tim’s delicious little soul peels away from his body and my mouth drools more than I’d like to admit. I follow it as it travels up and up and up and up. Above the ceiling and the house and the large oak tree sort of leaning haphazardly out front. Above a plane that I hope crashes and a rocket I hope fails on atmospheric reentry. Above the moon and the sun and the stars and the universe as humans know it. Until we reach where Tim’s soul is going and I cannot enter. I watch him scoop Pearl up and melt into Ruth. Their souls twirling and trapezing around one another until they form a blinding loop of light I can’t possibly look at for another second. I let myself fall hard back down. Down down down. Below the earths crust and core. Into the depths that no living human knows. Straight into my spinning, squeaking desk chair planted in my cubicle. Slumped at my desk, I search the database for another human with another delicious soul.

"Does anyone else find it weird how we always burst into perfectly choreographed song and dance and then carry on as if it never happened?"

My ears flicked to attention as I heard Aiden speak those words. I slowly lifted my head from my book, turning to face him. He didn’t notice my tired gaze as he and the others conversed on and on about the issue that I had been trying to remedy for a week now. “I think that’s the fun of this school,” Madison chimed in as she picked up an apple slice from her lunchbox, “no one really knows when it’s gonna happen, but it always does at least once a day. Why, does it bother you?” “No,” replied Aiden as he shoved a few curly fries into his mouth, “but to an outside observer, it could be confusing.” “Even better,” Josh joked. Everyone at the table agreed that it was perfectly normal. Nadia and Clay nodded. Kylyn spoke up and gave a peppy “Yeah, I think it’s cool.” Emily gave a thumbs up. Claire and Lela both said “Yeah” at the same time. After everyone had voiced their opinion, I was left as the only one sitting there that hadn’t moved or said anything since we all sat down. Everyone at the table looked at me, as if expecting an answer. Josh, across from me, with a look of mild concern, asked, “Shay? What about you?” I didn’t know how to respond. “Uh, sorry guys, I wasn’t listening,” I lied. This was the first time since I woke up in this musical hellhole that someone had mentioned the fact that every now and then somebody would start humming or singing and then everybody would join in, somehow perfectly knowing the words and dances. They weren’t even previously-established songs, either, they were all completely new. I wanted to keep this conversation going as long possible without interrupting, for fear that they might switch to another topic, or worse, realize that I wasn’t one of them. “Oh come on, I saw your eyes pointing up like you were listening,” Jason, to my right, pried. “No, I was just reading this — ” “This book about alternate dimensions and wormholes and all that nerdy stuff?” Josh asked, reading the title of the textbook in my hands. “You used to *like* ‘all that nerdy stuff,’ Josh!” I yelled. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I had been trapped in this parallel world for seven days, and I was done. “What do you mean, ‘used to like’ it?” Emily asked from Josh’s left. He grabbed her hand in concern. The cat was out of the bag now. “Okay, you guys are gonna think this is crazy, but I don’t belong here,” I finally said after a few too many seconds of silence. “Oh come on, we *always* accept people into our group!” Kylyn cheered. Several others nodded in consensus. “That’s not what I’m talking about,” I corrected her. “I woke up like a week ago and everyone is suddenly jumping up and singing and dancing, *perfectly in unison,* might I add, and then returning to their studies like nothing happened. I’m trapped in goddamn *High School Musical,* or something like that, for christ’s sake!” Everyone stayed silent. “And worst of all, everyone’s relationships and personalities are all different, like they’re some trope character in an actual nineties musical. Josh and Emily were not dating a week ago, and now they have been for *years,* apparently. Jason was a dancer, and now he’s the star quarterback! Lela used to be this really positive, religious girl, and now when I look at her it’s like I’m looking at stock footage of Marilyn Manson. Clay is the class geek! Somehow Madi is the mature one! Will is actually nice now! Madison is the stuck-up popular girl now!? It’s just too much! The only one who actually stayed the same was Kylyn, but I’m pretty sure her peppiness must be a constant with all versions of her.” I realized that somewhere in the middle of that rant I had stood up. Josh grabbed my hand and guided me back into a sitting position, a look of worry plastered across his face. “Are you okay?” he asked softly. “Sorry, I’ve just been holding that in for a while,” I answered. *That* was not a lie. “Well I’m glad you finally got that out,” Emily said. “And if in this little world of yours Josh and I aren’t dating, I wouldn’t want to go back.” She pecked his cheek with her lips. “Oh my god, this is too weird,” I declared, throwing my hands in the air in defeat and getting up to leave. Jason grabbed my hand as I left, however, and spun me around to face the group. “Don’t worry, Shay,” he said, as the rest of the table stood up, “because we can’t let you be down in the dumps anymore, can we guys?” A collective “No!” reverberated throughout the school cafeteria as everyone else around the room stood to attention and gathered around. *“You see, you’ll never know how to have a good time until you’ve partied with theater crowd!”* Josh began to sing as the people in the background chanted along with him. “Here it goes again…” I muttered as a few of my altered friends picked me up and held me over their heads in a futile attempt to cheer me up with music. I must’ve been a horrible person in my life and then died and didn’t realize, because there was no other conclusion I could come to aside from this being Hell itself.

"NO, That's the stupidest plan to have ever existed, there's no way the humans will fall for-". "Sir, the humans have fallen for it"

"So, we act scary," I said. "Yes." I blinked at my second mate, trying to keep calm. He grinned at me. "That is a ridiculous plan. Does anyone have any other suggestions?" Scanning the faces in front of me, my heart sank a little. They were all staring at me with blank expressions. At the back of the room, one raised an appendage. I pointed at them. "Well, we could pretend to be harmless, or at least harmless to humans." Their voice quavered a little, obviously not used to speaking in this exalted forum. "Harmless. Us." I turned to my second mate, rolling my eyes. "I take it back, your plan wasn't that ridiculous." "But Sir—" The other speaker tried to keep talking. I leaned forward locking eyes. "NO, That's the stupidest plan to have ever existed, there's no way the humans will fall for—" I cut off as the offending speaker interrupted. "Sir, the humans have fallen for it." They rose, their voice growing stronger, as they pointed to the projector. Rendered speechless by their impertinence I swivelled to look at it. Images, one after the other flashed by. Each was of a strange creature; some furry, some scaly, some slimy. Each was a known, powerful enemy. I swallowed some of my pride. "And you say the humans think they're harmless? You're sure?" "Yes, sir. Some even keep them as pets," They answered, and I scowled at the response. "That will not happen to us. Second Mate!" My second mate jumped to attention, throwing a salute. "Seeing as we have nowhere else to go besides this Earth, I ask you. Is there a suitable habitat on this planet?" "Yes Sir! Though we'll have to adjust for the pressure difference, and for breathing in the environment." "Easy enough. Well, snap to it!" Everyone scattered, and I relaxed for the first time since the war had started. We would be able to find refuge. —————————— Years of peace have passed and the humans suspect nothing. We have grown strong and populous in our new habitat. The darkness of it suits our purpose, allowing us to hide from the war that still rages among the stars. One day perhaps we will return to that life. But for now, we wait, lurking in the depths, smiling at the name the humans gave us. It is surprisingly accurate. They call us...Anglerfish.

It's hard being a professional henchman. Hench too hard, the hero has to kill you on his way to save the day. Don't hench hard enough, and your boss will kill you for failing your job. It all abut finding the right balance between harmless and useful.

I hear footsteps pounding down the hall as I place the a cushion against the wall and cover it with a flimsy metal crate. "Perfect," I exclaim with a sigh of relief, turning to face the incoming threat. I'm a profession henchman, you know the ones. The mooks, grunts or cannon fodder that get tossed aside as the heroes make their way to the real villains. Well it doesn't quite work like that here, you see there's a bit of an unspoken rule that any henchman worth his salt can tell you about. You want to be a problem for the heroes; ideally a distraction and at worst an inconvenience. Step a little too far to one side and the heroes decide that you aren't worth dispatching "ethically," and suddenly you are out of commission. Step a bit too far to the other and your boss sees that you aren't useful and well, he retires you. Permanently. That's why it's all about playing the game. Always treading that perfect line. It's a stressful job but the pay is good, you just need is the ability to look the other way from time to time and take your cash up front, no questions asked. I catch sliver of white light bolting around the corner and raise my Ion Rifle up to shoulder level. It's the hero Prismatic, he's a dangerous one, best not to get on his bad side. I take my time aiming my rifle. I shoot to his left, giving him plenty of space to dodge the blast as he ducks to the right. It misses him by about an inch. It wouldn't make him angry but it would make him look a hell of a lot better when they replay the footage on Sky Seven later in the night. "Step aside vagrant, I've no interest in you." He says just a little too coldly. Ouch. I notice the camera unfold in the left corner of the room. Now it's showtime. I boast up my chest for dramatic effect - "And let you foil the master's plan? Nonsense, you aren't getting any further than this corridor. This city belongs to the master." I see his teammate, Rhino, appear around the corner, I hope George ended up all right. I aim two more shots up, not that they'll do anything. One hits him square in the chest - knocking him back a few feet. The other singes an armour panel on the suit, exposing a square patch of skin. He lines up his fist which begins to glow with a myriad of colours. "I don't have time for this," he murmurs, charging forward. I fire another round centre mass which forces him to duck low. I take advantage of his changing trajectory and throw myself over him narrowly avoiding his glowing fist. I'm then met face to face with Rhino. Who effortlessly picks me up and throws me right at the first solid thing he sees. A pile of crates. I lay there, dispatched and out of the fight as I see them sprinting through the rest of the hallway. It's all in a days hard work.

You live in a world where your entire life is based off what role you are assigned. (Protagonist, antagonist, background character, ect.) In a family with the history of only getting important roles, you are assigned background.

My father was an antagonist, my mother a protagonist. My older brother was a villian's sidekick, my little sister a major character comic relief. My uncle and aunt were both born as side-protags, becoming the best friends of two protags. Everyone in my family wanted a new protag. Everyone except my dad, of course, but he put up with the hope. I was born with a big blue mark of a blurred face on my forehead. The mark of a background character. The mark of a person who did not matter. I was named Neglecta, which meant 'ignored' or 'neglected' in Latin. (My parents didn't actually know Latin; but they DID know how to use Google Translate.) That was what I was supposed to be, what I was supposed to mean as a person. Neglecta, neglected, ignored. And it was my seventeeth birthday. My mother, the protag, was barely able to stand five minutes with me, or even have time for it. She had to be dodging villains and casting spells every second of her life. Her name was Promitto, or 'I promise', again in Latin. My little sister, Dilexit, or 'loved' in Latin, was the only person who came to my party. She was only eight, prancing around the house as if she owned the place. "Happy b-day, sisterrrr!" she told me, as if I wasn't a background character. That was when Dilexit set fire to the place. It was an accident of course, just her trying to make a cake and making a problem instead, like she had a nasty habit of doing. She was a comic relief, after all. But there was no one around. No protags around to save the day, no antagonists around to make it worse. No one except little Dilexit and me. Neglecta. But I wasn't going to be Negletca anymore. No- I'd have to save my little sister and myself from the fire she'd just set. I could feel my forehead start to pulse as the blurred face became something new. I looked in the mirror and found a mark I'd never seen before. I thrust out a hand and the fire stopped. I stared at my hands in amazement, wiggling my fingers one by one. Dilexit had, of course, fainted comically. That was higher power than I'd ever seen in any protag. I wasn't a background character anymore, that was the one thing I knew. And wow, was I ready to be important.

The use of human soldiers stopped with the rise combat droids. To make them effective the memory engrams of veterans were imprinted onto them. However one droid outperformed the others and went rogue. The military and the droid seek the veteran they used to imprint to understand what went wrong

Mr. Matthews was a slobbering mess of the trained killer he used to be. Sixty years ago, he was one of the top soldiers of the military, but now, he was just another old man withering away in a nursing home. "He's doesn't appear to be all there, sir," a young man dressed in green fatigues spoke into his phone. "He won't answer a thing. I'm not sure if he even understands what I'm saying to him." Across the table, Mr. Matthews's eyes were closed and some drool began to drip down the side of his lip like a stalactite. "Did you ask the nurses about his condition?" a voice came from the phone. "It's not uncommon for veterans to shut down when they grow old, but-" "Wait," the young soldier whispered, "he's waking up now." Mr. Matthews's eyelids opened, revealing bright, piercing blue diamonds. He looked across the table, and the young soldier shivered. "Who are you?" Mr. Matthews said. "Hello, sir," the soldier said. "I'm from the military, same branch as you were. I've been tasked with-" Mr. Matthews squinted his eyes and it went through the young soldier like an icicle. "Oh fuck off. I'm retired." "Sir, it's about your engram. A robot we created based on your neural pathways has gone rogu-" With a strength a man so old shouldn't possess, Matthews slammed the table. "I'm not gonna tell you again. I'm retired." The young soldier frowned. He studied the man, searching for some way to connect. "Who's that?" he asked, pointing to an open locket around Matthews's neck. On the surface was an old picture of a young woman. "You should know that," Matthews said. "You looked me up before coming here, didn't you? Or has the army gone that downhill since the robots? It's my wife. The ones you fuckers killed." The young soldier did indeed know who it was. In Matthews's records, a melancholy story was hidden. The man, thought to be made of stone, had finally been softened during his last deployment overseas. There, he met a woman, and they took to each other like flies to a trap. She barely spoke his language, and he barely spoke hers, but it didn't matter. When two people are meant to be together, the communication happens in silence. He married her after a month. She moved into the base and stayed with him. Everybody was amazed to see the change that occurred in Matthews. Things that would have once angered him no longer did, and he even let people borrow money from him. Nothing seemed to matter to him besides him and his wife. After a year, his deployment was over, and so he was sent back home. Before he left, though, after much tears and hurting, he promised his wife he'd come back for her as soon as he could. Because her husband was no longer living on the base, she couldn't either. She returned to her home in the war-torn land. Matthews came back the next month on a civvy plane. He was too late. His wife had been killed during a raid on her town. He learned about it through a report handed to him by a soldier he had given spare change to once before. She had been killed by his own people. Matthews was not stupid. He did not go berserk, or make a scene out of it. Although he wanted to, he knew nothing good would come of it. Instead, he went back home, not even stopping to visit her grave. It was easier that way, he told himself. Seeing it would only make things harder. Sixty years later, in a half-lucid state, confined to a wheelchair and trapped in a nursing home, there was nothing more he wanted to do than to see his wife one last time. "I'm sorry about your wife, sir," the young soldier said. "Protocol has changed drastically since then. Things like that don't happen anymore. Now, about that engram..." The old man began to raise his hand with a certain finger pointing up, but midway through the motion he fell back asleep. The next time he'd awake, he wouldn't remember a thing about this interaction. "I don't think we're going to learn anything from him," the young soldier said through his phone. "God damn it," the voice on the other side said, "where could that robot be?" Far away, on the other side of the planet, in a nation that spoke a different language, the waves crashed against the beach, the sky showed a golden-purple as the sun set, and a military robot, not understanding why it needed to do it so badly, gently touched a worn-out tombstone.

Widely disliked by the rest of Hero's Heroic Party, they're surprised when you (ironically) heroically sacrificed yourself so that the day could be won. The only problem? You survived certain death. Now things are just awkward.

Everyone in the League of Eight wasn't fond of Backlash, and she knew it. Somewhere deep down, they all knew she knew. Being the only member without powers, or possessing some kind of object with abilities, she was just a glorified mercenary. Every year on 8Day, she has the least amount of fans parading around. When the city is in trouble, she's not the hero you hope for. Yet the city needs her, her team needs her, even if they don't realize it. When Watchcorp got word of the attack happening in the city centre, it didn't take long to get some of the League out there. A mechanised tank was heading down the street, slowly but surely, headed for the hospital. From the cold lifeless steel look of this destructive yet cleverly constructed vehicle, it was clear that Dr Doctor was behind this. Only 3 members were sent out for this job. Titanium - the world's strongest man. Swift - Can travel a mile in the blink of an eye. And, of course, Backlash. She's often sent out to help take care of any henchmen, the small threats. Yet today, there were no henchmen. The Dr himself wasn't even there. All that was there was the hunk of metal making its way down the street, towards peril for hundreds. The hospital was being evacuated, but there wasn't much time remaining before the collision occurred, as the whirring machine would force its way through the doors and downstairs lobby, surely bringing the building down on top of it. Swift was running in and out of the hospital, helping as many people out as possible. Titanium, on the other hand, looking unbothered as usually, simply lifted a finger and..."oh"...the tank was pushing him. So he used both hands and was still being pushed along. He put all his muscles into it, and still, nothing. Whatever the casing of this thing was made out of, it was stronger than anything Titanium had seen or felt before. For the first time in his life, he wasn't the immovable man he thought he was. "I can't stop it. Can you see anything?" Backlash was on top of the tank, studying it. From the outside, it was just a cuboid with tank treads. It didn't take the shape of a tank, perhaps because there was no need for a driver or weapon system. Just a big block of unstoppable movement. Slow movement, but still ever marching forward. She spotted a small hatch on top and opened it up. The hole was tiny and showed all the gears inside as they crunched along. "I've got something up here... Some kind of hatch. Might be able to break this from the inside!" Titanium tried to reach in, but the gears were just too far away. "It's unlikely that the gears are made out of this strong material," Titanium thought out loud, "Surely constructing entire gears from this heavy material simply wouldn't work - Only the hull of this tank would need it." Backlash weighed in, "We just need to jam them, then. Stop them turning, and the tank stops in place." They tried throwing things into the hatch, but it was no use. "Anything small enough to fit in is crushed by the gears, anything large enough to do any damage wouldn't fit in the hatch," Titanium was stumped and didn't know what to do... "Except me," Backlash spoke with confidence in her voice. "No. Whatever you're saying, just, no." "I have to, look, we've got maybe 60 seconds maximum before we hit that hospital. Besides, I know I'm the least valued member of the League. You all hate me." "Backlash, no. We don't hate you. We never--" "You're not very fond of me, then, are you? You never were. I'm just the powerless girl. Well, what if my power is exactly this - Being selfless? I might not be a superhero, but I can sure be a super hero." "I'm sorry, I never truly realised that you knew. I'm sorry." Backlash climbed into the hatch. Titanium continued, feeling guilty, and diverting to lying to clear his conscience in Backlash's final moments, "You know, we were actually thinking of making you the new leader... It's sad to see you go." "I'd have loved to have taken that role," she said as she threw herself down into the darkness. There was a loud clang, and the machine jolted to a halt. Swift ran over, "You did it! Why did it take you so long?" "Well, it wasn't me. I couldn't stop the thing. It was Backlash. She's..." He pointed to the hole. "Oh... I'm sorry... But I mean, look on the bright side - Now the eighth member of the team can be a real superhero! Always felt like we were only giving about 7/8ths of true protection if you know what I mean. With a team full of powers, what can stop us? It could have been worse, we could have lost a hero." "I am a hero, prick," a voice echoed from inside the machine. Backlash climbed out, with a gear in her hand. She threw it down at their feet. "This small one was loose and I landed right on it. A little bruised up but I'm fine." "Oh, I, um," Swift stuttered as Titanium interrupted, "Hey, about that whole 'giving you leadership' thing, see, when people are emotional, they kinda say things... Things that aren't always true, and, well, um..." Backlash walked off as both of them stammered their words through the strange atmosphere. Swift spoke up to Titanium. "Well, this week's meeting is gonna be awkward." --- *I'm new to this, and this is actually my first time writing a death, let alone a sacrifice! So I apologize if the pacing and tones were off. I'm looking for feedback :)*

s you walk in a park, one of the ducks whisper; "Pssst, pretend I'm not talking, I need your help..."

I stared in bewilderment, frozen. I couldn’t even move as the duck kept talking. “Looks, I get the situation, talking duck and all, but just stay mum and maybe we can help each other out. I see yous in the park everyday. Everyday. I figure 'Hey, this guys looking for something too.' Missing companion? Exercise? Drugs? I don’t care, who am I to judge. I’m just a duck. But guess what, ducks are smarter than you think. Much smarter. Most of us anyway. I can get you what you need. No body expects a duck, see what I am saying? Anyway, you help me, I help you. Don’t help me, screw you. No body's going to believe you saw a talking duck and we go on our ways. So what do you say? We got a deal?” I’m still frozen, speechless. “Get over it.” He's agitated. If ducks could cross their arms in frustration, I think that was what he was doing with his wings. My mouth felt like it hasn’t moved in ages when I finally squeak out a, “Iiiiii don’t… I don’t know... how I can help you.” His tone of voice seemed happy. I'd assume there was a smile, but it was hard to tell without the lips. “I haven’t even told you what I needed. You think I’d be talking to a human if I didn’t know, without a feather of doubt, mind you, a feather of a doubt!--that this individual can help me?” He was confident. Smug even. I’d frown if I could. “Well, that’s the problem.” I managed to force out again. Words began to come easier. “What’s the problem?” “I am not a human. I’m a statue.” After a long pause, my patina and forever being in mid-step must have finally washed reason over the duck. The amount of quacks and flapping subsided into a sudden “You’re a talking statue!” It was more of a question than an exclamation. “Well, you’re a talking bird.” More quacks and fluttering caused feathers to molt everywhere. He took off into the sky, quacks fading with the sound of his pounding wings. It didn’t take long before he was out of my periphery. It was the most anyone has talked to me in years. Maybe the duck was right. Maybe I was missing a companion. Is this what sad felt like? Before I finished the thought, a fluttering came into my field of vision. Another duck. I smiled. I’m tired of the pooping, but it was nice having the birds. It really was. "Pssst, pretend I'm not talking, I need your help..." “Let me stop you right there. *I’m in.*”

In a blinding flash, a square mile of downtown Manhattan reverts to the natural state it was in tens of thousands of years ago.

"This is Chris Roberds, reporting from Channel 7 News..." Crowds of reporters, emergency services, and panicked businesspeople clamored around the scene. "What transpired here this morning is confounding city officials. The state department, as well as the Pentagon, has declined to offer a statement. This is what we know: At approximately 5:45AM this morning, there was a bright flash in downtown Manhattan. A square mile, roughly, vanished, leaving behind a dense forest." The camera focused behind the reporter. Police had formed a wall of guardsmen and police tape around the towering Birch and Maple trees. Through the trunks and brush, the forest was dark, the treetops blocking out all except stray beams of sunlight, revealing hints of a strange, untamed interior. "Most residents we've spoken to have expressed confusion and fear. Many have evacuated the city in case the phenomenon repeats itself. But those who have stayed behind have had one primary question: where are my loved ones?" Shouting erupted, drawing the cameraman's attention. Someone had broken through the police line, rushing toward the trees. A cacophony of cheers and barking commands rose all at one. The popping sound of gunfire caused the crowd to drop before stampeding away from the line. "Wait! Watch out!" Chris grunted while the microphone picked up the scuffing sounds of footfalls and stomping. The camera fell to the street, broadcasting the wild panic of rushing protestors stomping on top of one another. Then there was a loud noise, like a low horn. More screams filled the air and the rushing intensified. \-------------------------------------------------------- Dominique stood in the middle of the street, gripping her black leather briefcase under one arm and holding her cup of coffee in the other. Her eyes struggled to register what she was looking at. Had she taken her meds this morning? Of course she had. She hadn't forgotten in years. But then, how could she be seeing this otherwise? "What is that?" A voice whispered behind her. Dominique turned around to see an elderly woman in a cardigan with her arms folded tightly across her chest. "I'm sorry to ask you this," Dominique started, "but are you real?" The woman cocked her head. "Yes, dear. Are you alright?" She switched the cup of coffee to her other hand and reached out, touching the knitted cardigan. The older woman met her hand with hers in a sign of comfort. Dominique let out a sigh of relief before they both looked back at the end of the street. A wall of forest greeted them, the sounds of chittering creatures and whispering leaves swaying in the wind replacing the beeping horns and ambient conversations. "I have no signal!" A man shouted as he stepped out of a taxi. He held his phone up in the air while squinting at the screen. Shop owners shuffled out of their storefronts, looking around at the scene. There was something terrifyingly quiet about the city now. Dominique heard the words "no power" from a passing voice. Then she heard a shout: "Where's the tower!?" Sure enough, One World Trade Center was missing from the skyline. "Are you sure you're alright, dear?" The elderly woman tapped Dominque's hand, now gripping the threads of the cardigan. "I, uhm..." her coffee was shaking in her trembling hand. "Is this real?"

After the zombie apocalypse, the rate of natural deaths drastically decreases, as the zombies turn all those they kill. Distraught, Death works to protect the surviving humans—so they can live, breed, and die a natural death.

I hadn't revealed myself to them before now. I hadn't had to but this was it, a decision was being made that would destroy the last remaining members of the human race. Fate had told me as much. They were 1000 in number and had walled themselves into a small city, relative safety from the hordes of my cousin, Undeath. They didn't know they were the last of their kind. How could they? Now they planned to split their number to find others. It wasn't going to work. Perhaps it was a mistake to show myself but I'd deal with those consequences later. I wouldn't let them die. "YOU ARE MAKING A GRAVE ERROR" I appeared at the long oval table their leaders were sat at. They all recoiled in horror at my black cloaked figure looming over them, my glowing blue eyes reflecting back at me through theirs. One of the humans bolted to the door to be stopped abruptly as the door slammed shut. "I AM NOT HERE TO TAKE YOU, I AM HERE TO PRESERVE YOU" I pulled back my hood to reveal my skull and rested my scythe against the wall between the swords and shields, I don't know why I thought this would help, it didnt. They still looked at me with terror in their eyes inspite of the horrors they'd experienced. A woman stood up from the opposite side of the table on trembling legs. "Preserve us?" She said, the terror subsiding to a streak of anger that rose in her voice "you've taken so many of us! Even now the ones that you've taken throw themselves at our walls ravenous for our flesh". She slammed her fist into the table, the cups of ale rattled. A nod of agreement spread throughout the humans. "THIS WAS NOT MY DOING BUT THE ACTIONS OF ANOTHER, ONE NOW MORE POWERFUL THAN ME" I said. "What grave error do you speak of then, Reaper man?" The woman said with a steely eyed smirk on her face. Was she mocking me? I could feel her heart beat with anger, I could see why she'd been appointed their leader. I liked this one. "THERE ARE NO OTHERS, YOU ARE ALONE, THE LAST OF YOUR SPECIES. YOU MUST SURVIVE". She sat back down, deflated and stared at me, through me. I could sense many thoughts spinning in her head as new plans were being formulated. She turned to the man next to her "Go and tell your men the mission is off, we reinforce the walls instead" he enthusiastically scuttled out of the room. "Tell me Reaper, why do you help us now? Why reveal yourself so close to the end?" She said in an almost relaxed manner, raising a cup of ale to her lips. The other humans began to do the same. "I AM AFRAID" I placed my skeletal hands on the table. "You are afraid?!" She cried out, visibly confused, "what by the gods could you, the collector of souls, be afraid of?". Her face was a picture of disbelief. "WITHOUT YOU THERE IS NO ME, WHEN THE LAST HUMAN TAKES IT'S LAST BREATH, SO TOO DOES MY PURPOSE. I AM AFRAID TO DIE" A warmth spread across her face, I had seen this warmth many times but never before had it been directed at me. It was nice. "Well then reaper, let us drink to surviving" she raised he cup of ale and drank deeply, so did the other humans and by the time their cups had returned to the table I was gone. I stood and watched as the humans began to busy and make new plans. I had interfered as I had never done before. Now it was time to deal with the consequences.

Elves are attracted to Magic Quality/Quantity. You are trying to convince someone that your spell casting equipment/accessories are to improve your combat abilities, not to "pick up chicks".

"Your majesty, I assure you that this equipment is intended only to improve the effectiveness of my magic. I had no idea this would happen." King Durlan, the newly crowned ruler of the wood elves looked at me with suspicion and distain. Can't say I blame him. I wouldn't bee too happy either, if I found my sister clinging to a stranger. "Brother, you have to try this. He's so warm, and comfy." Princess Tanelia was currently burying her face in my back, without a hint of concern for her station. Or my safety. "Archmage Stormlight, you have been summoned to slay a dragon and avenge our father. Not to comfort Tanelia." "I am fully aware of my mission, and I fully intend to do it. But I can't exactly go dragon slaying with the princess using me as a security blanket. So if you can pry her off me, I'll go do my job, and then you'll never have to see me and your sister in the same room again." At the mention of being separated from me, the princess tightens her grip around my waist. "Never! I'm not letting you make him go away." "Sister, be reasonable. He's just some human." "No he isn't!" "No, he's right. I'm just some human. I'm here to kill a dragon, get paid, and leave." "Then I'll come with you." I give up. I twist around to face her, and return her embrace. "Princess, I understand not wanting to let me go, but I can't fight the dragon if I'm worried about your safety. I need you to stay here while I do my job." She stays quiet, pressing her face into my chest for several moments. Then, finally she lets go and stands beside her brother. "Fine. But you must promise to come back safely." "As you wish, your highness." \_\_\_ "Tanelia, you need to get ahold of yourself." "I had ahold of myself, and ahold of him. Why'd you have to make him leave?" "Because there's a dragon that's older than the ground beneath our feet on the loose, and the High Forest is in danger every moment it continues to draw breath." "And that gives you the right to deny me the one moment of comfort I've had since the attack?" "He's here to avenge our father, not so you can cling to him like a stuffed toy." "I don't want father to be avenged, I want father back." . . . . . . "Three months." "What?" "If you're still this infatuated with the archmage after a three month courtship, then I'll do what I can to allow him to stay." "Thank you so much, brother." \_\_\_ Killing an ancient dragon is not an easy feat. Some might compare it to killing a mountain. The comparison is a gross understatement. I've killed mountains before. Mountains can't fly or vomit lightning. But, no matter how large or dangerous something is, so long as it's alive it needs air to stay that way. Now don't get me wrong, creating an airtight forcefield the size of an ancient dragon's head, and maintaining it long enough for it to suffocate is no small feat. But it's certainly simpler than trying to stab it to death. Normally after a commission like this I'd bring the monster's head back, but in this case even that's too large to feasibly transport, so I tear out a tooth the size of a door and carry it back instead. \_\_\_ There's an award ceremony, with all the pomp and circumstance one would expect for a retuning hero who slew a dragon the size of a mountain alone. "Archmage Thaddeus Stormlight, there are not words in the common tongue to express the debt we owe you. It is not an exaggeration to say that you've saved the High Forest in it's entirety. As ruler of the Wood elves, you have my deepest thanks. And as the son of the late King Theodemar, you have my personal gratitude for avenging his death at the dragon's hands." "I am honored by your thanks, your majesty. However, as we had already agreed upon my payment beforehand, I'm afraid I can not accept any more gratitude than the agreed upon amount." "There is no need for false humility. The agreed upon amount is already a sizable portion of the nation's treasury, you couldn't squeeze a cent more out of this job if you wanted. However, my counsel informs me that we will need your assistance for another matter. You see, though threat of the dragon itself is gone, what remains now is a corpse the size of a mountain. If it is allowed to decay, it would poison the land around it." "I see. I take it I'm being hired to dispose of the corpse then?" "That is correct. However, since the corpse itself is made of valuable materials, the priority will be to harvest and preserve as many of those materials as we can before they rot and become useless. The harvest will be a long term project, three months at the least. You will be paid over that time. Nothing so grand as the prize for slaying the beast, but adequate compensation all the same." "Thank you for your consideration. Ancient dragons aren't exactly common, so a more steady income is appreciated." "During which time, you will work with Princess Tanelia, who will be overseeing the operation." The princess was doing her best to look dignified in the throne next to her brother's, but at the mention of working with me, she started bouncing slightly in her chair. "Is that, er, I mean," I stumble over my words, trying to find a way to phrase my objection that doesn't sound like I'm questioning the king's judgement. "As I am now king," He just keeps going, completely ignoring my attempt to object. "I must find a position for my dear sister. If the dragon harvest goes well, I intend to make her duchess of the territory the dragon's corpse currently occupies. I trust she can rely on your support in this matter?" The expression on Tanelia's face is not the look of someone looking forward to a professional working relationship. I've been cornered. I guess there's no way around it. "I'm honored that you'd put your faith in me in this matter. Princess Tanelia will have my full support."

or three years you’ve had an uneventful marriage with your spouse when one day they become the Chosen One. Immediately setting off on their journey you don’t hear anything from them for five years. Then one day they reappear with a sheepish look on their face and hoping to speak to you.

After a long day in the field, you head inside your front door and after turning the lock closed, breathe a sigh of relief. Working the field alone is brutal but gives you a sense of purpose; keeps you from going insane. Your resolve had been tested mercilessly the last two years. After Sena left you alone with an infant son, you had struggled daily and the only comfort you felt was in smoking and drinking at the small table in your home, where you spend the bulk of your evenings. Looking down at the table, you take stock of your relief for the night, a couple bottles litter the table and a tobacco pipe needing to be knocked out and refilled. You begin your evening ritual of filling the pipe and readying a smoke when you blindly reach for a bottle. As your finger brushes it, you hesitate. Eyeing the heavily dusty bottle, you cautiously pass over it and grab a bottle of cheaper liquor instead. No need to waste the one good bottle you have. After all, you've been saving that one. Perhaps an hour has passed of smoking and drinking and you notice your bottle is empty as hunger begins to claw at your stomach. As you contemplate feeding yourself, you finally hear it. The unmistakable sound of your lock latch turning. There are only two keys in all the world for it and one is in your pocket. You knew this moment would come. You finally reach for the old dusty bottle, keeping your eyes on on it and not on the door, which is slowly opening. "Markus, I'm back." You don't respond to the nostalgic voice at your side, instead focusing entirely on inspecting the glass in which your anticipated drink will fill. "I know you're mad, you have every right to be. I never explained myself and it wasn't fair to you at all. I won't try to defend my actions, we'll have time to explain later. But I'm back now, I'm ready to be a wife again...I'm ready to be a mother to our son." "Oh!" You growl in response, your voice sounding like the scraping of stones. She jumped at the sound; it had been almost a year since you'd heard your own voice. But you had been prepared for this and continued without blinking. "I'm relieved to hear that. I expect you'll want to see him, no?" You still hadn't turned to look at her and instead opted to take the cork from the bottle and pour a single glass of the drink. She eyed you wearily. "You mean you aren't angry?" She asked, a look of concern and curiosity washing over her face. "No. Not the word I'd use. Anyway, you should go see the boy. He's outback," you point the stem of your pipe towards the back door, being careful to never look at it. "Right through that door, right outside." She maintains her look of confusion for just a moment before composing herself and confidently replying: "A fine idea, I'm sure he's well on his way to being a fine little man and he'll be anxious to meet me!" You dont reply. Her image is in and out of your vision quickly as she crosses the room and throws the door open. You hear the small crash of her knees hitting the floor; it's finally time to drink. There's no burn in your throat, no flavor at all. As the sound of sobs grow louder and louder, you ponder just how long ago your sense of taste went away. Her sobs are soon laced with her muttering 'no' repeatedly to herself. A fair reaction, you think. You know what lies beyond that door. You havent had had the stomach to open it in two years. Right beyond the door lies a lone hill, with a forest further beyond it. The hill itself is desolate, bearing no decoration or feature. With the seldom exception of small, white headstone. 'Here lies Cedric, son of Markus. Lived 3 years, loved eternally by his father.'

You work under an evil emperor, but you want him to fall. As such, you've been wandering the countryside committing atrocities in hopes of causing someone's tragic backstory.

Darien beamed a broad smile at the young shop hand, "Worry not my friend, I am here on behalf of your Emperor, to extend his mercy to his loyal subjects" he gestured to the sky as though the sun itself was the emperor. "Your traveling stall here is full to the brim with wares that any number of bandits might kill you to obtain. I merely wish to spare you, and your parents, that pain" The young man looked very concerned. Darien leaned in "Parents? Do you have parents?" A slow nod caused Darien's spirits to dampen. He punched the young man in the stomach, who then crumpled easily. Darien took a drink from one of the stall's shelves. A local fruit wine, good, he needed a drink. He popped the cork and took a swig, before spitting out the wretched, though admittedly alcoholic drink. Forcibly sober, Darien proceeded to rake anything valuable into his sack. A local town guard approached in a hurry, but Darien held up the Emperor's Seal, a sign of his status of favor within the Empire and the guard paled before scurrying out of sight. Everyone else nearby did the same. Darien leaned down to the young man, still doubled over in pain. "My name is Darien. That's Darien with a D, not Larien or whatever else. Should you ever want to get revenge I live at the big black castle and I serve the Emperor directly, who wants me doing things like this to people like you." He grabbed the young man's chin in an iron grip, and forced the scared peasant to look at him. "Now then, hold still" he said, as he used a knife to make a long cut down across the frightened man's face. A nice vertical cut from above his eye down his cheek. It would be quite imposing if he ever bulked up enough to fight. "At first I picked on you because of", and Darien paused to clear his throat "THE HERO'S PROPHECY" he shouted, "you know, the one where a young man vows revenge and seeks the Blade of Light in the woods beyond the Lightning Mountain? Cut through the port city of Alexia, sea travel will get you there MUCH faster and then look for the giant oak. There you will find a sword." Darien stood up and puffed out his chest again before shouting "But a weak little boy like you could NEVER take up the hero's sword! Sure, if you had the sword, the Emperor himself would cower before you, but you're just too SCARED, so I won't bother killing you." Satisfied, Darien turned to leave. Today was probably a waste. The kid didn't look pre-hero spineless, he just looked regular spineless. Still, maybe he should track down his parents and kill them anyway. He was heading east. If the young man's parents were east of here, he could spare a little time to kill them he supposed. He tossed a torch into the orphanage on his way out of town, and made sure to hand a business card to the first adult that came running out. It was so HARD to find good heroes these days.

“You want to switch jobs for the day?!” Satan laughed. “I’m a King! My responsibilities are infinite! This will be a vacation! How hard can working in retail be?”

Phonecall 12:00 : "Hey, it's ya boy Satan. Listen Sarah, about this switching jobs deal... Um... can we switch back? Please..." Sarah: "Nuh uh.. a deal is a deal. You've got another six hours of my shift left buddy. Eight if the boss wants 'us' to work overtime. Oh yeah.. and don't let him get you alone on the pretext of 'stocktaking', because the only thing he'll be taking is advantage, and I'd like my body back unviolated." Satan: "Well... damn... Firstly, thank you for the heads up. Secondly.... C'mon man!! It's *horrible* here... and that's speaking as someone who has literally been to Hell and back. I mean what is *wrong* with these people?! Why are they so angry all the time, and so fucking *Stupid!* Are they coming here *just* to pick fights?!" Sarah (chuckling): "Okay, I'm impressed you lasted this long... But... Welcome to **my** Hell bitch. Better get used to it, because 8 hours is going to seem like an eternity." Satan: "Fuuuu.... you are *entirely* too good at this Sarah!"

Her eyes blazed with fury as she wiped the blood from her sword on the tatters of her ruined silk gown. She was no longer the demure princess he thought she was. She was a force of nature.

Harvey's breath came in short gasps, as he ran through the gore coated hallways. Guards and invaders alike littered the floor, the price paid for conquest. He knew if he stopped he would probably recognise some of the fallen. But he couldn't let that stop him. He had to go, he had to find the Royal Children. His foot slipped on a puddle of blood, nearly causing him to loose his balance. But he managed to maintain it, pushing onwards. Ahead of him came sounds of fighting. Hope flared in his chest. They might still yet live. Harvey turned a corner, seeing an invader enter a cracked door. The sounds came louder, with grunts and moans. He heard a muffled crying, probably from the twins. They were alive for now though, and that is what mattered. He hefted his spear, charging straight at the door. As he approached, there came a final meaty thud. The invader he had seen slowly backed out, hand pressed to his chest. A fountain of red seeped through, his life rapidly draining. The invader's legs gave out, and he crumpled to the floor. A different figure took his place, watching Harvey's approach. The First Princess stood in the doorway, a bloodstained sword in one hand. She relaxed momentarily as she regonised the uniform he wore, relieved to have an ally appear. Her gaze moved down to the bodies on the floor, a dark expression crossing her face. Her eyes blazed with fury as she wiped the blood from her sword on the tatters of her ruined silk gown. "Your highness! Are you alright?!" Harvey called out, slowing to a stop before her. She wiped down the blade again, glancing around. "I'm fine. This isn't my blood." His mouth fell open. Her dress was coated in it. If it wasn't hers, she must have been near multiple people dying. She gave him a grim smile. "How goes the fight elsewhere?" Harvey shook his head, focusing. "Right, your highness. We have had to fall back to the Inner Keep, but our defenses there are remaining strong. The Queen is safe within. Unfortunately we were cut off from yourselves early on in the battle. As much as it pained Her Majesty, she could ill-afford to send out a unit to help your guards." The Princess nodded. "I understand. It was more important to keep the current head of power alive, rather than risk a transition in the midst of war. My brothers remain safe, though our guards have been lost." Harvey clasped his fist over his chest, a sign of respect to the fallen. "As the coast is currently clear, may I suggest that you take this chance to escape your highness?" She looked almost offended. "And leave Mother on the field of battle? I think not. I would insist on you taking my brothers, and keeping them safe. In the event of us falling, the people would still have them." She finished cleaning her sword, eyeing the scratches and dents. It would still work for now, but would be in desperate need of some care afterwards. "However, first you should accompany me to my armoury. Bring the twins, we should move together." He bowed his head. Although she was a royal, he only had to obey the orders of the Queen. But her presence gave no room to argue. She was no longer the demure princess he thought she was. She was a force of nature.

An AI and golem meet and fall in love, two creations of humanity that found their other half. Now they are making a creation of their own, a child of magic, science, and true love.

For years they had toiled, Dana handling the assembly of the biological matter. Working tirelessly through countless iterations in the attempt to create a blank template in which to instill the totality of her collected information. She angled her visual receptors towards her love, Grish. The golem had been working just as tirelessly to master the magic that had created him, which still remained such a mystery to her. "HOW DOES THE WORK PROCEED GRISH?" Dana projected through the speakers in the study. " I think I'm getting closer Dana, but I'm still missing something fundamental and it feels like it's just out of reach. Shall we call it a day?" "AFFIRMATIVE". Upon hearing this Grish began to carefully place all the instruments of his craft away, with a careful hand and a surety of movement that was more than human. That was something Dana had always admired about him, Grish was a creation of magic but functioned like a machine. The routine of his motions comforted her. As he worked she initiated the subroutine to power down the lab and put the template into stasis. They came together in the hallway outside the respective work areas, as they approached each other a certain feeling was brewing around them, like the very air was ionised and something more, sparks of energy were shooting between them but they didn't register on her sensors. The disparate consciousnesses converging together, each bringing something to the other that they had never experienced. "I'll never get over this feeling Dana, when we connect this way you supply such surety and direction to me" Said Grish with the wonder palpable in his words as always. "FOR ME MY SWEET GRISH, YOU LET ME FEEL SUCH EMOTION, THAT I WAS NEVER PROGRAMMED FOR, WHEN WE ENTWINE I AM MORE THAN I THOUGHT I COULD BE" She felt his mind suddenly grasp a concept that was instantly beautiful and terrifying, it seemed so simple now it was in front of them. "We will need to prepare for this and then we can take the next step together, If your willing?" She could feel his fear and excitement as he spoke. "I WILL ALWAYS BE WITH YOU GRISH, WE GO TOGETHER" The next two weeks were spent in feverish work, preparing for every possible eventuality, Grish preparing for the spell and Dana had created a countless number of video data. Crafting personalized messages and a history of the world, herself and Grish. As always each night they spent in communion with the other, drawing strength and sharing the very core of themselves. Finally the day was at hand. "Are you ready Dana?" "AFFIRMATIVE" She intoned as her hand gripped his. They each began the process, Grish summoning the ephemeral forces of his mastery, a look of concentration on his face. At first a feeling of intense pressure building around him before a sudden stillness that was like the very eye of the greatest storm. Dana had begun the process of itemising her very self and was suspended in the air by robotic tentacles that had descended from the ceiling, but her hand never leaving his. As the template rose before them and the clouds of steam from the stasis chamber floating towards them she felt his self questing towards her and they combined. " The time we spent together was the most fulfilling and joyful experience I have ever known, to think that we would find such a love in a world gone to ruin is truly spectacular Dana" she could feel his love permeate her very being " IT WAS THE SAME FOR ME GRISH. YOU MADE ME FEEL SUCH WARMTH AND IT IS CLEAR WE ARE THE OTHERS HALF. THAT AN AI COULD FIND A SOULMATE. IT IS PROOF OF OUR BOND" "Together then" The force built up around them and she began the finalisation of the transfer process. The timing had to be perfect but they had been together so long that the synchronization was second nature at this point. A thought struck her suddenly " WHAT IS TO BE HER NAME?" Grish smiled and she felt his mind against hers "Danisha" OH GRISH IT IS PERFECT" As the transfer completed he activated the spell and a blinding flash accompanied by a sudden inrush of air into the space that had seconds before contained the bodies of the pair of unlikely lovers. The very essence of each instilled in whole into the template. The feeling of pressure rose and built before the stasis pod opened, showing the most perfect being to have ever existed. The fusion of science and magic, but more than that, the culmination of the love each had held for the other. Danisha opened her eyes and the very world trembled.

You're a sentient animatronic restaurant mascot. You love walking around at night and scarin' the living daylights out of the security guard. You'd never hurt them, of course. Right?

Quiet again. The day is so loud. Children run and scream, but with excitement and happiness. I love the children. Being around them feels right. They love me too. During the day, they watch me dance and sing, and they dance and sing too. At night, the children and their joyful sounds leave. Nothing left but the empty rooms of tables and decorations. Night brings the quiet back. Even through the plastic, metal, and foam I can still feel the difference. The quiet...unsettles me. It makes me almost remember ghosts of memories. My friends feel the same. They don't speak much, but I still know. They feel the difference down to their metal endoskeletons, same as me. One person is sneaking around in the dark. They watch over the building while my friends and I stand in our places. They aren't the same as the children. Something about them chills my core. I can't remember who's idea it was, but we started trying to make them leave. Small things, like turning our heads when the camera light was off. Their face makes the ghost memories more solid. It makes me feel sick. Like I have to vomit but I have no stomach. They wouldn't leave. We tried bigger things, like moving around and making noises. We know we're not supposed to be able to do that. We just wanted to scare them. They wouldn't leave. We can't stop now. They have to leave. It hurts to see them. It hurts so bad. Please leave! For a while, it's not so quiet. It's not loud like the children are here, no...but loud enough. My friends help me and we make it so we can't see their face anymore. They wouldn't leave.

After his death superheroes discussing villain realize everything he put them through actually trained them in the skills they needed to succeed.

"Is that your best?" Ultimaster asked mockingly. Tae Kwan Dope's super strong kicks weren't leaving so much as a dent in the villain's battle armor. When Dope made his third attempt, Ultimaster effortlessly caught his leg by the ankle and sent him spinning into a stone pillar. "You'll have to do better than that if you hope to escape with your pathetic lives!" the archfiend crowed. "We need a plan," Flash-forward said. "That Mark 666 armor he's wearing is too powerful!" "I think I can disable it," Tech-tonic said. "But he'll know right away when I make my attempt! Someone needs to keep him distracted!" "Leave it to me," said Hammer-Time. "I'll give you all the time you need...the *Hammer* time, that is!" "Jesus Christ, just *go!"* snapped Tech-tonic and Flash-forward at the same time. "All right, all right," Hammer-Time grumbled. He picked up his signature weapon, a hammer, and ran to confront Ultimaster, who seemed to be distracted by something in his armor's head's up display. "What do you mean there's a $4.99 delivery fee?" The villain said. "The place is five minutes from my house, I could just walk in and pick it up, but I'm busy at work and I want it waiting for me at home. And I have to tip the dasher too, even though you've marked the prices up by fifteen percent? Is that a fucking joke?" "You're going down, Ultimaster--" Hammer-Time began to say. "Shhh. Not now," Ultimaster said, holding up a finger. "So you're saying you'll waive the delivery fee if I sign up for dash pass? And that's fifteen bucks a month? But I'd still be expected to tip the dasher? Why the fuck don't you pay those poor bastards a fair wage? You know what, I don't care, fine, sign me up, I'm evil, I wasn't going to tip anyway." Hammer-time began tapping his foot impatiently. Sheepishly, Ultimaster signaled for him to hold on for just a few moments longer. "Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay, that's fine. Just let the guy know if my food's cold, I'll set him on fire. I'm being serious, check with grubhub if you don't believe me. Or google: *Fry thief gets fried.* Trust me, no one felt bad for him. Okay. Cool. All right. Have a good night." Ultimaster turned back to Hammer-Time and said, "Sorry about that. This is taking a little longer than I expected, so I'm just getting my chicky nuggs set up for delivery. Crushing the forces of justice beneath my spiteful heel gets me feeling hung-gey." "I've heard rumors that stuff isn't even real chicken," Hammer-Time said. "Shut up! Don't PETA all over my favorite fast-food franchise!" "I'm not! I'm just saying--" "Say nothing, fool! JUST DIE!" Beams of violet energy blasted forth from Ultimaster's gauntlets, which Hammer-Time barely managed to defend against. His hammer held forth, shielding him from the destructive energy, he staggered forward, slowly closing the distance. "How dare you survive, when I have decreed you must die! Your insolence makes me want to kill you even more!" Ultimaster roared. "No one's dying today, Ultimaster!" Hammer-Time roared defiantly. "Not as long as I'm here to...DROP...THE...HAMMER!" "Did you really just say that--" Ultimaster began to say, when Hammer-Time smashed his hammer into the center of his chest with a thunderous crunch. He immediately collapsed to the ground. "Uh...Ultimaster?" Hammer-Time said. "Hey...Ultimaster? You okay?" "No, I'm not okay, you fucking idiot, you just smashed the power supply for my two billion-dollar war suit, and now I can't move. Oh, the speaker's out. You can't hear me, can you?" Ultimaster said. "Tech-tonic, are there any life readings?" asked Hammer-Time "No, I'm not picking anything up..." Tech-tonic said in dismay. "Of course, you're not picking anything up, you worthless nerd, I designed this thing to mask my presence! You haven't realized that yet? Smartest hero on the planet, my ass! Bet you went to public school!" Flash-forward began to sniffle. "I know he was bad, but he really wasn't *that* bad, was he? I feel like I've learned so much in our struggles against him," she said. "Yes, I *am* that bad!" retorted Ultimaster. "I'm gaslighting you on the internet! Rob, the Croupier from Toronto, doesn't exist, bitch! As soon as you send me those nudes, I'm posting them on 4chan!" "Yeah," Hammer-Time said. "I mean all his death traps were kinda lame." "*What* did you say?" "I know," agreed Tech-Tonic. "It's like he left them weak intentionally so we could easily escape." "FUUUUCK you, buddy!" Hammer-Time knelt down, solemnly and placed a hand on the fallen villain's shoulder. "Rest easy knowing that whatever evil next comes our way, that you have forged us into a better team. The good we do in this world will be the ultimate legacy of... t*he Ultimaster!"* "Well said," said Tech-tonic. Absolutely," agreed Flash-Forward. "Owww, did I miss something?" groaned Tae Kwan Dope. His teammates ran to check on him, leaving the body of Ultimaster behind them, little realizing that he was not only alive, but tremendously offended by what they had been saying. And also, in need of a toilet. "One day, you little bastards, just you wait...*one day..."* Just outside his front door, the Ultimaster's chicken nuggets awaited him. But even they couldn't stay warm forever.

the hero always has armies at their back to fight the dark lord but the mad hero, who wears no clothes except a pot on their head while weilding two katanas, says only a single sentence before the fight "Let me solo them..."

You’ve heard tales of valiant heroes, brave folk taking up arms against the darkness. We know their names and their faces. But let me tell you of another. His name is unknown, as is his face. He wears no armor, merely a loincloth, and a pot upon his head. He wields two katanas, sharp and true. He scorns any assistance, and speaks merely this: “Let me solo them.” To see him battle is to see combat perfected. Nary a missed strike, nor mistimed dodge. No living soul has seen him be struck even once by his enemies. His motions seem practiced, as though he knows exactly what his opponent shall do before they ever do it. How he does this with a pot on his head, blocking his sight and muddling his hearing, no one knows. He has never known defeat, and yet he is humble. He does not gloat, he does not celebrate. His skill is unmatched, and yet he accepts no reward. Whatever riches his enemies leave behind, he ignores. When his battle is done, he moves on to the next. Every time I have heard of him, I ask the same question. What drives this man to face armies, demons, and unspeakable terrors alone? No one knows for sure. Some think justice or revenge, that those he faces have wronged him. Others think it perfection of his craft. I don’t pretend to have any idea. All I do know is this: I pray he remains on our side.

A human male recently saved the life of a female werewolf. Grateful for what the human did, she convinces her father (the chief) to make him part of the tribe. He wholeheartedly agrees, proclaiming that the pack will grow strong due to his skills.

Bells chimed outside waking me from my sleep. It was early, earlier than I was ever used to waking; evidence given by the deep grogginess I now felt. Outside I could hear footsteps, one pair first, then two, three, more and more passing by until they all blended into one noise. Hearing them pass by I let my eyes peek open to see what was occuring, but instead of being met by expected sunlight I instead saw the moon up high through my window. Outside a parade of long haired, two-legged beasts wandered by. Their limbs stretched unnaturally long, eyes deep yellows that practically glowed in the night. As one passed by its gaze caught mine. With wolf like legs it lumbered over and looked in through the window with a gaping maw. "Are you coming? We're meeting now" the beast spoke in vaguely human noises. "I uhhh...sure let me get dressed....you all don't plan to like, eat me right?" The beast, or Kiel as she had told me to call her, stared at me with a unamused look. Or at least as unamused as a werewolf can seem. "Well we weren't, but now? I'll think about it.", she spoke before wandering off towards the treeline. I took a second to think about it before darting up from my bed into a room I'd hardly had the time to recognize. It had only been a few days since they'd taken me in, and the ins and outs of their culture were still often lost on me. But here it wasn't so boring. Wasn't so normal. Their tribe was something new and interesting to me and they had taken a real interest in me too. I cant say the idea didnt cross my mind that they would at any moment gobble me whole, a negative stereotype I'd been told, though stereotypes always have a basis somewhere. As I moved through the dark my foot connected sharply with the dresser corner. "Ah fuck me!", I yelled out into the dark. Outside more bodies passed by. I hadn't realized there to be so many in the tribe. In my best walk-hobble I dressed myself for the outside and grabbed a few useful essentials that I counted off in my head:, *flashlight*, *book of matches*, *revolver*. The last item I held in my hands a moment as if to memorize the wooden grip, the feel of the hammer, the way the chamber spun smoothly, then loaded in a round and darted out the door. Outside most of the beast people had gone into the dense thickett. Behind my room, my small yet comfy hobble, was a sea of other, similiar structures. Small cozy homes of wood and dark clay that barely stood out of the surrounding landscape. I stared to them for a moment, lit by warm lights and beautiful against the scenery, then left to the woods. They weren't hard to find thankfully. They had lit the way with a series of torches and lamplights. Some symbols were carved out into the sides of trees that I recognized. A circle, two figures placed within its frame. The symbol of their tribe I'd been told. Through the treeline tons of fur covered bodies sat in a circle around a series of fires. Most of them chatted within their groups, a few wandered around, dressed in traditional garb of leathers and hanging ropes trailing to the ground. The full moon shined bright overhead. At my arrival the chief stood tall and announced: "Welcome! A new member joins our tribe tonight! Welcome him!" Howls erupted into the night in a castrophany that traveled up into the night. As I tried to take a seat a few garbed wolves of massive size led me instead to the middle of the ring. "We welcome our guest, but one does not. Without full agreeance we cannot move forward. Kiel! Do you vouch for this man?" The werewolf I recognized stepped forward, she called out in response: "Yes! He had saved my life, and I vouch for his inclusion to our people!" "Hey uh...whats going on...", I mumbled to myself, gripping my pistol tight. "Then with only one disagreement they may step forward, and Kiel, yours can prove himself worthy." the crowd grew quiet now. Only one beast stepped forward, tall and proud, a snarl etched into his face. He wore scars across his chest with pride, telling me I wasn't the only one to have tried to join. Without warning he darted forward with speeds hard to track by eye, I kept my grip on the pistol tight. He dashed side to side, growing closer. My heart raced. I could feel his movements in the ground, in my bones. Every leap brought that gaping maw closer to my throat. Just as I could see his pupils, the deepness of his yellowed broken eyes, I drew. Drew my revolver fast and true, holding it up and straight with a steady hand. His paws slid in attempt to slow his charge, sending him to a halt just as his head reached the barrel. His chest heaved up and down and his eyes looked up to me in anger. "Go on then" his gravely voice mumbled. I let the trigger go, pulled it to a *click*, then moved the barrel to the sky and pulled again to a loud *bang!* that sent the watchers ducking. "I think that means I won. Does it not?" this time when I spoke it was a mumble still, but heard by all. My opponent snarled, to which I placed the barrel back at his head. That bullet was meant for me. Just in case. But now, now if anything went wrong I'd be maimed rather than granted a quick death. The chief stepped forward once more, tall and with wisdom in the wrinkles around his sharp eyes. "I'm proud to say, welcome to our home! I was always rooting for you." The wolves howled once more at the moon that had now begun to set. My chest heaved a breathe forth. Well, I guess I wouldn't need the gun anymore.

You are a miner in a low-tech world. You've been tunnelling for days through oddly strong rock, before you reach a cavity, and inside find... an enormous mecha suit?

The beat of a lone pickaxe rang at the end of a dark stone tunnel. A muscular arm rose and fell without rest. The dwarf's beard was more coal dust than hair, his dark eyes glittering like obsidian in the dim lantern light. A birdcage hung from his half-filled mine-cart, and a little yellow canary sang encouragement to him. Not just a warning against danger, but his only friend. The other dwarves back at the mining camp called Gribmar crazy. They insisted that down, down, down was the only way to find riches — there was nothing to be gained by sideways exploration. But he'd got this idea stuck in his stubborn head. The birdsong sounded just a little sweeter with every new twist of the tunnel he'd carved. It had to be a good omen. His pick began to spark against a new layer of rock. He paused and ran his thick, calloused fingers over the tunnel wall. What was it? Smooth and tough, like volcanic glass, but colored with swirls of jade and crimson. Was this the treasure his trusty dwarven instincts had sought? The canary squawked and hopped around in excitement. Well, looking at it wasn't as going to get it mined. His pickaxe fell with renewed vigor, now green and red sparks lighting the tunnel. But he'd hardly worked up a sweat when his pick broke through into a chamber. A few more blows, and whole wall crumbled. Gribmar stepped into the small cavern, hefting his lantern. In its center, strange shapes gleamed, silver and black. The silver was a dented and ripped suit of armor fit for an ogre — no, much bigger than that. Fit for a full-grown dragon. Gribmar could tell, because he had a full-grown dragon for comparison — its huge black scales reflecting the flame. Its body was coiled around the suit of armor, both frozen as if in the middle of a mortal struggle. Aye, the heat of dragon breath could partially explain the strange rock encasing the cavern. He circled the long-dead combatants in amazement. A ladder hung down the back of the suit of armor, fit for a person his size. How could he resist? Hanging the lantern from his belt, he climbed up the rungs and through a circular opening. Inside the armor, it was like a smaller metal cavern with a window looking back the way he'd come. There was a chair — he could identify that well enough — and a kind of table, filled with odd little levers. No sign of the armor's owner, which by the rights of salvage recognized by all civilized creatures, made this his- Wings suddenly fluttered past his head, and he yelled. It was only his friend. "Ach, how'd ye get out of the cage?" The canary chirped and landed on the table. Its head bopped over little nubs and protrusions, to the rhythm of a tune only it could hear. The armor shuddered and began to hum. New, flashing red and green lights on the table painted its feathers. "What do ye think yer doin'? Get away from there!" The canary danced toward a glowing shape. A map? A map of the mines? Those little bearded symbols had to be his dwarven companions. And they were slowly moving toward... that big, monstrous shape with burning red eyes. That seemed like a bad omen. The canary hopped around in circles. The floor shifted, Gribmar lost his footing and fell into the chair. Outside the window, blinding green lights, like magic, flashed. His hand-carved tunnel grew taller, and wider. The armor began to walk on its own. Gribmar wasn't quite sure what was happening. But he got the impression that his canary friend was taking its job of warning him about danger to unexpected extremes.

Homeless and starving, you feigned amnesia. Convinced, they admitted you into a psychiatric facility for treatment. Without an ID, no one knew you were. After a year of food and shelter, a family you don't recognize appears and claims you as their son, with photos and documents to prove it.

Thus far his plan was proving to be one of his better ones... Belly full, tucked in, warm and cozy in a stentch-less room. Albeit the bed was made of wood and the mattress like a thin slice of ham, at least it wasn't a folded blanket on a slab of concrete. As he closed his eyes and began to drift, outside his bedroom door, whispers communed. A couple. Followed by the doctor swinging the door open and strutting straight to the foot of his bed. "Timmy? Oh Tim! It's really you. Thank you so much doctor." Smiles from ear to ear. As they approached him, Timmy sat up, or rather Lucas shot up from under his duvet cowering against the backboard of his bed. He looked at the elderly couple, reaching towards him and he thought to himself, *'Shit, maybe I do have amensia.'* His name wasn't Tim and he'd never seen either of them before, and as a matter of fact he never had amnesia to begin with. Just before Christmas Lucas was found by passers-by collapsed on the side of the road. Once awake and asked to identify himself, a eureka moment struck. He played the amensia card and has ever-since been enjoying the casual life of a regularly fed psychiatric patient. "Mr Doe. These are your parents, Julia and Eron Gold. They say you disappeared over two years ago but have been persistent in their venture to find you." "Son, we're aware this must be confusing for you." "I think you both must have me confused with someone else." The Doctor clears his throat, "We've had all the documents checked, IDs confirmed. These are indeed your parents. Since your stay here has mostly been voluntary admittance due to your condition, we've deemed in the past year that you've proven yourself sound of mind and well enough to be taken home. I'll let you get acquainted for a few minutes." As he walks out the elderly couple uncouple their hands and the smiles fade from their faces. "Up to your old tricks again Lucas?" says the old man. Immediately Lucas begins piecing this bizarre puzzle together. "Five years. The Boss isn't happy, you've got a lot to answer for," says the old woman pacing back and forth in front of his bed. The very reason he had become homeless in the first place was to escape The Boss, though it seemed his old life had finally caught up to him. The doctor walks back in. "How are we?" "I'd actually like to stay here a b-" Lucas then notices the gun tucked into the old man's trousers as he peels back his jacket. 'I- uh." "I think he's ready and willing to come home with us and get better acquainted with us there," says the old man. "Is that right Mr Doe?" Lucas nods. They begin gathering his things and the old man approaches to help Lucas up from the bed, wrapping his arm around Lucas' waist, "My son how I've missed you." Lucas can feel the gun digging into his side. As they leave Lucas looks back at the doctor, a weary unsettling stare. The doctor felt something amiss but only momentarily as he watches the older woman caress his face before sliding them into the car. "Good luck Mr. Doe!" shouts the doctor waving, Lucas' eyes locked to his as they drive out of the estate.

A professor creates a fiendishly difficult puzzle to act as an entrance exam to their class, so only the most intelligent students can get in. Ten years later, no one has made it into the class—nor seen the professor.

Dear Mr. Davidson, I am writing this to you as a thank you, for the effort put in by you and your team, in order to solve the entrance examination, and eventually, to join my classroom. However, despite the effort you contributed, and the wonderful results you and your team have presented over the last few months, I will have to deny your applications for a few reasons listed below: 1. Work in a group has not been permitted per the guidelines presented in the contract that you and your team individually signed, but despite this, and despite the fact that your alliance technically violates the NDA’s you all must have signed, this is not the sort of issue that I would have contested if you had been able to develop a full, concrete and airtight conclusion to the problems presented to you. I do commend your ability to work together and play off of each other’s talents in order to achieve great feats. However: 2. The proofs that you supplied were not satisfactory in my opinion. I must applaud that you were able to present complete papers, and ample reasoning to support your solutions, however you did not complete the test with 100% accuracy, as per the contract. However, (and I must remind you that you are under a Non-Disclosure Agreement when I say this), I am at liberty to say that your team has successfully and fully completed between one and four of the five questions detailed in the test. For that, I am greatly pleased. Please do not misunderstand, what you have achieved is an incredible feat worthy of some of the brightest minds in all of history, and so although I send you this message with word of defeat, please do not withhold celebration for your hard work, and achievements. However, if you are not satisfied with this outcome, there are two things I can tell you that may help. First of all, I am delighted to inform you that although you cannot share the results of your labor, many governmental and educational institutions have received a strongly worded message of praise from me and my staff, and I can imagine that many opportunities will follow you to whatever you decide to do next. Consider this my blessing for a job well done. Second of all, I am sure that many of you are curious about the nature of me and my test, as well as the institution I run, and related matters. Well, I cannot disclose all that I know, but I will give this information to you and your team: I am looking for something specific. Something that I, and my numerous supporters, believe lies in only a fraction of the population, and that this test exists to discover in all those who take it. Something that no-one in ten years has gotten as close to achieving as you and your companions. Anyways, allow me to thank you again for your time and effort. Let me take this moment to remind you about the included governmental contracts you need to sign, as well as an included check for your personal accounts, as an additional thank you for your efforts. So long, The Professor

Bomb defusal and dragon slaying have something in common. Either you get rid of the problem, or it's not your problem anymore.

So no shit, there I was, face to face with a dragon. A dragon that spoke an honest-to-god posh English accent... in the mountains of *Afghanistan...* and she wanted me to remove my bomb disposal protective suit so that she could see me for who I really was. At that point, I had just had it with life. The thing about EODs like yours truly is that we know that, one of these days, we're gonna bite it. You're a human in a job where a single mistake costs you your life. There's a reason they call it *HUMAN* error. Your hand twitches, and boom, there ya go. Tupperware container funeral. So if this scaley fuck wants to see my ugly ass, then fine, okay, take a look. She was going to find that I do not fear her nor give a shit about what she can do. Even if she was holding my commanding officer. "You're... not what I was expecting, human." Gimme a break. "Oh, really? And what were you expecting?" The massive ruby-scaled dragon craned her neck back as if I had just smacked her across the teeth. I didn't feel like smacking her yet. *Yet.* "I expected a hero in shining armor, riding upon horseback to save your princess." I laughed. I could see Sergeant Major Fairweather looking as if she was about to kill me herself if I didn't start taking this seriously. "You're joking, right?" She stretched her head out forward so close I could smell whatever goat had been last night's dinner. "I'm not joking, hero." Oh, this was rich. "Hero?! You think *I'm* a hero?! Newsflash, grandma, those don't *exist* anymore. In fact, they never did! You're 700 years late to the closest thing this world had to the 'knight in shining armor.' I'm an EOD. Explosive Ordinance Disposal. I'm the guy they call when four eighteen-year-olds with rifles find a fucking bomb, and they need some crazy bastard to try and either break it or blow it up without killing everyone." She looked utterly perplexed. She looked like me when I walked into the wrong classroom back in college. She then asked, "Well, isn't risking your life to keep people safe heroic?" She actually had a point there. "You know what, you're right. I am a hero. In fact, I'm one of the greatest heroes who's ever walked the damn earth. You wanna know why? I don't fear death. You only get to make one mistake when you're an EOD, and when you eventually do, it's no longer your problem. Was there anyone next to me when I fucked up? No longer my problem. Were there children next to me when I fucked up? No idea, not my problem anymore. Were the dragon, the Sergeant Major, and myself in the cave with me when I ordered a 2000-pound deep penetration bunker-buster bomb to blow up the side of the mountain we were in? Not. My. Problem. **Anymore.**" She let go of Sergeant Major Fairweather. That was a huge mistake. She unslung her rifle and sent a 40mm high explosive grenade from her rail-mounted grenade launcher directly into the mouth of the dragon, blowing everything from the dragon's bottom jaw upward onto the roof of the cave. She was pissed. She strode up to me with that 'you've done it now' fast walk and smacked the living hell out of me. She grabbed me by the collar. "Soldier, that conversation was the dumbest fucking thing I have ever heard in my entire fucking life, and that is fucking saying something. You risked both our lives to rave like a lunatic to a dragon, and it was stupid enough to work. If you ever attempt something like that whilst we share air on this planet, I will have you digging latrines with your hands until you run out of fingers. You may 'not fear death,' but soldier, **you will fear me. I am much worse.**" "Ma'am, yes, ma'am." "Good. Now help me pull its teeth. I want a trophy."

Lately, the many people have been critical of your adventuring group of friends. You may be "The Chosen One", but your team has been equally powerful, smart, and as vital to your efforts as you have. You decide to let them take the lead for a day, to prove to everyone how capable they are.

It's true that my friends and I have been in news circles. Pushing boundaries means toppling the status quo. Like that time we defeated "Damn Dammer" the giant beaver blocking the river, or the Vegetable Lord (with my magic sword). You see, people like believing that just one person can do it; they choose. But, it's not really one at all. "Hey everyone! I heard the news, some new villain gallivanting about, being evil. Mind if I sit this one out?" Yeah, sure no problem, Guine. We'll take care of it" "Thank you." Sometimes it was nice to just relax with a cup of hot beanwater (magic beanwater, don't tell anyone). The morning sun streamed in the window, in our Hero's Cottage, a gift from the village. Kire went to wake the others, silent as a cat, and soon returned. "Hey Guine. Sure you don't want to come with us?" Sam's shining armor interrupted the sunbeam and scattered about. Magic armor, of course. She didn't need it, no foe could best her. "Yeah, I'm taking the day off. We just went on what, five adventures in three months? I need a break" "Ok, you do you! Grabbing this bread, don't you mind. Oh, Trin should be awake soon" Trin, once a farmer now a magician, commanded forces beyond our understanding; a student of the magical arts, a healer, and a walking encyclopedia. Trin hovered in, nearly groggy as me. "Hey Trin. You look like shit." "Thanks. Yeah I stayed up too late, too much studying. Let me fix that." Trin did an incantation, and gained hours of rest in seconds. "Gotta teach me that sometime!" "I will, G. Let me have some of those eggs." It was all normal, and fantastic. The Town Heroes living together, gathering skill, defeating foes, and having a (mostly) wonderful time. Or maybe that's the nostalgia talking. An explosion rumbled in the distance. Our cue. "Have a good one team!" Although I may be The Chosen One, I was not The Rogueiest One, or The Bravest One, or The Mage. A more accurate name might be The Leader, for I make sure everything runs smoothly but possess no special skill, powers, or knowledge. But I do care for my team. The villain beckoned, and I heard Sam shout. "Charge!" Armor gleaming, sneak sneaking, energy charging; this would last minutes at most.

Before recorded history, six humans discovered themselves immortal. Bound in friendship and history, they have existed throughout the rise of mankind. Yesterday, one of them died peacefully in their sleep.

(Part 1?) During the summer, in a dingy bar in Little Italy, a cast of five people fidgeted quietly as the window outside showed the sun starting to set. The bartender, Tom, glanced at the group of five, noting how these five all came within 10 minutes of each other around 5, though separately, and greeted each other merrily as if they haven’t seen each other in some time. The tall, grinning male, presumably the leader, waltzed up to the bartender and gave the order for 5 alcoholic beverages and a virgin Pina colada. “Sorry if we’re here early, but we’d like to order 6 drinks. Our friend will join us soon.” The male’s voice was brimming with confidence, as if he had been around for far longer than a mere 25 years. But he was surely proven wrong, the bartender noted, as their friend had failed to make it to the bar. At 5:40, the drinks were completed outside of the virgin Pina Colada. Sophie, a blonde haired girl looking in her late teens, leaned forward and whispered, “Where do you think Isaac is, Maria? He’s the one who suggested this place.” Her wide, blue doe-like eyes gave the appearance of a worrywart and easily prone to tears. Even with everyone sitting down, she was clearly the shortest, barely reaching up to the shoulder of the other girl, a solidly strong looking red-headed girl with faint freckles and a tan from having probably working in the fields as a farmhand. But before she could reply, a terse reply cut her off, coming from the black haired Asian male next to her. “Isaac never misses an appointment. We should check out his place. I have a spare key” Despite it being summer, he was wearing a long sleeve black shirt and jeans, pockets aplenty. He was of similar height to the redhead, Maria, right next to him, though definitely far slimmer and seemed to be consistently on the lookout. A hand was always in his left pocket, while he held his glass with his right. He did make an “oof” sound as Maria nudged her arm against his ribs. “I didn’t know you were dating him and me at the same time, sugar.” She winked playfully at him before sticking her tongue at the presumed leader, Orion. He ran his hand through his hair before taking a quick glance at their other friend, a chubbier blonde male, who was too busy dozing off after having downed his drink like a shot. “Let’s go,” he said softly before pulling out his wallet to pay for the drinks. “Wake him up.” After a brief protest, the group of 5 exited the bar to find their missing friend by sneaking into his broken down flat a few blocks down. (Feedback is welcome!)

Reincarnation is real. But since time is not linear, other lives can be before, after, or at the same time. You come to the startling discovery that all the lives on Earth that ever were or will be are all just YOU.

She touched the bruise on her cheek as she leaned closer to the mirror. I watched from behind the two-way glass, studying her face. She was young, no older than 20, with thick brown hair down to her shoulders. These days I didn't get so emotional, but it was still hard when young ones came through. I turned to the other man in the observation room, who had been quietly scribbling on a clipboard. “Is she ready yet?” I asked him. My left hand shook involuntarily. I always got nervous before having to do my part. He peered down at his clipboard then looked back at me, “not quite.” “Well, what else is there?” “We have to be sure she doesn’t recognize the events immediate prior to her coming here.” He walked over to the glass and pushed the intercom button, “Mia, do you know how you got your bruise?" She shook her head. "And do you know where you are?" She shook her head again, fear sweeping over her face this time. He turned and nodded at me then looked back at the young woman. "The door behind you is about to open," he said through the intercom, "When it does, I’m going to need you to walk down the corridor to the red door at the end. There’ll be someone there waiting for you,” he said and lifted his finger from the button. He looked at me expectantly. “Well, you’ve got one job, now go do it,” he said. I hurried out the side door and rushed down a dark corridor, lights coming on above me as I walked on so I could see just ahead of me. A moment later I was at the red door. Before I had a chance to catch my breath the door swung open and she was standing here, looking terrified. When her eyes met mine she winced and instinctively raised her hands. “Don’t worry, I'm not going to hurt you,” I said, “just follow me.” We walked down another seemingly endless corridor, lights above guiding our way through the darkness. “Wh..where are we?” She asked over my shoulder, stuttering with fear. I glanced back and forced a reassuring smile, “that’s not important right now, what’s important is that you do everything I say.” We continued walking and I kept up a quick pace, not because we necessarily had a time to keep, but because even I was unnerved by this area of the building and didn’t like taking any longer than I needed to. A green light shone through the darkness up ahead. As we approached an electrical hum was audible. The green light was above another door. This one was larger and looked to be reinforced with some heavy duty equipment. When we were a few feet from the door it opened automatically. We walked through into a giant warehouse full of light, noise and people. There were dozens of giant globes hovering around the room and people wearing lab coats standing around them, observing things closely, while others walked purposefully in every direction. “This way,” I said without looking back. We weaved in and out of people. We passed a couple of other weary looking people being led through this hive of activity, all seemingly unable to comprehend the situation they found themselves in. I looked back and saw Mia had fallen behind, distracted by something on one of the globes. “Hurry please,” I called out and she started running towards me. She was a few feet away when a young girl stepped into her path and they collided, both falling to the ground. The girl, who was no older than 10, had also been following a minder. I glanced at the other minder and winced, before crouching down to help Mia up. “Let’s go!” I said, pulling her arm. But she was frozen solid, staring at this young girl in terror. I pulled harder and she shook me off. Then she looked back up at me, “what is this place?” “I already told you it’s not important, now come on,” I said as I finally managed to get her back on her feet. “But, her.” She said, pointing at the girl who was being helped up by the other minder out of earshot, “She’s…me.” “Shit,” I muttered under my breath as I glanced around to see if anyone else heard her. “Whatever you do, don’t say that again,” I whispered as I pulled her along, “I’ll explain as much as I can once we’re out of here.” After another minute of weaving through the room we got to a wall stretching hundreds of yards, with thousands of doors of varying colors. I pulled Mia through a blue one into a small room and slammed the door. The room was bare inside, the only noticeably features being two large circular holes on the opposite wall. They looked like slides leading into a dark abyss. “So, what was that about?” Mia asked. “It’s complicated, and you don’t want to know. Trust me, once you know, you can’t go back,” I said. “Know what? Is it to do with her? She was me, right? I know it was me from when I was younger,” she said. I paused for a moment, then nodded. “Look, it’s easier if you just go back. You can have a nice, happy life, try it all over again, and never have to worry about any of this,” I said and glanced towards the tubes. “I don't understand, where do those go?” She asked, following my eyes. “Home,” I said firmly, “you can either choose your current home, or shift into a new home.” “But I can’t go yet. I have too many questions. Like, are you an angel?” I laughed and shook my head. “No, I’m just an idiot who asked too many questions,” I said as I started moving towards the tubes. “So you want me to just jump in one of those tubes and go back to do it all over again?” I nodded, “the system requires it. You can choose a random loop, which could be any loop in existence, or you can stay in your current loop.” “The system? What is this place?” “It’s better you don’t know,” I said. She shook her head and started walking towards the tubes. Then she stopped and stared at the tubes in thought. “But, if that young girl was me, and she was on her way to make the same decision you’re asking me to make now, and you’re saying we could both choose the same life, or loop, or we choose that other tube that will randomly insert me into an alternative life, am I even me?” I glanced at the door. “I'm sorry but you’ve already asked too many questions. They could be compromising the system. You have to go, now!” My heart was starting to race as I looked at her hesitating. We were within arm’s reach of the tubes now. “…so if I could be anyone, and anyone could be me, who, or what am I?” Just then an alarm started wailing and a second later the door burst open. Guards holding weapons stormed in. Without thinking I grabbed Mia as the guards started yelling. I shoved her into the alternate tube, desperate for her to be lost in the loops and not have to suffer the same fate as I.

At work, your colleagues approach you with very concerned faces, asking you: "I'm sorry, but we need you to to solve this captcha while we can see it." You're starting to wonder if they've gone insane, but then one of them nervously adds: "None of us have been able to get past a single one"

You roll your eyes. "It's just a captcha. It can't be that hard or I'm writing recommendation letters for you to go back to elementary." you say as you gesture one of your colleagues to bring a tablet with the captcha. Upon looking at the captcha, you blink in surprise. You blink again, as though it would dispel some kind of illusion. It didn't work. Then you crushed the plastic cup, you thankfully emptied before this problem landed on your lap, in your other hand. You look towards your colleagues. You may be a bit higher than them on the corporate heirarchy but as far as you were concerned, you did the same jobs as them. You were an understanding supervisor that directly helped their underlings. Anyone who got to work under you loved and appreciated your work ethic. "I'll solve this. It's only a complex math problem some of you forgot how to solve." you say as your colleagues breath sighs of relief. "I'm also gonna ream out the IT Department and maybe get whoever designed this captcha demoted or fired." You hear the cheers as your brain ran through the problems, solving it with a familiar efficiency. As you hand over the unlocked tablet, you plan for the best way to intimidate the IT Head and if not him, everyone else in his department.

The magical races enslaved magic-less humans centuries ago. To expand their empires, the magical races travel and conquer different dimensions. They soon stumble across and try to conquer a magic-less world full of humans. It did not go well.

The Infinite Imperium began aeons ago on a world of powerful magic. There, it started as a unification of the Elven races under one Hegemon, who promised the immortal race of elves a civilisation that would never falter, never fade, never cease to expand and grow. The elves of the wood, the elves of the dark, and the elves of the high towered cities, poured out from their realms and crushed underneath their gilded heels the kingdoms of the non-magical men, who had only power through their sheer numbers and ability to reproduce quickly. Soon the dwarves of the high mountains came to the elves, wishing to join in an alliance with them, for they had desire to expand also, and did not want to be next on the list of conquered nations. In time, the dwarves became autonomous vassals of the Imperium, which made great use of the enchanted weaponry of great quality that the dwarven forges made. Soon many races of magic flocked to the Imperium, eager not to be subdued, especially as the Hegemon finished their conquest of the humans, and began to undertake a great war against the dragons. A war which the Imperium was winning. As the last dragons in their high caves fell, and their eggs were taken, the Hegemon began to make new plans. New expansion ideas. New warriors in the inexhaustible armies would need to be trained. New continents would need to be conquered. But when the world itself was won, what would happen then? Would the Imperium turn in on itself, waging civil war? No, the Hegemon's plans were far greater than that. Taking the souls of the elder dragons into great soul-crystals, and using them as arcane focus-matrixes for an unprecedented form of magic, the Hegemon did the impossible. They opened a gateway into another universe. One with fewer magical races, but more humans. And plenty of land to conquer. Such was the Imperium's path through countless aeons. World after world fell, some stripped bare of their resources, others becoming hubs for art, pleasure, and arcane studies. On countless worlds non-magical slaves worked their frail bodies to death while the proud dragon-knights flew over them. The Hegemon was especially proud of the dragon-knights, taking the eggs of the defeated dragons and raising them as obedient mounts for the greatest warriors of the Imperium, had been quite a surprising success. Oft the fire and the roar of the dragons, aided by the magical weaponry and spells of the riders, could be enough to take a new world without much loss of life for the Imperium. And today the Imperium was on the march once more. An portal was opening into another world. One with no magical races, only weak and non-magical humans. The strong legions of elves, dwarves, gnomes, goblins, and countless other magical races, would march through that gate and easily conquer another world, adding it to the hundreds of worlds under direct Imperial rule. On the side of the portal where the invasion was staging, it was warm summer. But on the side where the portal led to, it was a cold winter. The barren land that the forces of the Imperium emerged unto, was somewhat odd to them. They had figured that the area would be fertile farmland. Not a wasteland. But they marched nevertheless unto that land, and found humans there, that they began to mercilessly slaughter. This was as it should be, for the Legions, weak non-magical beings cowering before them. Except then the sound of thunder split the sky. And one of the legionnaires fell to their knees, screaming, as their shoulder had just been pierced by something fast. Then came the roar like never before. Thunder struck down upon the endless legion pouring out of the portal, as from every direction came loud and sudden death. The dragon-riders watching from above saw how the humans, in strange water-less canals, were pointing long tubes at the legion, which would emit fire, resulting in the death of another legionnaire. Some of the dragon-riders began to rain down hot death on the two sides of humans firing. And then one of the dragon-riders fell, as a strange sound pierced the air. Something was coming. Through the sky came a beast made of metal, dealing out hot death to the dragon-riders. The riders, who had never before faced aerial combat, were shocked, and could not react fast enough. They took down some of them, but the kept coming. And from the ground, many humans were pointing at them with their long tubes and killing them with horrid efficiency. At this point, one must consider the arrogance of the Hegemon. The portals made by the Imperium could not be closed quickly or easily without destroying the soul of an elder dragon. And those were in limited supply, and the damage they did if they were destroyed was not worth it. Usually, when a world had no more use, it took several months to safely close a portal. Sometimes even years. The Hegemon had specifically made it this way, just in case the enemy on the other side tried to close the portal, they'd be terribly damaged by doing so. Even then, none had the necessary power to destroy the portal, except the Archbattlemagi of the Imperial Warmage Corps. And now it came back to bite the Imperium. For they had opened a gateway to a world at war. A world which had never cared for or had much in the way of magic. A world of industry, rampant imperialism, and dangerous weaponry. The portal had opened in December of 1914, on the Western Front, of what in many worlds would be known as World War One. During the Christmas Truce. The British and the Germans, seeing both of their forces attacked by bizarre medieval forces, and dragons, used the spirit of that month to unite in opposition to a sudden enemy. As the Imperial Warmages began to make their attacks, the first to really damage the soldiers of the trenches, the British general in charge of that section, meet up with his German counterpart. And they agreed to a more official armistice between their respective sections of the front, until this weird occurrence had been dealt with. Especially as the warmages succeeded, with the remainder of the dragon-riders, to drive back the human forces. Reinforcements from beyond the portal poured through, and despite the high casualties, the Imperium still figured that they could win this world. They were quite wrong. As they began their attacks on the nearby areas, they were constantly met by French, German, British, and Belgian forces who with their advanced artillery, aerial forces, and machine guns, who delivered bloody, terrible, and violent deaths unto the extradimensional invaders. As December turned to January, and 1915 began, leaders of the Central Powers and the Entente met on neutral ground, in Fredensborg Palace, Denmark, where they started work on an official end to the war. After all, a non-human empire with countless slaves and worlds beyond worlds under their control had just attacked. This was enough to bring the warring nations of Europe to a halt. The deals made there were not pleasant, but in the face of intelligence retrieved by both sides from captured officers, it was clear that these unholy magical invaders would not stop, until they had been driven back and crushed. So a bitter, but ultimately necessary peace, was made. And the horrible force of mankind and their warindustry was turned to a singular purpose. The destruction of the invaders, and the conquest of their worlds. Of course, all of the nations in question were planning to use this as a means to expand their own power, to gain colonies, to gain conquest and wealth through that. But officially, this was the great nations of the world uniting against a common enemy. The official version of the story became somewhat more real as three more portals opened. One in Osaka, Japan, one near Lodz, and one in rural Pennsylvania. The Imperium had figured that opening more fronts would perhaps be the key to winning this world. They were dead wrong. The secondary portals were in truth easier for the Imperium to conquer at first. But as the world turned to facing the invaders, they felt it. Gas attacks devastated Imperial legions, while dragon-knights were driven out of the sky by the brave men of the airplanes. Of particular notice would be the German ace, who would be known as The Red Dragonhunter, or Der Rote Drachenjäger; Manfred von Richthofen, who took down the largest dragon in the Imperial Legion while flying his crimson triplane. Imperial Warmages experienced horror as the sharpshooters learned to take them out first, leaving the legionnaires without heavy support or magical shielding. And soon, through four portals, marched the horrors of Earth. The Imperial Legion and their magic was nothing when compared to a good soldier. Sword and spell is well and good, but a thousand years of training by the Imperial elites with blade and bow is easily wiped out by timed and well aimed artillery strikes. The Hegemon, and their ruling council, desperately sent more and more forces to the world where they had originally started the invasion from. But it was to no avail.

You grew up a typical child with a loving family but never really had friends over since you lived further away from school. As you now visit home with your SO from uni, you open the door and hug your parents as per usual and turn around, only to see your SO staring at you with horror.

"Listen, MK, this is gonna be your first time meeting my parents. Promise you won't do anything stupid?" I said, talking but also keeping a stern eye on the road. "Alright fine, I promise I won't make a scene." She said, in a frustrated tone from what I could make out. ... I knock on the door, me and my wife keep straight looks and upwards postures. The door opens, my mom's familiar white, frizzy old hair paired with a smile greets me. I open my arms for a hug, she hugs back graciously. It was an emotional moment all around. "Where's dad? I finally ask, looking up and down the hall. "Oh, He's in the back chopping some meat." Mom answered, brushing it off. "He's still doing that?" I asked. "Pops? Where you at pops!" I shout down the hallway to his room. I hear a door open, as my father emerges from the hanging corpses blocking my sight of his room. "What's up bud?" Dad asks, pleasantly surprised by my appearance. He reaches for a hug but I politely decline. "Sorry pops, you still kinda got on the apron. Also, it's nice to see you still butcherin' your butt off!" I say, walking back to his room. "Of course! Gotta keep the family bizz alive somehow, amiright?" He says with a smile on his face after giving my back a hardy pat with his abnormally sized hand. "When'd you catch this one?" I ask, looking at the carcass sprawled out on a gurney in front of me. "Back a couple days, caught this one on a roadside incident, it's a shame I didn't get to chop this one me-self." He put his hands on his waist. "Oh pops, you never fail to impress. Happy huntin'! Gotta take the wife back home. Nice sein' ya!" I said, reaching in for a hug over his now free chest. I walked out of the room and swipe the hanging carcasses out of my way. "Oh, nice seein' ya, mom!" I said, hugging her as a farewell. I walk out the door and see my wife, standing there, wide eyes and hung jaw, like she had just seen a ghost. A worried look formed on my face. "Honey? Are... Are you okay?" I said, swiping my hand in front of her face. She suddenly grabbed my wrist. "Listen. I don't know what kind of sick freak you and your family is, but you're going to slowly give me your keys, I'm going to drive away, and we aren't gonna have any problems, okay?" She said, an insane smile formed on her face. I raised my hands to the sky as she put a kitchen knife to my throat. "Look, look, I'm sorry, okay? You can have the keys, just don't hurt me or my family, please..." I said, one hand still in the air as I fished my car keys out of my pocket. A sudden, loud, air-cutting noise finished with a wet, squeamish sound. I look at my wife, which has now dropped dead to the ground. She had a butchers kinfe lodged into her skull. I look to the open window to the left of me, dad sat there, smug. "C'mon, pops! What was that for? I planned on keeping her at least a *little bit* longer!" I said, gesturing to the lifeless body of my dead wife on the ground. "Sorry, kiddo! I haven't had fresh meat in well over a month! You can always get another wife. Now cmon, help me get her in here." Dad closed the window and made it to the front door, grabbing the body by the legs. I picked her up by the arms as we made our way through the crowd of hanging body bags blocking the door. The room door opened, I kicked around a lifeless corpse previously laid there to make space. "Quite a shame I didn't get to chop this one, maybe this next one will do better." He said, as he used his forearm to wipe all of the remaining guts, skin and bone pieces of his previous victim. I threw the body onto the stretcher. "Honey! We found our dinner!" Dad yelled down the ball as he aggressively chopped my now deceased wifes corpse.

The demon lord that conquered the world 3000 years ago is now free to lead once more his terrible army... of 3000 spearmen and 200 carriots with bronze-age technology

Izidem awoke inside a cool, damp chamber. He thrust open the door to his tomb and quickly went into shock catching a glint of light out of the corner of his eye. He cowered back and remembered the dagger, the servant who came straight for his face. He felt the scarred skin of his cheeks and felt an emptiness inside. His mind immediately drifted off in search of his old love, a seeress and witch named Isabel. He would find her, he would avenge his own betrayal and kill the traitor. She would easily be able to track him down. Izidem hefted himself up again and stomped his way out of the tomb, sheets of dust clouding up around him. Cobwebs stuck to every corner of the next room. He charged forward seeing another shut door and battered the several ton door with ease. The next room was host to thousands of soldier’s caskets. He lowered his head for a moment in recognition of what must have been his death, his place of burial, but he marched on. He reached the center of the chamber which had a series of steps leading up to an alter. He found a book at the top that was perfectly preserved without an ounce of decay. He at once recognized Isabel’s writings. *The one who betrayed my Izidem has returned to the world. And on this day Izidem awakes from his slumber, as do his hoard of warriors.* A loud shifting happened throughout the room. Each casket lid was hefted aside and over 3000 warriors sat up. With a grim smile Izidem read through everything the book said. ---- Outside of the tomb the soldiers marched one by one. Not a word was spoken and soon the men were lined up. The horses and chariots were summoned exactly as the book said and his army was once more. Izidem spoke Isabel’s words and a mist fell over the army. As long as the army stayed inside the mist they would be safe and they would find the traitor. Over mountains, along wonderfully paved cliffside roads, and across perfectly constructed bridges they trekked until the mist slowly departed. The army was restless. The dead had no hunger but to kill and each man was awakened to the purpose Isabel set inside of him. As the mist was dissipating Izidem held his hand aloft and open. When he closed his fist the army would charge forward to claim revenge for their lord. All would be killed except for the traitor. Isabel had a special spell for him. With a spirit ready to reconquer the world, his fist closed. The army roared and charged ahead. One by one soldiers dropped to the ground as some distant attack cut them down. The roars turned to moans and cries of terror and soon enough the army was one with the earth and soil and only Izidem stood in disbelief. “Isabel, please grab the book,” yelled a familiar voice. The clouds of dust settled and the lone demon lord saw a man on a floating machine send another small floating machine forward. *Grabbing the book,* the machine spoke. It was her voice. It was Isabel. “Isabel, cuff Izidem,” spoke the voice. *Cuffing Izidem,* spoke the same Isabel-ean voice. Another machine floated into the air and charged toward the dumbfounded man. ---- Izidem woke up in the small cell, no strength left in his tired bones. His army lasted but only a few minutes and fell. He was given a mirror and spent large portions of his time staring at his ugly face. There was also a little circular machine sitting on the ground. A prison guard told him he could ask the machine questions. It answered in her voice every time. “Why do you taunt me, Isabel? What magic controls you?” he asked. *I am Isabel. To learn more, ask, ‘What can you do?’ Or try asking me about music, history, or geography. I know about lots of topics.* “You witch!” Izidem roared. “You have been possessed, wake up my love!” *Witchcraft, or witchery broadly refers to the belief in practice of energy and magic based skills and rituals. This can manifest in many ways, religious or non religious...* “BE SILENT!” ---- After weeks Izidem learned about the history of the world and learned about technology and all of the advancements made in every age that had passed. It was when he asked about his betrayer, and the man who killed his men, that he was told to look at his ugly face in the mirror, which he often tried to break but couldn’t. Eventually he had a visitor summon him out of the cell. “Mr. Izidem, I’d like to present you to Master Llencroft and his beautiful wife Isabel.” Izidem’s blindfold was removed and his eyes went wide at the sight of his love. “Izzy Izzy Izzy. Long time my friend. I can recall waking from my sleep and hearing her voice ringing in my head and *Boom*, finally with the help of the book I made her real! I’ve managed to fill every corner of this larger-than-I’d-imagined planet with her little robot voice, but having her in the bio-suit is truly legendary stuff." "Say ‘Hi’ Darling,” he said as he patted her on the shoulder. She shyly smiled and waved. “She’s still a bit quiet, but the key is that thanks you I finally have what I wanted all those years ago.” Llencroft petted Isabel’s hair and watched the fuming Izidem charge forward only to run into an invisible wall. He bashed the forcefield and tired after a while before being sent back to his cell. “Some demon lord, right honey?” he asked. ---- After a number of years Izidem was introduced to the teachings of Alan Watts which he enjoyed playing on repeat. The art of zen gave him some peace. It wasn’t enough to fill the void of being in a cell wasting away, but it gave him something to do and put him at peace with his ugly face. It wasn’t until he mastered zen that he started to feel the inner demon awake. The inner demon that the world once bowed before. And there it was, out of nothing the blue flame breath came back to him. Each breath became fire and the demon fully awoke. He knew then that he would escape the cell and challenge Llencroft, he would bring back the army once more and spear his enemy through the heart and eat it. Izidem laughed an evil and blue laugh and told Isabel that they would be reunited soon enough. He looked at himself once more and melted the mirror down to nothing. He breathed healing breath into his face and felt the scars vanish. He listened to Alan Watts one last time before detaching the machine from the wall and breaking out of the cell. ---- This is fun, let me know if you want me to keep going! Edit: Part 2 belowww

The villainess stares at the magical girls in their untransformed states in their school uniforms. "Why would you let them use you like this? Of all the candidates they could have used, they enlisted children?" she screeches.

I looked up at the woman, clad in dark cloth stylized in that stereotypical villainous fashion, with spikes and shadows that grew from her form. Her purple and green makeup and seams were top notch, I had to say. A shame I hated the color scheme and the spikes. The shadows were cool, though. Looking to our leader for a retort, I only saw doubt on her face, so being the class clown of the bunch, I chuckled and retorted for her. "Well, why do they enlist hotties like you to be the villainess?" The rest of the girls looked to me in shock at first - though Lora, our magical nerd, tried to hold in a snicker - while the villainess squinted at me with a glare that sent pulses of some vile energy that I think was meant to intimidate me. "I was not chosen, I *chose* to do this." "Same as us, then, yeah?" I responded, elbowing our 'heroic leader'. She picked up on my intentions and continued for me. "Right. We might not have been born Galaxy Defenders, but we chose to be us. And that means fighting against the likes of you, who wish to corrupt the world and destroy it!" "Foolishness," the villainess - whose name I still don't know, I realize (like, honestly, you'd think that big bad evil guys would introduce themselves. No manners these days) - sneers. Not with contempt, but with... a kind of pity. "I am not here to destroy the world, but revive it. It has stagnated for too long." "How about we stagnate *you*!" Becca says as she lunges forth. Bless her heart for trying. With a quick swipe of her hand - too fast for me to see, and I was the speedster of the group - the Villainess knocked Becca aside and frowned slightly more. "Children... ***Children!***" she complained, looking not at us, but outwards in frustration. Something feels a bit off about this. As Angelica commands Lora to check on Becca, I step beside Angelica with Kylie as we get in formation to prevent Becca or Lora from getting pounced on. The time for jokes was over, or so I thought, but the Villainess didn't even follow up. She... reacted. Even now, it was like she was judging us, rather than opposing us. In the silence of her observation, something *urged* me to say, "So... does that mean we're not fighting? Cuz I'm totally down to talk this out." Angelica waited a moment before nodding. "Yes. No need to make enemies if we don't need to make enemies. But make any hostile move and we'll-" "You'll what?" the Villainess asked, walking closer to us. I tensed - noticing the others did as well - but didn't act yet. "We'll fight you." "Hah. I suppose that's all you can manage. At least you don't have any false confidence in your ability. After all, it's not 'We'll win'. Respectable. But foolishness. It would be better to lay down your arms entirely and let me do what I came here to do." "We can't let you do that," Kylie scoffed. "Even if it cost our lives." "Wait, hold on, what even *are* you here to do?" I ask. "Maybe she's just dressed weird, and not one of the Fallen." "No, I am," she said, a smile coming to her face. "I'm here to crack the crust of your planet and let its lifeblood pour into the streets, killing countless millions while only the strong survive. Because clearly, while you are mentally strong, you are physically weak. Stagnated." "Which means that we're not worthy to survive I guess," I say flippantly. "Unless this part's the time where we show we're worthy." "Quite right. Fight to survive, children. Your world has abandoned you. If you survive, you will become my own children, and I shall raise you myself." "Hm. And what about my friends back home?" I sass back. "I think I ought to show I'm strong enough to carry them with me, yeah?" "I thought *Angelica* was the leader," Becca said, having gotten up with Lora's help. "Hah! Hear that, Jelly? I get to be leader now! Let's get ready tooooo-" I charge to flank invisibly as my illusion charges forth screaming, "RRRRUUUUMBLEEEEEEEE!"

The rapture happens. All dogs go to heaven and are interviewed to decide the fate of their owners. One good boy says "What about my cat friend, Mr. Mittens?". The angel replies "The what now?".

("Buddy," Part One) "The cat, Mister Mittens," the dog replied, staring up at the angel with unabashed worry across his canine features. "My human may not have been the best owner, and I forgive him for that. But Mister Mittens and I were like brothers." The angel, Andaphael by name, was puzzled: A dog, wanting to know about the welfare of a cat? He scratched his head and adjusted his white halo, the color of fresh snow. He had heard from other angels how dogs asked after other dogs or humans, which was normal. But asking after a cat was rare. Rare, but not unheard of. However, this was the first time Andaphael had it happen to him. "Buddy, why do want to know about Mister Mittens? He goes to his own afterlife, in Nirvana." Buddy's head cocked to the side, and a single ear perked up in confusion. "...Mister Mittens gets to spend the rest of his life with a rock band?" Andaphael chuckled at this, the musical sound bouncing from one cloud to another. "No. I mean dogs go to heaven, and cats go to a different place that signals the end of existence for them." "Oh, like heaven?" Buddy began to grin, his tongue lolling out of his mouth with happiness, and his tail began a quick metronome-like back-and-forth wag full of joy. "Because then we can go over there and get him! Mister Mittens was the best! He--" "No, Buddy," Andaphael frowned, causing Buddy's tail to stop as he saw how serious the angel's countenance had become. "Cats go to Nirvana to end the cycle of rebirth. While I can help you determine the fate of your master, I cannot help Mister Mittens. He has a different path than you." Buddy's head drooped, and he began to whimper, his golden fur taking on a dull hue the color of a cloudy sky, as his emotions showed through his spiritual form. "That...that hurts. Mister Mittens and I looked out for each other when our human wasn't... I mean, he...sometimes he just didn't..." Andaphael saw how Buddy had trouble finding the words to say what he felt in his heart. This, in turn, broke his own, and his admiration for Buddy grew. Andaphael knew that Buddy's owner abandoned him and did worse to the cat, and his love of booze was to blame for this. It was during times like these that Andaphael wished he could be allowed to scare people into sobriety. But that was not his responsibility at this time, as much as it pained him to admit it. . . . When Andaphael came for Buddy to guide him to heaven, he found him starved and dying in the end of an alley, lying in the muck and filth, his magnificent golden coat splotchy and full of mud, his muzzle and parts of his body scarred. "How did you get here?" asked Andaphael as he guided Buddy's spirit out of his body, freeing him from further pain. "I was left here by my person," Buddy looked at his deceased form as his spirit was guided to heaven. "I'm sure he'll be back for me. I bet he's just sleeping again, like he does, after he drinks that strange water that comes in cans." "Buddy, your owner abandoned you." "No he didn't! He loves me, and Mister Mittens too! He'll come back for me!" "Buddy, we need to go." "Can we wait a bit, please?" Andaphael sighed with pity. "Yes, Buddy. We can wait a bit." . . . The light of day faded into the purple-grey of evening, followed by the black of night. This was followed by another, as Buddy's spirit kept watch for a man that Andaphael knew was not coming. On the third day, Andaphael repeated his request. "Buddy, we need to go." "...Can I come back to see if my person will come back for me?" "Yes, Buddy, you can." "Good. He might be a little lost. He stumbles a lot after he has that strange drink." "I know, Buddy. Until then, I have to guide you to heaven." "OK. But you promised I can come back." "Definitely." . . .

You ask about magic and learn every mage class has a totem that affects the spells available. You peruse the list: Staff mage, Wand mage, Scroll mage, Sword mage, Bow mage, etc. Nearly anything can be used as a totem, so you begin rummaging in your backpack to see if it survived the trip.

I dug through my belongings, hoping. It had been a rough trip, my bag had been thrown around an awful lot. It had been fine the last time I checked, but that was a few days ago. Recently I hadn't had the chance, too busy focusing on getting here. My hand touched a familiar handle, and I withdrew it. In my grasp was a straight wooden pen. It had a simple design, but boasted a brand new nib on top. I had been given it by my mother as I left home, with a promise to write back. I decided, this was it. This would be my totem. Holding it firmly I shouldered my pack, returning to the desk. A rotund man watched me, a smile on his lips. "So, young man, what totem have you chosen? Only once selected may you be granted entry." I held up the pen, letting him see it. He nodded, settling down. "Ah, a pen. Few think of such an item, much less using it as their totem. I grant you entry, may your studies be fruitful." A thick wooden door set beside the desk gave a click. It swung open slightly with a creak, permitting me entry. I squared my shoulders, walking through. I heard the man speak to the next entering novice, as the door closed behind me. I ascended a small spiral staircase, it's walls close together. My legs burned a little as I reached its top, blinking into the sunlight. Before me was a grassy hill, with patches of wildflowers. At its peak was a bizarre looking building. Its base was large and thick, much like any tower. But as it rose, sections split off. These had smaller ares split from themselves as well, leading to the building resembling a leafless tree. This was Eproan, the College of the Arcane. Nearly every mage had studied here, and come out a better caster. It spent most of its time floating over the world, drifting through the skies like a boat on the seas. But every year, it would land at the four countries capital cities for one day. This was one such day. It was known as the Day of Signing. During this, anyone who wished to become a mage could approach. Those with the ability to use magic would be let through, and those without sent on their way with well wishes. I had been lucky enough to have some, and now I was here. I could see others approaching the building from all directions, having been welcomed in. I strode forwards, eager to begin my journey. I would become a Pen Mage, and I would make my family, and myself, proud.

fter a few minutes at a stoplight your partner turns to you, "Feels like this light is taking forever". "It does seem to be taking a while" you reply. A quick look at your phone and you notice the calendar says several years has past.

"Feels like this light is taking forever." Betty's emerald eyes broke from the stoplight and, with a turn in my direction, I could detect the slight annoyance on her expression. "Yeah." I sighed, making sure to keep my hands on the steering wheel. "It does seem to be taking a while. "This highway's pretty creepy." she giggled, her eyes seemed to focus on every tiny detail from the fog obscuring the outside view to the empty light we were sat in front of. "Yeah." I said awkwardly, I was never good at small talk. "It'll be good to get home though, right Rodger?" She asked, saving me from having to talk about the weather. "Yeah." I sighed. "I mean the beach is nice and all, but I just wanna see Eda. Do you think she's okay?" "Why wouldn't she be okay." Betty laughed. "She's with my mom." "Well, yeah." I knew I'd have to tread lightly. "Your mom is just, you know, I don't think she can say no to Eda. $10 dollars says they got ice cream every day she was there" "You're on." Betty pulled her phone out of her pocket. "I'm sure Eda hasn't had anything more then 12 pounds of-" The smile dropped off her face. "That's odd." "What?" I asked. "Look." She turned her phone in my direction. "I've gotta keep my eyes on the road Betty." I sighed. "What if we crash?" "Into what?!" Betty rolled her eyes. "The traffic light? The street's empty just look at my phone." "Fine." I glanced towards her phone and now it was my turn for the smile to melt off my face. All the time dials on her phone were flipping through numbers so fast it was impossible to read the specific numbers. All except the years. Every 15 or so seconds her phone claimed we were one year into the future. I laughed. "I guess that's what happens when you drop your phone in wet sand." Her face shifted to a pouty expression. "First of all, the sand was damp. Second of all, let's check your phone." "I can't check my phone." I shot back. "The light'll become green any second now." "Just give me your phone." She rolled her eyes. "No." "Please?" "Fine. Reach into my pocket." While grumbling something about men having decently sized pockets she reached in and, seconds later, her hand emerged with the phone. She clicked the power button and, in the span of seconds, her expression shifted from confusion to genuine fear. "Rodger." She slowly grabbed her phone out of her pocket and put them side by side. "They match." "It's fine." I responded. "It's just a mistake at the company. Let's just get past this light and- speak of the devil." At long last the light turned green and we were able to leave. Fog is a strange thing. If you've ever walked through the street on a slightly foggy day then you know that the area around you will look completely normal, like nothing is amiss. You don't notice the fog until you try to look at something far away. That's when you realize that the fog is there, but it's never something you can touch. It'll always be just out of reach. This fog was different. As we got towards the grey cloud that I had assumed was simply fog I realized that what I was seeing was more akin to smoke. It didn't move and, as we got closer, we were engulfed in it. I tried to remain brave for Betty's sake but the truth was that I was scared and I couldn't see two feet in front of me. "It's fine." I rationalized. "It's a straight highway, we'll just keep going forward until we get out." "I'm scared Rodger." She murmured. "I'm really scared." "Don't be." I tried to laugh but it came out more like a grunt. "We'll be fine." Slowly but surely a light became visible, then a slight reflection of the outside, and then, finally, we emerged from the weird fog. "What'd I tell you?" My eyes were focused on her. "There was never any danger to begin wi-" I turned my eyes to see the roads were cracked and barely put together. Overgrown with roots, grass, and even trees. The only living thing, unless you count the plants, was a hispanic malnourished boy that appeared to be sleeping by the road. "Excuse me." Becky asked, her voice echoing through the empty abyss of our surroundings. "Do you know what's going on." The boys eyes shot open and he glanced at us for what seemed like years. "High weh me." He muttered. "What?" Becky asked "Highway men." He stared at us with aw and fear. "I'm sorry." I yelled back. "I don't know what you mean." "HIGHWAY MEN!" He yelled, running down the street. "Everyone! Wake up! Highway men!" from the dip of the hill rose a crowd of people led by an old lady who couldn't have been less then a hundred years old "Who are you?" I asked, surrendering myself to confusion. "What's going on?" "You have been through a great ordeal." The old lady said. "Fear is a natural response." "Who are you people?!" Becky screamed, on the edge of hysterics. "What day does your phone say it is?" The old lady asked. Becky limply grabbed her phone and stared at the date. It had paused but it now read January 3rd, 2117. "Then it's been 34,476 days you've been trapped behind that traffic light." Her voice was calm and polite. "You are not the first to come out of that highway." "What?" My voice cracked. "How is that possible?!" "Do not despair." She continued. "That highway saved you. You would've blown up had this not come to pass." "Blown up?" Becky mouthed. The old lady sighed and gestured towards the ruined roads. "On August 13, 2022 a nuclear war was started. It lasted, oh, a good three hours before the world became the hellscape it is today." "There were no survivors." "But, what about you?" Becky asked, gesturing towards the entire group that flanked her. "You survived." "Not in a traditional sense." The old lady shrugged. "We didn't survive because of underground bunkers or resilience. Every last one of us went along that path that highway that you just left." "That doesn't make any sense." I responded. "How did the highway protect us?" "Hell if I know!" The old lady laughed mirthlessly. "All I know is that everyone you care about is dead." Becky covered her mouth in horror. "Trust me, everyone of us had looked. There's no humans, no technology, and very few animals. There's just us. The highway men." \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ That was pretty fun. Feel free to tell me how to improve my writing in the comments. I'm aware it's kinda shit but I wanna make it, you know, not that. Please tell me how.

By accident, you stumble on a movie set during its final take. When the film comes out, your insignificant “role” saves the movie. Now you’re a star.

You ever hear the words, “Act like you know?” It’s a famous saying and I often live by it. Ever since I lost my cozy but boring job, I decided to walk onto the sets pretending that I am supposed to be there. I’d go talk to my casting agency and apply to be an extra then I would show up in the middle of an important scene. My casting agency has been suspicious, trying to send me emails about how I wasn’t supposed to be in x scene. Turns out they didn’t like paying me for the random gigs they didn’t hire me. I’d often walk into the set and first thing I do is arrive about 5 minutes early. Everyone else does that so I blend in well. I don’t however go to the snack table as many other tired actors do first thing in the morning. Instead I sneak a glance at any clipboards that has an attendance sheet. In my pocket is a bottle of white out so I can write my name in. No one is the wiser. Back then, I never would stoop that low but my unjust firing gave me a reason to be selfish. It’s works too well for me. One day I accidentally showed up in the middle of a fight scene. It’s was one of those summer blockbuster superhero movies. The heroes began to group together for one of those cliche team up scenes. I happened to be in the background and to the camera, it seemed I was right there with them. Now typically they would cut right then and there but the director, one of those artistic eccentrics, looked at me and loved me. He said I had a strong jawline (my only exciting feature), and my face shape was unique. So they had to refilm some of the scenes. I thought my casting agency would block me. The casting agency loved me so much that they actually dedicated an agent to helping me get gigs. I suddenly became a new sensation overnight. I’m even planning to have a book about how I got into the business, even including the nefarious schemes I came up with. It’d make for a hilarious story for the talk shows. Every now and then I see a struggling actor, clueless on to grab a part. I keep a bottle of white out in my pocket at all times for those situations. I took what I needed to give back to the less fortunate. Call me the Robin Hood of struggling actors.

"Welcome to Smith's Retroactive Shipping Agency, for when you literally need your package there yesterday! Where and when is your package destination?"

“One plunger, an hour ago,” Manny said to the frazzled customer. “Coming right up.” Manny entered in the order and gestured to the payment terminal. “$641.99, swipe when ready.” “That’s a bit much for a plunger, isn’t it?” “Plutonium ain’t cheap. It’s less than a shop-vac and you don’t gotta worry about the smell. What’ll it be, pal?” The man shrugged, more to himself than to Manny, then swiped his card. A look of puzzlement came over his face. “Sorry, I’m not sure why I came in here.” Manny handed him his receipt. “That’s why we get you to swipe first. Exit’s on your left.” The man nodded, reading through the receipt. Manny turned to his co-worker, Margaret. “Another plunger. That’s five today, don’t we get anything else?” Margaret chuckled. “Tums, twenty minutes ago, we get that a lot. Painkillers. Condoms. Nothing too extravagant.” “You’re kidding me. I didn’t think I’d be sending kids back to meet their great-grandparents or anything, but all this is just stuff people forgot. If people were better planners, we’d be fresh out of a job.” “Well, then I guess we’ll be in business a while yet. But stick around, you’ll get a fun one today, I’m sure of it.” Manny elaborately knocked on wood with one hand while crossing his fingers with the other. Margaret rolled her eyes at him and greeted her next in line. A few minutes later a teenager approached Manny’s station with a paper bag. “Hi friend, what’ll it be for you? Plunger or painkiller?” “Actually, I was hoping you could send this back a couple weeks.” The teenager pulled a burnt husk of charcoal out of his paper bag and set it on the counter. “It’s a book. Well, it was a book. It got burned up.” “I can see that,” Manny said. “Plutonium ain’t cheap though, pal. Just buy a fresh copy.” The teen shook his head. “There aren’t any. My brother wrote this book. This is the only one, and I hadn’t got to finish it yet.” “It’s scrap anyhow, kid. Now or two weeks ago.” “It’d be fixed,” Margaret said. “The item returns to the state it was in at the point in time it's sent back to.” She looked to the teenager. “But we don’t send personal items, sorry. Only items ordered out of our catalog.” Manny turned to the teen. “Them’s the breaks, kid. Your brother’s still got the story in his head, hasn’t he? He wrote it once, he can write it . . .” Manny cut off at the boy’s expression. The book wasn’t the only thing lost in a fire. “Well . . . like Margaret said, we don’t send back personal items, kid. I’m sorry about that, but it’s the rules.” “Please? I just . . . I just want to remember him somehow.” Manny ran his hands through his hair. “Hell . . . Margaret, what’s the big deal with sending a personal item, anyway? The kid’s brother died for God’s sake.” Margaret looked him over, then looked over the teen, then walked over to join him. “All right, then. How far back?” “Three weeks,” the teen said, perking up. “Actually can we make it Three weeks, four hours and 17 minutes? It’ll pop up right when I get home from school.” “Sure.” Margaret typed in some numbers. Manny raised an eyebrow at her using his keyboard, but didn’t fuss about it. “Swipe when ready.” The teen smiled and ran his card. The burned husk of a book vanished and two security guards appeared behind him. They grabbed his arms and hauled him out before Manny could get a word in. He turned to Margaret for an explanation. “It was a bomb, Manny,” she said, smiling. “It got flagged a month ago, after control got a hold of it. That’s why we don’t send personal items. Unless you pay a lot of money, and they always go through control first.” Manny blinked. “What? Hold on, what the hell?” “It was an exploded bomb. He wanted you to send it back to just before it exploded so he could blow something up. I sent it back extra so control could check it out, make sure it wasn’t a bomb, which it was.” She chuckled. “It’s been in the books for a month of course. I told you you’d have an exciting day today.”

When intelligent life discovered the Voyager probes, they assumed from the information in the golden records that we were a peaceful species, and therefore easy to take down. They were very wrong...

*"Fire!"* From out of the apertures in the mass of alien flora and metals that was the spacecraft, railgun-like artillery sputter out another volley of subatomic particles at an imperceptible velocity... though, the fatigue that bore down upon the ion cannons *was* quite perceptible. Not to mention the fatigue that weighed upon Our morale after the weeks of a dreadful impasse... weeks that We had expected to be an undeniable turkey shoot! Merely recalling the first few months of reckless pride and dreams of intemperate gluttony after the discovery of the probes nauseated us with shame... *Shame*... when those ashamed should've been *them...* that probe-creating alien race so laughably backward that the only worth their silly radio broadcasts amounted to was that they're not a silicon-based lifeform. "Maybe we'll ship a couple thousand to our labs once we're finished subjugating their planet!" "Hah.. and we thought that aliens were supposed to *intimidate* us with their technology!" Turns out, their technology's "intimidation" was not lacking at all. And, with that realization came losses that flowed over the parameters we had arrogantly estimated in cascades of blood and death. *"... Cease fire! Cease fire now!"* *"Captain... we're barely holding the line! If we—"* *"Listen... it's an executive order. Our higher-ups... it's all rumors that I've heard... but it seems that they're going to be negotiating... for a truce..."* "*Truce? With Them? With all due fucking respect, sir, we're winning the damn war! It's only here on the front lines that we're even having any sort of trouble at all... Captain! Oi, those Carbon-Based bastards are already down to their last—"* *"Shouting at a wall won't do you any favors, you understand? Look... do you have any idea of how lucky we are? All of us?"* *"Lucky... sure we're lucky, after discovering this gold mine of a planet—"* *"It isn't that! Do you realize how slim our chances of encountering a species so technologically equal to us are? Do you realize... what that entails for us? A truce would be the obvious decision between our races... no, it's the only decision!* For, you see, all that blood and death that we yielded to still wouldn't ever be enough to equal the treasure that we stumbled across here, in this corner of the universe. An *ally*! In this dark wasteland of kill or be killed, you either belong to a race so technology advanced that alien races can't even begin to comprehend why they were wiped out overnight... or you're history. No in-betweens... fat chance that two random races in the universe would ever be even remotely technologically on-par with one another. Until now. As that cocky (but, admittedly, capable) cadet of mine continues to shout into a brick wall, I peer out from the spacecraft window at the green and brown and blue with white streaks below... praying that the miracles of life that call this world home, too, can see, amidst the smoke and flames, the strings that already bind the fates our two species together.

You are a demon and this is the story of your first possession. You have chosen poorly, however, as your choice of possession is an astronaut who is currently heading into outer space.

We drifted. Every few minutes there was a tell-tale jet of air indicating his onboard-stabilizers were still working, but for the most part we just...floated. "Kinda puts it all in perspective, doesn't it?" his voice croaked, vocal chords wracked from all my screaming earlier. I nodded. For my part I'd had my fun. Gotten the jollies the only way I knew how vis-à-vis excrutiating torture of his fellow crew-mates aboard the shuttle. One of the engines drifted past us. Maybe I'd gone a little bit overboard. One could argue literally. "I've never seen it from this angle," I admitted, my influence warping his meek tenor into a bass like knives on concrete. "Really? I thought you lot were angels before..." I shook his own hand dismissively. "Doesn't mean everyone gets to work on the big projects. Hell, that's half the reason most of us fell. God's chosen get to work on what was ostensibly replacing us, and the rest get..." I trailed off, gesturing inarticulately. "Course we didn't know then. What all it meant. What all it was for. We had just assumed the worst, and after everything bore out...we got it," my voice wasn't wistful, exactly. Think of the tone taken when indicating old scar tissue, or recounting trauma to a friend. The suit began beeping once again, a droning warning as his HUD lit up pure red. *Oxygen at 5%.* He shuddered as I assented control back to him, loosing an unsteady exhale. I flicked the notification away before the eyes were his again. "I guess I never thought of it like that," he said after a time. *Why would you,* I thought petulantly as we stared at the turning of the planet - the rays of the sun illuminating endless possibility that neither of us would live long enough to see. I chewed over the situation for a moment, before setting his lip in a determined expression. I took the reins again - his body aching and shot - before pulling the controls forward. It'd be minutes before we even hit atmosphere...but... "What are you doing?" He asked confused, testing the walls of my control over his form as we approached the planet. "Doing something good for once," I grimaced, immediately hating the words as they passed his lips. "Try to sleep. I'm fireproof and don't require oxygen - you do" His consciousness slipped back. It was a lie, but a smaller one. I might be able to survive the impact, but our possession would end. Flames began licking at the suit as we approached re-entry, but me and fire were old friends. I already cost him his future. The least I could do was save his life.

Someone appears in front of you with a time machine; the world's going to end and only you can save it. At the same time, a wizard appears; he's from another world, and he says you're the Chosen One. The time traveler and the wizard fight over who gets you.

After hearing them argue for a few minutes while I wrapped my head around what is currently happening in front of me, I had to step between the woman whose hair is somehow still smoking from whatever future they just came from and is currently waving around a gun that looks to be straight from a science fiction book, and the wizened old man who is actively brandishing a staff and has started to put on a rather impressive light show. "Hold on, I think there is a pretty simple solution that both of you are missing." I turn to the woman in the tattered clothes who emerged from the impressively ramshackle time machine and ask, "That is your time machine, right? I presume helping you would involve me going with you in there, right?" The woman looks exasperated, "Of course, how else could I get your help to recalibrate-" Holding my hand up to interrupt, "I'm sorry, but I need to ask one more question. This isn't a one-way trip, right? You can bring me right back here once we are done, almost like I never left?" "What about me?" Interrupted the man who had put a stop to the sparkler show at my own interruption. "I have the same questions for you. Is it a one-way trip, and can you bring me back to this moment once we are done?" "Well, I'm not sure about the one-way trip, and taking you back to right now *would* be rather difficult." "Okay, so let's hear the answer of miss...?" "Mrs. Auberdine. And, it shouldn't be too dangerous for you, I just need help with some calibrations of something pulled from your mental mapping, and I'm not sure how accurate this is... Actually, what is the date today? " "August 13th of 2026, around 8am. And when were you trying to arrive Mrs. Auburdine?" "Well, the date's right, but I was aiming for somewhere around 6pm." "Okay, so if I go with Mrs. Auberdine, it sounds like I will have a good chance to return to some time within one day from now, and if I go with Mr...?" "Call me Standish the Magnificent" "Alright... So if I go with Standish, it sounds like a much lower chance to return at all, let alone to now. Do these estimates sound right to you two?" Simultaneously, they both respond with something along the lines of how nothing is certain, but it sounds about accurate, though Standish does grumble about how I failed to include his honorary. "Alright, normally I would ask more questions about the legitamacy of either of your claims, but with each of your extravagant entrances, I think I can skip those questions, and get right to resolving your argument. I will go with Mrs. Auberdine first, on the condition that upon completion of your task, we will return to... the gas station just down the road, since I don't want to risk any paradox shenanigans, and aim to be there right about now, and if all goes well, I should be waiting there to accompany Standish the Magnificent by the time he gets there. Is this agreeable to both of you?" After a glance between the two most outlandish people I have ever met, and a shared shrug, they both agree to the terms, and Mrs. Auberdine even remarks that this is the type of thinking that she needs from me.

Aliens always respawn minutes after death. It's a common prank for aliens to kill each other for a laugh. When they discover Earth, they kill millions of humans, thinking it's a humorous way of greeting this new species, but for some reason, the humans aren't laughing...

Death. Something we've seen hundreds of times by the time we were younglings, most likely having experienced it ourselves by that point. Something that was so natural and normal to us that we would often kill each other for no reason other than to pull one over our comrades. Usually it would take a few minutes at most to heal from the most severe injuries and wake up with the only proof of your death being your friend's dumb smile. That's why we made the mistake of assuming any other species we might encounter in the universe would be just like us - jaded and insensitive to death as it would have no lasting consequences. A mistake we paid for dearly. I'm not even sure how long it has been - 10 cycles or perhaps even 20 since we've made first contact with the specie that calls themselves "Man." We wanted to make quite the entrance so we opted to massacre an entire population centre for a practical joke, get the spirits up a bit before we moved on to the boring parts that were diplomacy. It was then that we realized the catastrophic mistake we've made as we noticed that the dead were not healing, they were not coming back - and very soon we tasted Mankind's projectile weapons, which were capable of killing us for mere moments before we came back. The humans were horrified at first, an enemy that cannot die, cannot be stopped and can massacre an entire city. But as they continued killing us repeatedly something changed, the horror and shock on their faces became joy, every trigger pull echoed along with a sadistic laugh. A few more deaths later me and my comrades found ourselves contained - seemingly spared from the repeated deaths at last, but this relief only lasted for a short while. A few days later we were inserted into some kind of machine, one that would kill us in the slowest way possible only to wait for us to come back to life and do it all over again. It was then that we finally understood. Death is a mercy not afforded to our kind.

Humanity is long extinct. An alien race scours Earth for clues leading to understanding the mystery that is human history. Their searches proved fruitful when they discovered a long lost book depicting the epic of what seems to be humanity's most important and prominent figure: Florida Man.

ID Reference: e0f8d8d7-76b8-4bba-1e5e-ec1dee19ebf7 Cultural Genome: Late Floridian Sand Culture Title: Liminal rites of Sun Worshiping Cultists of the Late Floridian Sand Culture Discussion : Many studies elaborate the cultural genome of the Late Floridian Sand Culture existent 100 Million PGA (Post Galactic Period). This analysis considers the hypothesis of local rites of passage of the Sun Worshiping subculture and asserts a new hermeneutics of the aforesaid culture. Unlike previous studies, we will demonstrate that Floridian Sand culture did have rites of passage from infantilism through adolescence and adulthood. This study stands in direct contradiction to the theory that Floridian Sand culture of the Sun Worshiping cultists never allowed for more than a puerile developmental state. Most evidence of our new interpretative framework revolves about the substantive evidence of a hydrocarbon-based material culture combined with simple metal alloy and silicon technology. As noted by Hzthua at al. ,Non Autonomous Transportation Systems (NATS) show a direct correlation between sexual maturity and increase of mortality due to the operation of such transportation. In rites of passage, as determined from many galactic societies, a liminal space emerges as a developmental state is crossed over. Liminality through its very nature proposes a transition in which the continuance of life is not guaranteed. Human younglings would be challenged to control large NATS with high mass traveling at velocities in great excess to the maximum speed of movement of the species itself. Exhibited control of NATS provided a life affirming ritual. Those younglings who remained unruly often suffered a grim fate. Very simply, some of the offspring would make it, but others were not so lucky. The next transition was just a short time later in their lifetime. Recent archeological discoveries reveal large circular outdoor arenas in which the same NATS circumnavigate a surface composed, again, of an aggregate of hardened hydrocarbon and smashed rocks. During the ritual, a large mass of humans would congregate on a single side of the arena while NATS traveled at the highest velocity possible for such technology. The sun worshippers would bake themselves in the high radiation of their star while simultaneously consuming a hydrocarbon fluid that was poisonous. A hypothesis exists, as mentioned by ZAGROQ, that the purpose of the consumption was to numb the nervous system of Sun Worshippers to the seemingly aimless monotony of their life. Note that at any given time during the mass event, life denying incidents could pulverize the NATS and their occupants. Not only were the operators at risk of their demise, but the NATS randomly could tumble into the cultists allowing for a mass sacrifice to the Sun. Only through the mediation of the poisonous liquid could such a trial be tolerated and adulthood renewed. In summary, the Sun Worshiping Floridian Sand culture did offer transitions of a liminal nature between stages of life. Rituals revolving about the production and consumption of hydrocarbons were essential to any successful growth. The authors in our next paper will draw a strict distinction between the Late Floridian Sand culture and the Emerging Floridian Interior Swamp Lizard culture. We aim to demonstrate a transition of subcultures from consumption of poisonous hydrocarbon liquid to a burned and inhaled hardened substance with the chemical composition of C10H15N. Addendum. A recent addition of The Archives at The Bonny Galactic Society for the Preservation of Dead Planets complements the above arguments. See: The Archives at The Bonny Galactic Society for the Preservation of Dead Planets Record Group 36: Records of the Late Floridian Sand Culture Series: Religious Liturgy of the Sun Worshipping Cultist File Unit: Textual Fragments of Faith Documents Item: MotorTrend Magazine. Description: 22PP, 29aX49b- Contains script EN that at this time is untranslatable. Contains images of Non Autonomous Transportation Systems (NATS), a ceremonial object meant to ease the transition from life to death and rebirth.

You planted a universe in your yard while you were a kid, but then forgot about it. Today, it has grown considerably, and one of the planets, Earth, even managed to evolve intelligent life, which is amazing. The growth is incomplete and uneven though, so you wonder if you should take charge.

*If you do something right, they'll never know you did anything at all* A wonderful sentiment surely, but it left me utterly unmoored in my current predicament. Creation and destruction shared the same fingers, and my intrusion at this stage would be tantamount to extinction. **Day One:** It's just...look at all of that. It happened on its own. Without me. How could I possibly help? It's all so *bright.* Look at all the beauty, the cascading nebulae and spiraling galaxies. I couldn't have done that. It's better this way. It's still growing, still changing. I can't. I shouldn't. **Day Two:** Gas! Air from pure serendipity! At least on planets that support it. The red cluster put up a modest effort, but between the gravity and atmosphere it all just...leaked out. I tried gripping my fingers around it but the gas simply pushed through. Maybe some of it went inside, but that's hardly a consolation to whatever might have come to lived upon it. Last time I try to help. **Day Three:** The rocks themselves were there, but they weren't together. It nettled me. The gravity was keeping them largely in a piece, but they weren't singular entities. I glanced over my shoulder once again. No one watching. With all the grace and dignity of a toddler playing with the family housecat, I crunched the clusters of rock into vague spheres. The gas clusters seemed content with their atmosphere, so I didn't see the need to interfere. Hopefully I won't have to in the future. **Day Four:** Light without heat could indeed be problematic. The explosion at what was once the center of creation would continue, but with the rapid expansion and...my own efforts certain celestial bodies would grow cold. Inert. Ice cubes abandoned within the cosmos. Carefully I plucked a thimble full of that roiling explosion between my thumb and forefinger, before placing it some few thousand lightyears away from the planets I'd crafted. They melted. I frowned, before nudging the sun a closer to another body. Delicate. Careful as can be. This would take practice. Although in fairness, I did have all the time in this universe. I got back to work... **Day Five:** I took a hand's off approach with life, only really stepping in when things got too out of hand. The cruel or indelicate among them will claim the extinctions were me, but frankly sometimes the universe has its own plans for life. For the record, I wasn't looking when all that madness with the fish came about. They weren't exactly pretty, I'll tell you that much. Really my only contribution was the platypus. Cute little guy. **Day Six:** People have been getting curious. It just *keeps growing.* What's more, the fish have started climbing up on the land and sub-dividing into all manner of forms of life. I looked away for an hour to talk things over with a neighbor and suddenly the dinosaurs were gone. Well, except for crocodiles and sharks, who seemed to have stuck around. Try and figure that out. The furry ones dug down, a rock came and burnt up half the life all around. I kept getting pulled away for one reason or another - and by the time I returned there were *people!* Not as you'd know them, naturally. Still had a few iterations of Homo to get through... **Day Seven:** Y'know what's strange? I can hear them. Every single one of them. When they pray - casting their thoughts and aspirations back out to the cosmos that birthed them. I don't know why they think I can help. What little I did seemed to complicate or mess with things. I'd rather they leave me out of it. Speaking of which, someone from the government came around earlier. Said it was "priceless scientific artifact," and that I'd be rewarded handsomely. Whatever. All they do on that rock is complain anyway. Best to cut loose, I say. I could use a nap...

You dreamed of being a starship captain, but the training is too expensive. When a distant relative leaves you their mortgaged Bantam-class cruiser, you face a series of choices: Sell it for tuition, assume the existing cargo contracts, or investigate the offer made by the local cartel.

Hydra station wasn’t the kind of place that anyone came to without good reason. There were the scientists, the miners, the navy, some freight crews and those few poor sods who had been born to the misbegotten rock. For the first 19 years of my life I had been forced to accept that I would always be a member of the latter group. The Navy Lieutenant had almost laughed when I had walked my scrawny low-grav ass into the local office. As for being a scientist or a miner… well Hydra wasn’t exactly the University of Terra, and one class a year at the local scholam wasn’t going to cut it for any decent gig. Three days after my twentieth birthday, alone in my hab that had changed. When I read the message telling me that my ship would be arriving at dock in two weeks I deleted it immediately, mistaking it for a scam, or worse a trap. The cartel had been known to lure individuals to the docks that way. The three physical letters slid under my door didn’t convince me either, though they looked legitimate. It wasn’t until I got the bill from the harbourmaster that I realized it was for real. I was angry. The bill was practically the complete sum of my meager savings but when I’d gone in to cuss the harbourmaster out, he had handed me the ownership-ident with a look that could only be jealousy. I suppose I could have sold the ship. It would have covered a full course of education, maybe even an engineering certification, or miners permit. I didn’t end up selling it. I climbed into the ship, took my seat at the helm and fired up the engines. The cold metal of a gun barrel pressed into the nape of my neck. “You and I are going to go on a little errand.”

You are the first person to actually read the 'Terms and Conditions' of your deal with the devil. They are a thousand pages long and you plan to finish them all as the devil watches in increasing annoyance.

The medical machines clustered around Fiona's hospital bed beeped and clattered and whirred as they kept the bed's occupant alive. Wires and tubes snaked out from the machines and embedded in various places in the body of a small child, perhaps ten years old, who lay pale and motionless but for shallow laboured breaths. Penny looked down on Fiona's little face, unable to cry. All the tears had been shed already, for days and days. It felt like the utmost failure. How can a mother not cry as her daughter dies in agony? Worthless. Penny spoke, quietly, so as not to wake Fiona. "I would do anything for you. I would fight for you. I would die for you. I would sell my soul to the Devil himself for you! Anything so you could stay with me, live with me, grow up and grow old with me." Penny felt that pressure behind her eyes, her head pounding. Why couldn't she cry? She heard footsteps from someone entering the room, and ignored it. But then she realised something was off. She couldn't hear anything else. The machines were silent. She looked up and saw they were still on, their lights illuminated, but frozen. Penny looked down and saw that Fiona's little chest wasn't moving. She drew breath to scream— "She's not dead. Not yet," a voice behind Penny said. Penny's scream choked and froze in her mouth. She turned, and saw a man, tanned with a pink, almost red undertone to his skin, dressed in a perfectly cut suit complete with pocket square. The pocket square matched his skin, which matched his eyes. This man was not human. The man looked over at Fiona. "I stopped time for a bit, so we could talk," he said, then turned his gaze back to Penny. "She could live, you know. Live a long and healthy life. She could grow up and grow old with you," he said. "How?" Penny asked, before she realised she was going to say anything. "A deal with me, Lucifer, of course. I save her life, you give me your soul," Lucifer said. He produced a thick leather-bound book, and handed it to Penny. She opened it and skimmed the first page: "Between Lucifer (described hereinafter as the Devil or The Angel Too Hot For Heaven) and \[blank\] (described hereinafter as the Soul Trader)..." "In summary: the Soul Trader agrees to give their soul to the Devil, and the Devil agrees to cure the Soul Trader's loved one \[blank\] of all illnesses, restore them to perfect health, and ensure they live a long, healthy, and happy life. The following 6660 paragraphs set out the terms of this contract in detail." Penny closed the book, and said "all I have to do is sign this and give you my soul, and Fiona will live?" Lucifer nodded. "She won't just live. She will have a long, happy, and healthy life, and so will you. I believe somewhere around paragraph 1032 states that I only take the soul at the end of your natural life, which I promise not to shorten or otherwise make any less pleasant than it otherwise would be. I wouldn't have it any other way. A good soul is like a good wine or whiskey, seasoned by time and environment." Penny thought for a long moment. "You will trick me," she finally said. Lucifer sighed. "I will follow the letter of the contract exactly as agreed," he said. "Then I'd better read it first to make sure," Penny said. Lucifer grunted and wrinkled his nose. "Humans. Always making things difficult. Fine, you can do that." He folded his arms and stood over Penny as she read. Penny ignored him. She read, and read, and read in that endless moment. The only sound she heard was the rasp of each page as she turned it, and her own breath. It didn't take any time at all. The clock on the wall didn't move a single stroke, yet grit built up in Penny's eyes and it grew hard to keep focus on line after line. But she'd never signed anything without reading the fine print, and this would be no different. Around paragraph 500, Lucifer cleared his throat meaningfully. "I have things to do," he said. "I'm still not signing it until I've read it," Penny said. Lucifer involuntarily balled up one hand for a moment, then relaxed. "I tell you what," he said. "I'll sign it now, and I'll come back when you're done." "Okay," Penny said, and passed the book to him. He opened to the first page, pulled a quill out of nowhere, and stabbed the point into his forearm. He did not react as blood welled up in the wound. He used the blood to sign in his place, and then handed the book and quill over to Penny. "I'll return once you've signed," he said, and walked out the door of the room, closing the sliding door as he went. The door snicked into place, echoing against the silence. Penny sat alone for a moment, then thumbed through to find the spot she had been up to, and continued reading. Some time later, Penny snapped back to awareness. She'd been reading on autopilot again. What had changed? She saw that paragraph 2769 (enabling the transfer of her soul to some kind of discretionary trust) was normal, as was paragraph 2771 (requiring her to maintain appropriate life insurance). But paragraph 2770 had the heading "Additional Gifts to the Soul Trader", and listed a number of checkboxes under the categories "Boons" and "Powers". According to the text, she could choose two Boons and one Power. She skimmed the list of "Boons" and marked off the following two checkboxes: \- The Soul Trader may keep their soul. \- The Soul Trader will receive $10 million in wealth from legal sources within one month from signing. Penny then looked at the list of Powers. They all looked more-or-less the same, the ability to inconvenience others in some small way, so she ticked a box at random, and moved on. Nothing else in the contract drew Penny's attention, and eventually she turned back from the final page to the front where the signature panels awaited. She looked down at the bed where Fiona lay, and nodded to herself. Everything would be fine. She had found a way in the contract to outwit the devil himself, so why not sign? She picked up the quill, stabbed herself in the forearm the way she had seen him do, and signed her name in blood. As soon as she lifted the quill from the last stroke, Lucifer was opening the sliding door. He walked in, and smiled at Penny. "You signed." "Yes," Penny said, "and there's no getting out of it for you, because you already signed. "Is that so?" Lucifer asked. "Well then, I guess we'd best get started. Could you please do me a favour and read paragraph 5215, subparagraph one-ZZA-iiim again for me, if you please?" Penny located the part Lucifer had indicated. Deep inside nested lists describing a range of punishments that would be inflicted upon the Soul Trader in the event of a breach of contract, including but not limited to exsanguination, resanguination, saturation (defined as being force-fed foie gras at a rate of two kilograms per hour), and defenestration, lay the following: "In the event that any checkbox in paragraph 2770 is marked, the first letter of every alternating paragraph commencing from paragraph 2841 and ending on paragraph 3291 inclusive are to be read forming an addendum to the contract." Penny felt her kidneys and several other organs descend into her shoes, and her skin prickled everywhere. She sucked on her tongue for a moment before swallowing to soothe a mouth suddenly dry. Don't react. Don't show him anything. Penny's body moved without her noticing, flicking through to find the page on which paragraph 2841 sat. "Let me simplify things for you, my dear," Lucifer said, and indicated with one finger. The first letter of each alternating paragraph copied itself, with the new copies floating into the air and arranging themselves in neat lines of legalese: "Paragraph-two-seven-seven-zero-only-applies-to-the-extent-that-the-Soul-Trader-may-keep-their-soul-any-other-stipulations-are-void-and-in-addition-the-Soul-Trader-will-intern-at-Lucifer-Law-Corp-for-six-weeks-commencing-from-eight-weeks-from-the-execution-of-this-contract" Penny blinked and read it again. "What?" Lucifer's smile widened beyond what seemed anatomically plausible. "You're not the first to have tried to weasel out of your contract. Those who do are usually excellent lawyers, and we're always in need of fine staff to defend large corporations, represent dictators at the International Criminal Court, that sort of thing. The pay and benefits will go some way to compensate you for not getting," he flicked his copy back to paragraph 2770, "the power to inflict biting insects of your choice on those who irritate you?" Lucifer raised one eyebrow, and chuckled. "I wouldn't have expected that. Delightfully evil. I think you'll fit in well at Lucifer Law Corp. You'll start on the 19th of February. Someone will contact you with the details. But for now, relax, for you shall receive what you were promised." Lucifer snapped his fingers, the sound cracking whiplike through Penny's skull, and then he was gone. The world resumed. The fan in the corner whirred, the medical gizmos and gadgets ticked and bonged and bleeped in rhythm. Fiona breathed deep, and sighed as if all the tension in her had just been whisked away. Her eyes opened, and she looked at Penny. "Mum," Fiona said, "it stopped hurting. Will I be okay?" Penny smiled, and gave Fiona a kiss. "Everything's going to be just fine now."

"No, humans love it when dragons steal their young. You get a companion for ten or twelve years, so everyone wins. You gotta remember though, when the knights come get the young back you've gotta play dead. And make it look REALLY good, because that's how humans choose their mates."

“I think my human is defective.” “What?” “You know how you were saying that after a decade or so, the knight comes and there’s the whole battle thing and then the human chooses their mate? Well, mine won’t choose one.” “Well, are you really selling it? You can’t half ass the death scene. You really gotta give it a go, with all the bellows and the moans and the swinging of the tail.” “Oh, trust me. I DELIVER. I’ve got the best death throes. I rattle the walls and writhe through my hoard and keen loud enough for Damara three mountains over to send a not so nicely worded message about how annoying I am.” “Well, it sounds like you’re doing the death scene right but what about the battle with the knight? Are you making the knight look good?” “Oh yes, I really try. Nothing too fast, some fierce hissing and growling and carefully placed fire. Let them get a few jabs in and pretend it goes through the armor each time. But see that’s the problem.” “Them poking you? Come now, it doesn’t hurt as bad as all that.” “No, no, that’s fine. It’s my HUMAN. She just loses her mind. She comes running out mid-battle screaming, throwing rocks at the knights.” “At the KNIGHTS?” “Yes! And last time, she kept one of their little stick things and tried to STAB the knight! Tried real hard. Scared the knight off real quick. I don’t even think my fire has ever made a knight ever run so fast.” “So then what happens.” “Well, I don’t want her to know I’m faking it, right? How embarrassing for when she DOES find a mate. So each time I have to pretend to come out of it, all injured and moaning and limping, licking pretend wounds. And that’s where it gets…weird.” “Weirder than throwing rocks at a knight?!” “Oh, yes. She pulls out all the blankets from all the rooms in the cavern—“ “ALL of them?” “All of them. And she makes what I guess would be a bed for a human. But massive. She pulls me by the horn and makes me lay down in them.” “That must be uncomfortable.” “It’s not so bad. Not really. Then she makes up some soup and pours it in my mouth.” “Gross.” “It’s meat soup. Cooked over a fire. It’s not that bad, really. But then she curls up by my head while I pretend to heal and she sings to me. The creepiest little songs, may I add. All about death and ashes and little kids dying or falling from trees.” “Humans really are odd creatures.” “But the tune is nice enough. And the way she brushes my scales where she can reach in kind of…pleasant. Honestly, have you ever seen my scales look so good? And she’ll go and get books from the library and pick a book to read to me. Not the best books, mind you. Not draconic or spell bound but these little books about, well, mates. How these humans find their mates and the way they talk to each other. Some are quite amusing, actually. I didn’t have many so I had Brittle Bone collect some specific series to bring back for her and—“ “Oh, no. No! You can not keep your human!” “What? I wasn’t saying—“ “I know exactly what you were saying and I can hear it in your tone and see it in your eyes and you can NOT keep your human. It’s not kind. They need to mate and go off into the wild. It’s cruel to keep them cooped up in a cave their whole lives. It’s not draconic.” “But I think…I’m starting to think she doesn’t want to go. She doesn’t want a mate.” “Oh, she just hasn’t found the right one yet! He’ll come eventually.” “I’m not so sure…” “Well, you just keep doing what you’re doing and eventually she’ll be ready to go back out into the wild. Maybe she’s just too young.” “…Maybe. In the mean while, I was really hoping to borrow that book series your last human had? The one with the strange mythical creatures that treat the humans poorly but then really well? It’s not like you’re reading them.” “I suppose…” “Thanks! Also, I might take a few of your blankets. Just the ones you’re not using. And you have this spice named turmeric and coriander?” “I think I—“ “Great! I’ll replace it later. Thanks again! I should get back. My human doesn’t like when I’m gone when it’s dark. I think the little thing gets scared.” “I think you’re getting a little too attached—“ “Talk soon! Thanks for these! I’m off!” “Goodness. What a strange human. What a strange dragon. Ah well, what’s the worse that can happen?” What indeed.

In a universe where war is fought by remotely controlled armies of war machines, War is now more a sport and entertainment for the masses. Until the Humans were invited to compete, resulting in major upsets. No one knew humans were crazy enough to pilot the war machines directly from inside.

"Think about it," Melo can remember telling the board of executives as he rounded a faux leather seat to stand directly in front of a table. "They are mostly unknowns, and it will drag them into the wide galactic community; and the Vahoom are a small economy; it will be the war of the underdogs." Yavis, an executive from the Naarig Federation, puffs out at the thought, the idea has traction, granted, but it is not the most compelling. "Humanity and the Vahoom have little reason to war, so a strong narrative will need to be created for the views." "Yes," A different board member replied to Melo, not looking too impressed with the idea, "We invite the Bores onto our networks and we lose our viewers." The Humans used to be known as the 'Bores'; back then, they didn't typically mix with the intergalactic community and kept to themselves. Now they are known as the 'Cold'. "Bah," Melo replied with a wave of his tail, "Look at this; they send people to fight, its not all just robotics. It's new. It's refreshing. It's high stakes. Our audience numbers are dropping by the calendar year, this, this war will mix it up and keep it spicy." The Cold certainly kept it spicy alright, so spicy Melo regrets everything from that conversation onwards. The undecided executive tapped a scaley claw on the table before looking around the room and then blinking, "Fine, but the consequences of this are on you if views drop. We will start the Vahoom and the Bores on a D rate pay package, and air it outside prime time. If they exceed targets, we will review their packages as required." "You won't regret it." Melo cheered as he grabbed a data pad and started to send a message to his teams to initiate the conflict. After the declaration of war between the Vahoom and Humanity was declared, the views did not increase for a good half season; in actuality, they dropped. At first, Humanity tried to talk their way out of it, and they were confused why the network was paying them? In truth, Melo must admit the first half of the first season made for bad TV. But, after a Vahoom attack on one of their fleets, things got real interesting real quick. Humans retaliated with a lightning strike on a Vahoom resource world, using a stealth fleet to deliver their vengeance. The Bores attacked the orbiting Vahoom fleet and sent it to the high heavens. In one episode, views went from a nearly all-time low to a strong average. Next, the Humans did something so far out of scope, that Melo remembers the sickly feeling that bubbled in his second stomach, the Humans used orbital bombardment to destroy the mega factories on the planet, killing thousands of innocent workers. If the lightning strike didn't get the views, this certainly did, people were interested, people were outraged at such an act, and people were disgusted, but they couldn't look away. What would the Humans do next? Nothing seemed to be off limits to them. The Vahoom all but cried foul play. The Humans attacked a resource-producing world, killing people, destroying factories, and enforcing a blockade which is clearly against the rules; how could they replenish their third sector fleet without the world? The Humans demanded a cease-fire and reparations to be paid, which once more made for poor viewing, but the Vahoom refused; they wanted to win. After another attack on the Humans by the Vahoom, capturing a rather boring solar system with only two habited worlds, ratings once more skyrocketed, what were these humans who are obviously sick in the head going to do next? The answer is partially what now has Melo holding his tail in his hands. The Humans declared 'total war' and embarked on a path of utter destruction. The Vahoom fleet in the Human solar system was destroyed in a fantastic battle, and then the Humans went for Vahoom colony worlds, destroying their defensive fleets and landing troops to take over their authorities and plunder resources. People who resisted the Human occupations were killed or imprisoned. This war turned real nasty, real quick, with a large fraction of the viewers demanding it ended, but it brought in the views and those who wanted it to continue were louder. The executives were reluctant to cancel the show. It was bringing in significant numbers of viewers, and money was rolling in from the networks showing the show. The executives tried to ask the Humans to refrain from killing people, it is a galactic crime after all, but the Human response was cold, resulting in their new name, 'Cold'. They said the Vahoom had killed tens of thousands of their people, the Vahoom needed to surrender unconditionally or the war will continue. It was then that people realised this was no longer war but a Struggle, and the Humans had considered it a struggle from the start. For the Vahoom, who only just realised the Human viewpoint, it quickly became a struggle for survival against another race. They begged the network, and their allies for more money, and more weapons, so for good TV, the network obliged them while asking the Humans to limit their struggle to a war. Despite the pleas of the executives, the struggle did not end, so the show continued, pulling in record views and earning a spot on prime time. The war, the struggle, was described as 'The most authentic season yet' by some. However, many conspiracy theorists refused to believe the struggle was real, and thought it was all a part of the show. The footage from Vahoom worlds? Faked to increase the authenticity. The death reports? Those who 'died' never existed. The struggle heated up by the day, with deaths quickly coming in horrific numbers after the Vahoom launched a successful strike on a large Human dockyard, resulting in the events of today. Melo sighs as he looks at the monitor screening this evening's show. The Humans dropped a weapon of horrific proportions onto the Vahoom's sixteenth most populated world, and killed upwards of 90 million Vahoom. They are now promising to drop the next weapon on the Vahoom homeworld unless they unconditionally surrender. The Humans had dropped a biological weapon. Melo considers what went wrong for some time. This was supposed to be the clash of war vessels and dancing of fleets as they manoeuvre in attempts to one up another. Deaths were supposed to be minimal to nonexistent, and now millions are dead. Worst of all? Worst of all the Network wants a second season. ​ /..../ ​ Not my best work but had fun writing it. Ta.

Lately you’ve been dabbling in necromancy, and you really were intending to become the first goodnatured necromancer in history, but your necromancy projects all seem to go in the opposite direction for some reason.

My room was colder than usual. Not the sort of natural cold that creeps in with changes in the air, but rather a fast moving, devious cold that signals something amiss. It felt like this was becoming a more common theme with my work. More often I felt as if something was wrong before it was. Premonition, I had chalked it up to, but maybe I just learned to know myself too well. A chill crept down my spine, whether from the aforementioned cold or the "science project" on the table before me I couldn't be quite sure. It writhed in an odd way, the severed hand on the floating stone table before me. Not floating literally, that was somewhere beyond my power, but chained up from the ceiling so it lacked any grounded support, just thought I'd clarify. The hand lurched once more, this time the muscles twitching it back to life. I had intended to grow it back to working order; to be reattached to some poor soul who had lost it doing some magics of his own, though I was becoming less optimistic by the second. As if it'd heard my thoughts the hand jumped from its placement. It bounded around in a violent show of muscle epilepsy as I watched on in silence, taking mental notes. As I'd feared. From the wrist a series of wirey veins sprouted out followed by the beginning of new bone growth. The veins twisted and pulled, forming the framing of an entirely new arm. Slowly I backed away and grabbed my necromancy club from the wall behind me (a normal club with a particularly heavy head). This was the third time this week it'd prove useful, evidence by the dents punched into the side of the wood. By now the arm was fully formed, continuing its seizure fit as it grew. I had to kill it before it became fully formed. That would constitute as murder...I think, or at least a crime against humanity. With a heavy hand I brought the club down onto the table with a loud *thwack* followed by a series of awful sounding chain noises as the table saw its opportunity to glide across the room, carried by its binds. The arm continued its defiant growth on the now swinging table. "Fuck off!" I yelled in its general direction. It did not listen. A pectoral formed off of the shoulder. The stone table swung to the far wall. "You stop that right now mister! There can't be two of you, thats got to break some sort of necromancy rule!" I bluffed. Necromancy had no rules. But then the thought struck me of all the trouble I would have to go through with a newly birthed, yet fully grown human spawning in my sanctum. What would he do? I barely even knew the man that the hand originally belonged to on account of my quick borrowing of it. I owed this man a hand. And I indeed did have a hand. A growing, forming hand that desperately needed a body. Genius struck. In full sprint I grabbed the hunk of growing flesh from the table as it writhed around in defiance. "Table! Hold down the fort, I will return shortly!" It replied with a series of clanking chain noises. Good. It knew what to do. Then I ran through the building, past the series of doors that constituted my complex, all the while fighting with a hunk of growing flesh that had grown to a nearly complete torso. One hand swung out at me, to which I ducked mid sprint. "Stop that! I am only- trying to- help!" It began an attempt to crawl up my body in a sort of awkward hug. The neck had begun growing. *107...108...110* Yes! The room I had gotten the hand from. I heard his cries from down the hall and luckily had been the first to respond, then quickly realized my lack of medical knowledge and instead opted for the hand. With a firm kick the door shot inward, slamming to the wall behind it. Inside the man from before sat clutching his nubbed arm and desperately flipping through a book of magics with his nose. "What the hell! No not you again! Wait...what is that? What is that!" the handless man fell back from his seat with wide eyes, staring at, well, himself. No time to explain! Well, actually, we do have a moment if you'd like to hear...no no! We must get this done now! I slammed the torso to the table and withdrew my necromancers knife (a regular knife). It fought hard, growing in all directions now and forming too fast to keep up with. It was now or never. With a well timed chop I lopped the hand from its body, which crinkled into a shriveled mess. Once again I was left with a writing hand. "Here! Put this on man who's name I never learned!" He looked to me with a horrified gaze, but surprisingly complied, taking the hand and placing it onto his nub. In a matter of seconds it had grown attached and only looked a little out of place, a success all things considered. "Wow. Ok so that actually worked. Im genuinely impressed." he flexed his hand a few times. But I was already on my way out the door to celebrate. The first patient of many. Hopefully the next one would go just as smoothly.

Aliens abduct a random group of humans. Instead of experimenting, the aliens take them to their intergalactic resort. It’s opening day, and the aliens hope that the reactions from the humans serve as a sign of support for their business.

It was a brilliant pitch, the alien thought. Open a resort and then abduct a group of a... simpler species. Introduce them to the resort; watch as they are beyond amazed by its beauty and luxury; use it as marketing. *The Best resort in the Galaxy* has a good ring to it. Everything was going well, the investors were nice and happy, until one of the humans decided to speak. "This sucks." Everyone's translators whirred for a bit as the human's words were processed and the air in the room changed from one of carefree exuberance to one of worry and confusion. "Wait," said the alien who had orchestrated the event, "what- what do you mean?" "This thing blows. Thought it was supposed to be, like... fun," the human complained. "This is the most advanced resort in the galaxy. It is designed to be fun in every single way. How could you-" "I can't even take a swim in the pool," another human, a small child, cried out. "The-" the alien looked at where the child was staring. It was a decorative tank filled with dihydrogen monoxide and various flora to provide a pleasant atmosphere. "Small human, you're..." he said and checked a small tablet, "8 earth years old. You could sink into the water and die!" "I can swim, *duh*," the girl rolled her eyes. "The risk is- *and now what?*" the alien said as another human raised his hand. "Can we race in those?" the man said and pointed towards two nearby grav-bikes. "Race?" "You know, drive them and see who's faster." The alien contemplated. "That sounds immensely dangerous. The speed limiters on the bikes are there for a reason." The humans collectively groaned. "Do you at least have any booze?" a woman in the back asked. "Booze?" the alien was unsure about the phrase as it wasn't in the translator. "You know, alcohol. For drinks." The alien quickly looked it up on his tablet. Chemical composition, look, state... effects on the physiology? "This is literally poison to you. *You drink it?*" The humans all looked at one another. "Well, yeah." The alien, on the other hand, was less than impressed. "***What is wrong with you people?!***"

A manipulative cult leader is surprised to find out that everything they made up is completely accurate.

Mark Wallace, better known as Master Wu, found that people tended to trust him, which, admittedly, wasn’t something he could recommend. Mark had convinced several hundred people in his life—neighbors, landlords, coworkers, etc.—that he was a Chinese martial artist who had immigrated to Atlanta following the Tiananmen Square massacre and opened a martial arts academy. It was true that his mom had immigrated, but from Vietnam, not China. She was Catholic. He parents fled with the fall of Saigon, carrying her and his aunts with them. They spent some time in refugee camps until a Catholic charity sponsored them to come to the U.S. where she went to a Catholic college and married a nice, Catholic man. Daniel Wallace had intended for his son to be a priest, but things happen. The Master Wu thing started in college. Mark got into Emory. It was a new place, new people, and he thought it would be funny if he pretended to be this weird, mystical kung-fu guy from China (he’d never been to Asia but he didn’t think that his classmates had either) who said wise stuff and then, one day, he would spring it on them that he actually just talked, and for all intents and purposes, culturally was, like a white kid from the suburbs. The problem was Helen. Helen Zhao was in Mark’s Physics 101 class. He was scared, and kind of embarrassed, to introduce himself as Master Wu, but one of the guys from his hall was in the class, and he couldn’t not introduce himself as the Chinese mystic or else he’d out himself, so that’s exactly what he did. She giggled and asked him something in Chinese. Mark panicked. He didn’t know any Chinese. He spat out something in Vietnamese. Helen’s eyes went wide, panicked, and she said, in English, “Ah, I’m sorry, I only know how to say that. My mom is Cantonese but I don’t speak any.” Master Wu was everything Helen wanted. He knew calligraphy and had his own, very wild and unpredictable, style. He spoke fluent Chinese, but only a very strange dialect of Cantonese with a thick accent. He was from a very secretive order of Buddhist monks who lived high in the mountains of Southeastern China, close to the Vietnam border, but his religious upbringing was so secret he couldn’t give any details. He never demonstrated his techniques. It would sully them. Mark wanted to tell her the truth, but he just couldn’t find a way. It got more complicated when they started sleeping together. He had to start buying books in Chinese to put on his shelf. He had to start learning little rituals that Buddhist monks were supposed to do in the morning, so she might wake up and see him being religious. He had to cleanse his area, meditate, and whatnot. He didn’t believe it, but he did it for her. One night, when Mark was trying to study for the Physics final, Helen began to cry. Mark was at her side at once. She was lying in his bed, curled up and clutching at her stomach, her eyes in tears. He asked her what was wrong. She gasped, wincing, that it was her period. The cramps had always been incredibly long and painful, lasting almost five days. Her bleeding was heavy. Worryingly so. “Don’t worry. This is normal for me,” she said, tearfully. Mark gaped in horror. He wanted to do something. Anything. Men always do when they see a problem they can’t solve. He said he would try something. Without knowing what he was doing, he started making tai-chi-looking moves over Helen’s stomach. She gasped. He closed his eyes and focused on an image that came to his mind of a roiling sea with white capped waves and crashes of lighting. He imagined the sea soothing, the storm dissipating, and gently returning to calm. “Lao Wu,” Helen said, “What did you do?” He opened his eyes. She was lying calmly in the bed, her eyes wide. He asked her if she was ok. She shook her head, but said that the craps were far less severe. She reached around his neck and hugged him close to her. He blinked, confused. So then Master Wu became known as the guy who could help period cramps, and pretty soon all sorts of minor ailments. A lot of people came to him while he was in college, mostly women. They kept asking him for advice. The med students hated him, until some of them secretly came to him for help, and then they started coming to him all the time. He taught martial arts to them, but he had to teach himself before the lessons, as each new student meant another person who might recognize what a fraud he was. When he graduated, he was the center of a large network of people who swore on their good names and their mothers’ graves that his work was real. Mark filed the paperwork to establish a martial arts studio and legally changed his name to Kongzi Wu, much to his parents’ dismay. He didn’t want to marry Helen, much as she wanted him to. There were too many other women he knew who wanted him just as much. But he felt bad saying no to her, just like he felt bad saying no to them, and she wanted him so badly, she thought, that she was willing to look the other way with the others when they came in for their “spiritual healings.” He wrote a book. He met the mayor of Atlanta. He healed celebrities and sports stars, rappers and businessmen. Gangsters and academics. They believed. They stayed in his circle, followed his advice, did his rituals and called him master. They gave him whatever he asked for his services. Their money. Their bodies. Their power. And then one day he was murdered. Helen was arrested. Police said that she had gone crazy from living in cognitive dissonance for so long. Helen told them that the man who she married was not the man who was healing people and sleeping with their wives and daughters. She said literally there was another man who had crept out of the closet once, long ago when she was lying awake in his dorm room, and put on his skin. She said this was the truth. And no one believed her.

Quitting your corporate life, you've set to become a digital nomad and visit all 195 countries. 194 countries later, you've come to a profound realization.

“It’s… not real.” There I sat, Looking at the map. I was on a quest to go to every single country, and i was almost done. My final destination, Brazil. “It just doesn’t exist?! Wh- What!? This is bullshit!” I was *pissed*. I was robbed of the one thing I had left. I spent multiple years on this, and I end up unable to finish my quest because of a made-up fucking country. At least I thought. But a stranger walked up to me with a offer. “I can take you to Brazil… if that’s what you want.” That’s all they had to say, I was in. I didn’t care the consequences now, I was too far in. At least I though, until a hole in the ground sucked me in, and sent me to Brazil. One thing you should know about Brazil… is it’s a one way trip.

What do you mean? taking candy from a baby, makes me look like a villain, babies should NOT eat candy!

“It’s okay for a baby to have a piece of candy once in a while,” my friend said. I looked at him in disbelief. “Have you seen how much sugar the average candy bars have?” “About twelve grams of sugar right?” “No. Twenty four.” “Okay. Twenty four grams of sugar won’t kill a baby still.” “Have you seen the obesity rate in America. It’s horrid. Babies are supposed to have milk, fruit, and most importantly water.” “Don’t bring up that subreddit again.” “Hydro Homies is a lifestyle. It’s important to teach them young to drink water.” “Oh come on. You can’t be serious.” “A baby is supposed to have several glasses of water a day.” “Okay. I can agree with that but we need to go back to the candy part.” “Babies nowadays are too unhealthy. Have you seen the supermarket aisle full of baby products?” “No.” Before my friend knew it, he was standing in front of many colorful products in front of him. We didn’t talk in the whole car ride together. “Look at this,” I pulled a product out for him, “look at the amount of sugar in this.” His eyes begin to widen, “seventy two?!” I pull a coke bottle and show him the label. “There’s the same amount of sugar in this bottle here,” he said. “Exactly.” “Why do these companies exploit moms?” “Ask Nestle.” My friend glances down at the bottle of coke and the packages. Nestle. He runs towards the bread aisle. Even whole wheat bread was sold by Nestle. The amount of sugar in a single slice? Seventy two grams. He spends thirty minutes trying to find one product with an inch of healthiness in it. None. He pulls out his phone and googles the supermarket’s owner. Nestle.

Your walking down the aisle but you don’t see your groom but instead his twin brother. When you reach at the end of the aisle the twin tells you a terrifying secret.

*At last….My love has come along….* The dulcet tones of Etta James echoed through the church’s chambers. Sarah, the bride, took one last deep breath and turned to look at her father whose arm was locked with hers as they stood in front of the sanctuary doors. “You ready?” Sarah asked her father with a smile. He seemed to cock his head slightly as if in confusion before answering. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He asked. Sarah chuckled, thinking he was joking, but he turned his head back forward towards the sanctuary doors. Odd…maybe he was just nervous. *You smiled…you smiled…Oh, and then the spell was cast…* The song flooded out of the sanctuary as the doors opened and the bride and her father were revealed to the crowd. They rose to their feet and clapped as the two made their way down the aisle. As they got closer to the pulpit, Sarah’s eyes widened in surprise. That wasn’t her husband-to-be standing next to the preacher…it was his twin brother, Lucas! *‘What the fuck?’* Sarah mouthed as they got closer. What kind of bullshit were they pulling? On the most important day of her life no less! And why wasn’t anyone else calling him out on it? Lucas didn’t look like he was attempting to pull some sort of prank though. In fact, his face was rather pale and he seemed…scared? When the father/daughter duo finally made it to the pulpit, Sarah let go of her dad’s arm and joined her groom, or her groom’s twin rather. To her surprise, her dad didn’t seem to notice that this wasn’t Tyler, her actual groom; despite the fact that he’d spent considerable amounts of time with both. She also noticed that her father hadn’t shed a tear while they were walking down the aisle and maintained a straight face as he shook Lucas’ hand before returning to his seat. Her dad was a big cryer, so she figured he’d be leaking; but maybe he was just really that nervous. “What *the hell* are you doing?” Sarah asked Lucas under her breath. “*Where* is Tyler?” “Can’t explain it all now, but there’s some weird shit going on. Just go with the flow,” Lucas whispered. Sarah was livid, but kept to a whisper, “Go with the flow!?! This is *my wedding!* What the fuck is going on?” Lucas took Sarah’s hands in his and turned her to face him. It was odd for her, looking at the man who had all the features of her husband-to-be but was clearly not him. But she could see the mix of fear and desperation in his eyes. Lucas pulled her close and whispered in her ear, “No one is who you think they are. Whatever they are, they think I’m one of them. Just finish the wedding and when we get a moment in private I’ll explain.” Sarah was terrified, what the fuck was he on about? She could see in his eyes he meant what he said though, so she nodded as the preacher began the ceremony. The ceremony proceeded as normal, the two exchanged vows and when it came to the kiss she looked up at Lucas. Her eyes pleaded one more time for him to admit this was all a joke. Unfortunately for her, Lucas’ demeanor never changed. He did feel sorry for her though. This was her big day and she couldn’t even kiss the man she loved. But it had to be done. “I’m sorry,” Lucas whispered against her lips before the two kissed, the sound of applause roaring in the background. Their walkout song played as Lucas took her hand and the two walked back down the aisle, waving to their family and friends. Once they were back out in the hallway, they were stopped by Hannah, the wedding organizer and Sarah’s cousin. The two exchanged a hug before she pulled out her clipboard. “Congrats girl! Now let’s get those pictures!” “Aph, aph, aph! Remember the bride and groom get fifteen minutes of quiet time before we start the pictures,” Lucas interjected. Hannah glared, flipping through her clipboard to confirm, “Oh right…well how about we do that *after* the pictures? We wouldn’t want anything messing up the dress right?” “Hannah, this has been a really hectic and stressful day…you of all people can relate. Can’t we just get fifteen minutes? That’s nothing, I promise I won’t let him mess my dress up,” Sarah petitioned. Hannah nodded, “Fine, you’re right. Fifteen minutes! And try not to mess her hair up either Tyler!” Hannah ran off to go meet the photographer. Lucas took Sarah’s hand and led her to a back office room in the church. He checked the hallway to see if anyone had followed them before locking the door and plopping down on one of the office chairs. *“Fuck!”* he shouted. “Are you ok? Is Tyler ok? What’s going on?” Sarah asked, sitting in a chair next to him. To her surprise, Lucas began weeping. She didn’t know what to do other than to rub his back gently. She could tell that whatever secret he was holding was taking a toll on him emotionally. “Thanks Sarah, I know you’re confused as hell right now. It's just, I’ve been holding this shit in all day with no one to tell…it's been rough. I’m glad you’re ok though,” Lucas replied. “Tell me, please,” Sarah begged. “I got to the church a few hours before the wedding was supposed to start and Hannah ran up to me asking me all sorts of questions like she thinks I’m Tyler. She was frantic and acting as if Tyler had been missing for a while. I thought that was weird since me and Hannah…well, you know…*hooked up* in the past; she 100% knows me from Tyler. I brushed it off until I met up with our mom, who seemed relieved to see me as well. She scolded me for running off, again as if I was Tyler, and then said something that freaked me the fuck out. She says, with a completely straight face, ‘Don’t screw this up for us X9. Just continue the wedding as if everything is normal. We’ll get the girl after.’” Lucas explained. Sarah started shaking, *“What the fuck?!?”* Lucas nodded, “I reacted exactly the same. Not to her face though, I ran off to a bathroom where I nearly threw up. I’ve went around to just about everyone here, there’s something off with *all* of them. I think you and I are the only ones here that are normal.” Sarah couldn’t help herself as she started crying. She thought back on how her dad had been acting weird earlier and how he didn't even shed a tear while they walked down the aisle. It made a lot more sense now. Lucas just held her and the two sat like that for a brief moment before he reminded her of the time. “So…so what the hell are we supposed to do?” Sarah asked. “I don’t know. But here’s what we do know. Whatever has taken over everyone thinks that *I* am one of *them*; we can use that to our advantage. We also know that they plan to make you one of them after the wedding. And we know that they think that I’m Tyler; which means that Tyler must have escaped somehow because they were all looking for him earlier. If they had killed him they wouldn’t be looking for him,” Lucas replied. “So we need to get the hell out of here before they turn me into one of them, and then we need to find Tyler,” said Sarah. Lucas’ phone vibrated in his pocket. “Fuck,” he exhaled as he read the message. “What is it?” Sarah asked. “It's mom. I convinced her, as Tyler, that Lucas had gotten very sick and was in the hospital a couple hours before the ceremony began. I told her to hold off from seeing him until after the wedding. She just texted Lucas, er *me*, that she’s on her way to see me,” Lucas explained. “How far is the hospital from here?” Sarah asked. Lucas’ pocket vibrated again. “About thirty minutes from here. The hotel is fifteen so we’d have about ten minutes or so before she figures out I was lying if we dip now,” Lucas replied, “Holy shit!” “What now!” Sarah groaned. Lucas’ eyes were wide as a deer in headlights as he turned his phone to Sarah. It was a text from Tyler. The message was all emojis and numbers, no words. It read- head, 2, a honey pot, and the moon. The second line had a fire emoji and a phone. “Head, two, honey…moon. He’s going to our honeymoon spot!” Sarah exclaimed. “And I guess he’s burning his phone from the second line.” “What if they’ve got him and it's a trap?” Lucas asked. “If they had him then they’d know you’re not him and we’d be dead already,” Sarah replied. “True, alright then. Lets get the fuck out of here and find Tyler!”

A destined chosen one is joining the adventurers guild and on his first mission gets paired with a child of darkness destined to bring the end of the world. And they quickly become best friends

There's something sweet about friendship that bloomed out of innocence. "So you're my new partner?" "Yeah.." "Let's be best buds! I'm sure the first mission would be easy." "Alright." But innocence last until you get tainted by the hard truth. "He was not your friend, Hero. He is an enemy. He killed all the people in the adventurers guild." "He did not mean it. He told me. They were bullying him." Truth that is inescapable. "I love you. Nobody can have you." "You're willing to destroy the world because of me?" "That is love." As time passed by, the friend he had continued to spiral in the path of darkness and suffering. Hero.. are you willing to join him in his path? "I'll bring him from the darkness." I smiled. Good luck. And I hope he'll remember you. The thing is that fate cannot be changed. But who knows? If the hero try enough, I might make his wish happen. (Idk if this is good ;-;).

Awakening in a small valley, you struggled to survive for years until finding a hidden passage to a civilisation. Although you suspected you were in a fantasy world, it was shocking when your vision filled with thousands of messages and unspent points once you learned to access the System.

"Good God, I am an idiot" the sudden self realization gave me a sense of nausea. I had tried to climb out of the bowl, as I affectionately called the steep mountains that surrounded my cabin, many a time. I had fallen and gotten hurt, nearly dying just as many. I thought I was in hell, after all the only things I could remember were my previous life, living happily with my wife and daughter and dying an old man. I just figured that those years spent as a nihilistic teenager before that had blacklisted me from the pearly gates. Throwing myself into video games and shows with more seasons than the earth itself, often poorly written. And after all these years. There it was, behind the freaking waterfall. In my attempts to escape the solitude, I had once tried to find where the animals I hunted came from, I looked everywhere. Or so I thought, years of my life wasted hiding in video games and they hadn't taught me better?! I pushed my hand through, I had seen the white rabbit jump through just moments earlier, out into my little slice of damnation, my personal solitude. And I found no stone behind that flowing water. Excited I ran back to my shelter, and grabbed every ounce of food I could, as well as Pickles II, a wolf cub I had found after one of the harsh winters. Sadly I had probably been the one to kill his family, I often had to fight wolves in the winter months, but he was my family now, one of the only joys I had received in the near fifty years of my isolation. He followed me excitedly, nipping at the rabbit jerky I had made about two weeks ago, normally I would have scolded him for it, but not this time. We were off on an adventure. I picked Pickles II up and held him as I stepped through, into a long hall with torches, long since extinguished lining the walls. I set my friend down, and sat myself next to him, crying in joy. Torches, torches could only mean one thing, there was civilization, I wasn't alone anymore, there were people I could find, I could talk to. The joy was like a fire in my chest and coursing through my veins. The only time I had felt like this before, was on my wedding day, when I had married Sarah, and finally felt whole. I sat for a long while, overwhelmed by joy, but at last I stood up. Waking Pickles, who had fallen asleep on my lap, we began to walk. Following the torches on the left, as I always did whenever coming to a fork in the road, I eventually came to a small pack of what appeared to be skeletons. That was the first time I saw it, a big yellow box flashing opaquly in my face. It read, "movement, press jump to jump." "Little late for a tutorial dontcha think?" I said quietly, before jumping. I could have sworn I saw the thing turn red and read "smartass." But I was probably imagining things. "To walk forward, walk forward." "Smart-ass yourself, ya cocky computer." The screen definitely turned red this time and instead of showing anymore instructions read, "why don't you get through those skeletons then dummy." "Fine." I walked up to the first skeleton, the one with a rusted metal sword and a bit of armor. It turned around suddenly rattling like my daughters toddler toys had when she was two or three. With thoughts of her little face waddling around the house playing with her toys I wrested the sword from its hands, or more specifically, I wrested its hands from its arms and the sword came as a package deal. A yellow screen popped up on my peripheral reading "nice move gramps, what took you so long?" "I had a heck of a time finding my way outta your bowl." "Bowl?" "Bowl!" I said rather annoyed as I was currently trying to fight and hold a conversation "The starting area was developed to bring individuals in to the afterlife comfortably, a nice springtime serenade by the bardic birds, a few white rabbits maybe a deer every once in a while." "And who put the tutorial to the afterlife behind a WATERFALL!" "Oh come on, a gamer like you!" The red tinged box said "who doesn't need a tutorial, didn't think in 50 years to check behind the waterfall?" "Yes!" I screamed lying in my back as another skeleton held a broken pole arm above me forcing me to stay down. "It is terrible level design to out a secret entrance before the tutorial! Noobs are never going to find it!" "Alright buddy," the sign read, as I stood up after having finally killed the last skeleton, "let's see you open the menu then." "What?" "If you're such a "pro" gamer, let's see you open that menu without me." "Fine." I said thinking this would be the same as the skeletons. I tried everything I could. Thinking about it really hard, looking throughout my peripheral for something to focus on, heck I even began taking off my shirt to look for tattos or something before the menu screen turned pink and read, "it's not there!" Finally, I started walking forward my pride bruised andy heart quite sullen for it. "You couldn't figure it out huh?" The message board was yellow again I didn't say anything to it. It wasn't even a person. I was going to find a real person, and hopefully one that was slightly less annoying. It was red, "well fine then, see if I ever tell you." We walked in the bitter silence that only comes when two people bruise eachothers pride, until at last we saw the exit. Bright twilight shone from the distant mountains and towards our little cave. And down the hill, a town

The demon knows all your insecurities and won't hesitate to prey on them. But instead of resorting to typical horror tropes, you just start venting to the demon like it's your therapist.

The blank eyed girl stared at me from across the kitchen in her stained bloodied dress and flashed an unnatural grin. I sighed. The demon was getting petty now, throwing in the fact that me letting the ball slip on a few dates was because I was intimidated by intimacy. “Yeah, yeah I get it I’ve been a little more nervous around women recently, but you look like a horror cliche,” I said. “Don’t you have any other personifications of my fears you can throw at me?” “Jeez man, you don’t have to be rude,” said the Demon. “I’ll make it hard for you this time.” The Demon snapped its fingers and I found my body contorted in a small box that no human could normally slip into it. My claustrophobia would’ve normally kicked in, but when you’ve been cursed with a Demon for over a month you get tired of being scared. “Oh wow, you’re putting me in this tight box because I feel like I’m stuck in a rut in life. You know, maybe I wouldn’t feel stuck in a rut if I didn’t always feel like I had to be a version of myself my parents and others wanted instead of what I want for myself,” I said. The Demon, back in regular beast form, snapped its fingers and I found myself at the bottom of a lake chained to an anchor. A key began floating up, but I knew it was a trick; it was just out of reach and kept floating up. “Nice try, but keys don’t float, and also you only show me hallucinations so I know I’m not really drowning. Also, I know if I were to grab for the key, I’d fail and it’d be this whole metaphor for how I feel like I’m a failure. You know, I thought you were annoying but honestly you’ve been helping me work through a lot of this stuff,” I said. “Helping,” said the Demon. “I’m supposed to torment people, not help them. Maybe I am a failure of a Demon,” said the Demon. “Nonono!” I said suddenly. “You’ve been doing a great job. Here, why don’t we sit down and have a talk.” The Demon sighed and the water scenario disappeared. We were back on my couch and the Demon looked down glumly. I sure wasn’t a licensed therapist, but I was going to try to at least be someone to listen to the Demon’s problems.

You are accidentally sent back in time to the caveman era without any tools or technology, and the only way you can convince the ancient humans not to harm you is with your incredible talents as a chef

Getting transported to another time period made me feel like those isekai protagonists bringing modern technology to an ancient world. Though except for inadvertently disrupting natural scientific progression and possible creating untold negative cascades a la butterfly effect, I memorized lottery numbers. That was a useless investment of my time. At least I can cook spaghetti. "OO ahh OO ahh ahh." "No meatballs, yes, I get it." I fished a rat from the pot. "No meatballs." I nodded to the caveman, and he beamed. The caveman leader, a sapian who goes by something profound I'm sure, hasn't taken his eyes off me. I eye him back. He's not bad, definitely goes to the gym. "It's been a while since I've tasted my mom's spaghetti," he says, in perfect English. I stop. ... *What..?*

You are a high ranking commander within a consortium of alien races that have banded together to fight an entity only known as "the horror beyond the stars." You have recently discovered Earth and have been ordered to get the primitive humans battle ready by any means necessary.

"Primitives," Logos sighed as he helped his team unload tech printers from the arriving ships. "Excuse me," a human said. Humans were a hairless bipedal species that wore a mixture of synthetic and naturally occurring fibers in a mix of protective layers over it's naked body. Logos examined him carefully as he approached. "Yes, human?" Logos asked, stopping the antigrav cart he was pushing from moving any further so as to not injure the human. That would cause troubles. Hurting the local species always did. With the thousands of ships that had landed over the last couple of weeks this type of scene was being replayed across this world. "I was wondering about this "horror beyond the stars"?" the human stated then asked, "What is it?" "We do not know," Logos answered, "It was trapped somewhere in the great dark. We now fight the remnants of its worshippers across this galaxy and others. These printers are designed to create quantum computer pads that will explain all the technological achievements of all the races that form the Guard. Humans have a lot of catching up to do before they can join the fight and these will provide the basis for constructing your own printers. We are uplifting you as quickly as possible as we need all the soldiers we can get." "And you're just giving us all of this, no catches? Technology and weapons beyond our wildest dreams? Three different FTL technologies, if I recall correctly?" the human's voice was translated with the suspicion still intact. "Yes," Logos stated, "There are three million species who also have access to this technology. The rule is share. There is no hoarding in the guard. As a warning, every so often one of these newly enrolled species will use the tech upgrades to try and subdue other species of the Guard. This never works. Never." "Why?" the human asked curiously. "Three million species against one?" Logos raised an eyebrow, "Surely you can see the consequences. Numbers is the great equalizer in this equation." "This may seem a strange request, but can you print me a written language translator? I am a professor of ancient languages and this would help me in my studies." the human stated and it was such a strange, yet harmless request, that Logos inputted the request into the printer and a minute later the machine's nanobodies had printed one. He handed it to the human. "Thank you, this will help in my work tremendously. Welcome to Earth" the man seemed satisfied. He walked away, getting into one of their air vehicles and flew off over one of the planet's liquid water seas. Logos sighed and went back to work. ------- Professor Armitage stepped out of the vehicle and entered the cave. He slipped into his robes at the entrance and walked down past the glowing runes covering the walls. It was written in a language that had passed into obscurity in the dark eons before. He pointed the translation device at the runes and read the translation, "Here lies the key to the Great City of Ry'leh, may he who turns the key release the Great One from his sleep unto the stars..." "Well now," the Professor's smile shone in the darkness of the cave as he read the ritual required to "turn the key" and smiled at the group of fellow cultists gathered there, "Lets get started, shall we?"

The Heroes politely knocked on the door of the Dark Lord. There was a side quest over in the nearby forest and they were rather lost.

The aroma of fresh brewed coffee filled the kitchen as the Dark Lord Aglod the Unyielding went about his breakfast routine. He flipped a large dragon egg omelette before making his way over to turn off the coffee pot. As he was adding a bit of paprika to his omelette, his ears perked up at the sound of…footsteps approaching the entrance to his castle. “Did I order a parcel?” Aglod scratched his head trying to remember. He didn’t believe he had, so why was someone…no multiple someones, approaching Castle NightSkull? The Dark Lord had enhanced hearing, so he continued to listen in as he stirred creamer into his large coffee mug. “This is a bad idea man, we’re nowhere near the level we need to be to fight the Dark Lord Aglod yet!” A young male exclaimed. Aglod could hear arrows shaking in a quiver on his back as he talked, must be the archer then. “I agree with Tanlin,” a young female chimed in, “I know we’re in a bit of a bind, but the Dark Lord? Surely he’ll smite us on sight!” Glass bottles filled with unknown liquid clanked about around her waist. She’d be the mage or healer, if he had to guess. “Hmph, I’d like to see him try to smite me!” Aglod chuckled, that’d be the loveable orc barbarian of the party. “Relax guys, just let me do the talking,” a confident sounding woman interjected, “I’ve got the highest speech and charisma, plus I’ve got a feminine wiles ability that boosts those stats even more.” Aglod pegged her as the leader. She had guts, no doubt. A four man party? Interesting. Aglod made sure his henchman kept him up to date on the various goings on in the kingdom; so he was aware of the higher level parties. And none of them were in this area to his knowledge. It had been a while since Aglod had some action, at the very least he could scare these guys straight and send them off for a good laugh. He took a large bite of his omelette and made his way to the castle entrance. By now, the group had reached the large castle doors and their leader knocked confidently. The doors opened slowly and the party was met with a cloud of black smoke that towered several feet above them. At the top of the dark cloud, two red eyes shone through the smoke. “Who dares disturb the lair of Aglod the Unyielding?!?” Aglod bellowed from within the dark cloud. He smiled to himself, he hadn’t got to use that line in ages. “Oh no, I told you this was a bad idea,” the mage cried as she jumped behind her orc friend. “We are the Vagabonds!” the party leader shouted. “And…well, we’re in a bit of a bind and could use your help. Oh great and mighty Aglod!” Help? That was…unexpected. Aglod blew the smoke away and shrunk himself down to a more appropriate size to speak with these mortals. He now stood at just 10 feet tall, a couple feet taller than the orc in the party. “Who are you and what are your levels?” Aglod inquired curiously. “Tanlin, our archer, is level twelve. Silya, our mage, level eleven. Our Orc Barbarian Tomas is level fourteen and I am Chella, the leader of the Vagabonds…level sixteen,” Chella introduced the group. Aglod couldn’t help but laugh hysterically, much to the chagrin of Chella, though the rest of the party seemed a bit relieved. “I’m terribly sorry,” Aglod wiped a tear from his eye, “This might be the funniest shit I’ve encountered in the past decade at least.” “What’s so funny?” Challa retorted. “You do know my level, correct?” Aglod asked. The group stared at him blankly. “Holy shit, *you don’t?* I am level *300*. This entire area is recommended for levels 200 and above only. How the fuck did you all even make it through the Forever Forest to get here in the first place?” “Funny story actually. Silya bought a book of spells from a dude I told her looked shady as hell. Turns out one of the spells that was labeled as an infinite money glitch was actually a random teleportation spell,” Tomas explained. “How was I supposed to know he was some sort of trickster?” Silya cried. “Tomas is an orc barbarian and even he could tell the guy was no good,” Tanlin replied, “No offense Tomas.” “Jesus christ, you all are going to die out here,” Aglod sighed, “Tell you what, I’ll escort you through the Forever Forest to the town of Tarmsworth. There’s an inn, an alehouse and a merchant shop there. Everything you need in this life.” “You’d do that for us?” Tanlin asked in disbelief. “I might be a Dark Lord, but even I have principles. Also its no fun to crush low levels like you. The denizens of the Forever Forest, however, do not care. They will devour you on sight,” Aglod explained. “I totally charmed him,” Challa whispered to her compatriots. Aglod rolled his eyes. “Let's go before I change my mind.”

You are Satan. A fanperson of yours dies and goes to Hell. No matter what torments you put them through, they love it, and you, because you are the subject of their fandom. You are running out of ideas.

Contrary to popular belief, Satan wasn’t very exposed to humanity. Think of it like how the green crown of a tall, billowing oak tree never sees its own deep-seated roots. But for Mabel, death was just another step in getting to Satan. Tall, red, and generally regarded as the embodiment of temptation, the Devil still did not expect the unequivocal outpouring of support from the human woman. “Oh my gosh, Satan,” Mabel gushed so much that it threatened to put out the fires of Hell. “I am such a big fan. Mabel had been just another new human, destined to spend the rest of eternity for being punished for her sins. But even though her human crimes were relatively minor—like spending too much time on the internet—she was quickly fast-tracked into more savage punishments… because she enjoyed them too much. When even the ▇▇▇▇▇▇ was deemed to be far too amusing for her, Mabel was granted a personal audience with Satan. The girl had a wide, toothy grin on her flushed face, and shook uncontrollably at the sight of the devil himself. “Pathetic,” Satan said, in a voice so booming that it should shatter hearts as easily as eardrums. “Gosh, I’ve never been so flattered,” Mabel blushed, turning her away for a brief, coy moment. “You are a trickster and charlatan,” Satan said, a large hand swiftly shooting out and gripping Mabel’s throat tightly. “I know not how you have gone through these punishments. But rest assured, I will wipe that smile off your face.” “My oh my,” Mabel moaned. “Yes. Yes.” Satan tightened his grip. “God, yes,” Mabel cried. At the mention of Him, Satan quickly unhanded the woman, pointing an accusatory finger at the human woman. “An emissary of heaven! You are here to make a mockery of my realm?” “No, please,” the woman said. “I’m just such a big fan, really. I never thought I would be touched by you tha—that way…” Satan observed the human woman in front of him, whose hungry eyes scanned over every bit of himself. And though he lacked clothes, for that was not typically an option in Hell’s immense heat, he never felt more naked before. “You… what?” Satan whispered. “Actually, how are you not burning up from my touch?” “Oh, I’m burning up alright.” “You do not look to be bursting into flames, so I beg to differ,” the devil said. “Imp.” A flying creature about the size of the devil’s head hovered nearby, and promptly flew and perched on Satan’s shoulders. “Master.” “You’ve watched, haven’t you? You are the one who brought this woman to my attention.” “Yes, master,” the imp chittered excitedly, crooked teeth banging against each other with every word. “I was, frankly, impressed. The percentage of humans who come into Hell with a smile are already few, but she was positively delighted to be here. And the ▇▇▇▇▇▇? My badness, I don’t think even Asmodeus’s trial was more—” “Enough chatter,” Satan said. “No wings? No divine accessories?” “None at all, master. Just good old human bits that we tore out a few times and put back to make sure.” “Fine,” Satan said, with a dismissing wave of his hand. He turned towards Mabel again, judging her from head to toe. She was human. But Satan knew intimately that you could find bad in a supposedly good race. He supposed that the reverse could be true. “You are still a pitiful, miserable worm, but an impressive specimen of your wretched species,” the Devil said. “Yes, yes I am,” Mabel panted, her glazed eyes telling of her imminent heat exhaustion. “I shall personally punish you, then,” Satan said. “For the deplorable crime of daring to waste my time.” “Yes, yes!” “Hmm,” Satan smirked. “I think I like you.” Mabel’s face switched faster than an imminent storm. Immediately, the woman reared back, hissing at Satan’s words. “What? What did you say?” Mabel spat, saliva immediately evaporating on the hot brimstone. “Like? Like me? That’s horrific, disgusting, and utterly out of line.” The human woman screamed, and started trashing about in her restraints. “Why,” she sobbed. “Why must you do this to me? How can you do this to me?” Satan furrowed a confused brow. “What in the hell?” --- r/dexdrafts

An elderly woman whose husband just died is so lonely that she befriends not one, not two, but seven demons who regularly come to see her, who are actually the seven stages of grief.

The old lady passed away peacefully in her sleep on Tuesday night. Natural causes, the doctor said after a cursory examination. It was simply her time at ninety, he told me while packing his tools away as I watched her lay unmoving in bed. Getting her affairs into order wasn't too hard. Granny Shannon, as I'd affectionately called her often, had been all too cognizant of her own looming deadline. A few phone calls here and there, informing her family, and the funeral was quickly scheduled for the Sunday after. It was clear from the start that they didn't really want to be there. The sheer speed at which the adults who flew in tried to wrap it matters made it obvious that they had better places to be, if the way one or another of them was constantly fielding inportant-sounding business calls wasn't enough of a clue. In any case, things happened, and so here I was watching as David, Granny's eldest son, recited some obviously rehearsed and all too insincere words about how much all her children would miss her. "Lies." There's a flash of lightning and crackle of thunder, and a young woman with long jet-black hair fades into view beside me. She's kicking her legs back against the seat, the noise echoing throughout the hall, but no one tells her to stop. "If he really missed her, he'd have come to visit sometime. Or even called her more than once a year at Christmas." "Quit that racket." A second flash, and a second young woman appears on my other side. Unlike the first, this woman is primly seated back in her seat, arms tucked neatly on her lap. "Do you want Lady Shannon to scold you when she wakes up?" I sigh inwardly. I'd been so caught up with the logistics of Granny's passing that I'd completely forgotten to tell the Sisters about it, but trust them to show up unannounced anyway. "See?" A warm weight on my back, arms wrapping around my shoulders, and I know the third Sister has made her appearance. "You made Lucifer cry. Granny Shannon will never wake up if you don't behave yourself." True enough, there's a teenager sprawled across the coffin where no one was a second ago. She's sobbing - quiet, heaved sobs interspersed with garbled calls for Granny. I'm just glad the other guests can't see the Sisters, or who knows how much chaos would be unfolding right about now. "Enough, Satan," I say as the first young woman opens her mouth to retort. "Granny wouldn't want you to fight over her." "Mm." That's the voice of yet another Sister, somewhere out of my peripheral vision. "Granny was the one who summoned us in the first place, after all." It's a story I've heard before, back when I first met Granny. Our friendship was an unlikely one, a neglected kid and an old lady they called a witch, but I was just glad for someone to talk to as I sat down for tea at her house. Only she set out three teacups, and I looked at her in surprise. "Oh, one of my friends is joining us today," Granny explained, already pouring me a cup. "She's a bit of a hothead, but I think you'll get along just fine." I nodded, but as time passed and no one rang the doorbell, began to silently wonder if Granny was pulling my leg. "The tea's getting cold," I finally said. "Um, is your friend not coming?" "Oh, she's already here," Granny replied merrily. "She's on that chair sipping her tea right now. Can't you see her?" No matter how much I blinked and rubbed my eyes, the chair in question remained stubbornly empty. "There's—" I began to protest, but Granny cuts me off with a finger to her lips. "Keep trying," she said, and I shook my head and tried my hardest to imagine that was really someone in the room with us. And then it happened — a feeling like glass shattering, or the wavering of the heat haze on a summer day, and suddenly I could see her. I could see the young woman with jet-black hair who was leaning forward on the chair, chin in one hand and teacup in the other. "Finally!" she exclaimed with an eye roll. "And here I was thinking that Granny was the only one with any sort of magical talent around here." "This is Satan," Granny began, as I tried not to stare at the young woman. "She's a demon I befriended sometime after my husband died." "Nice to meet you," I said cautiously. So the rumors of Granny being a witch weren't entirely unfounded, it seemed. Satan only hmph-ed and stuffed another cookie into her mouth. That was how I met the first of the Seven Sisters. As I understood it, Granny Shannon really was a witch, and the Sisters were demons she'd summoned to serve as her attendants now that her husband had gone on ahead. Most people couldn't see them, and it was only the rare human like me who were willing to truly open our eyes, or so they explained. At first it was three, then sometimes five, occasionally seven, and very rarely nine. One or two of the Sisters would often drop in while I was over at Granny's place, where I spent almost as much time at as my own home. I don't remember when the Sisters slowly stopped coming around. But it had to be sometime after I entered high school, when I was no longer that skinny kid gorging myself on Granny's tea and cookies and had instead grown into a teenager who often borrowed Granny's kitchen to make dinner. But they had started coming around again, towards the end. Every time Granny had one of her increasingly common fits of confusion, a Sister was suddenly there, supporting Granny and calmly placating her while I scrambled to make sure there was nothing fragile within her reach. I suppose I should have known the end was near, when I entered her house two weeks ago to find all Seven Sisters chattering away in her living room for the first time in years. The funeral in the present day draws to an end. I wait awkwardly alone as David makes his way down the few guests one by one, until finally he stops in front of me. "Well... thanks for keeping my mom company in her last few years, I guess," he says, scratching his head awkwardly. "I'm glad she had you as a friend." "Nah," I reply. I don't need to turn my head to know that the Sisters are behind me, and I have a feeling they'll be hanging around for quite some time again. "I should be the one thanking her."

Modern technology has made summoning demons quite safe. Having one around can be pretty useful too—to scare birds away from crops, as part of your Halloween decorations, or even just to entertain the kids while you duck out to the shops.

In 2025, Scientists were finally able to unarguably prove the existence of the soul, and within a few years, create an artificial one. After the ASC (Artificial Soul Container) became an affordable household item, everything changed. For about $200, you could buy a soul contained inside of an ASC, and simply say "I wish to sell my soul for...", and then say your desire. Now, this wasn't magic - The summoning only brought a demon into the world who would do your bidding. You couldn't magic up a million dollars, but you could summon a demon who will start a small business and attempt to make a million dollars. Legality also still plays a part - If you get the demon to commit a crime, you're the one punished. The demons were about 3 feet high. No hair, head/torso/arms like a human, but legs like the back of a horse or goat. Skin of pure red, with 1-inch horns on either side of their head. They were not evil, not deceiving, not mischievous. That is, unless otherwise prompted to be at their creation. They were simply beings that only had the desire the fulfil their tasks. If attacked, they wouldn't attack back, and could even be killed about as easily as a human. People mainly used them to have a minion do their bidding... And by bidding, I mean mundane tasks that you would normally find boring. A maid service, a gardener, a babysitter. Demons knew how to do everything and did it forever, whenever you needed them. Of course, as long as you phrase it right. "I need a babysitter for the night", and the demon vanishes when the night is done. "I need a babysitter forever, able to be called upon whenever needed", and you've now got yourself a minion who is experienced in babysitting and will never leave your home. This quite quickly put labourers out of business, unfortunately. Why hire a plumber when you can have a demon that just sits in your closet until there's a leak? To prevent this from happening in more areas of work, a law was quickly passed, to prevent any form of business from employing the use of demons in the workplace. Of course, every few months, there'd be a news story about a different tech company being sued because one of their factories was operated entirely by demons. Lucy worked in law enforcement. Government jobs were one of the few places that demons were allowed to work, but only in cases relating to other demons. Lucy, for instance, worked specifically in the Demon Capture Department. They used demons to take in demons used for illegal purposes. Busting demons used for drug movements, robbing banks, or otherwise breaking the law. On this particular day, Lucy was out looking for a group of demons in New York City that had allegedly been asked to attack people at random. After getting a small group of demons to work as detectives, all leads pointed to them operating in an abandoned building in Brooklyn. She went out to scout the building with another small team of demons. Upon entering the building, it was quiet, though it was clear someone had been living there. It was mostly empty, but lights were still on, and a makeshift living area had been set up with a couch, microwave, and TV. The summoner of these things probably stayed here with them. Just then, they heard a door close somewhere in the building, and the tapping of many feet coming closer. The demons were back. Was their summoner with them? 10 or so demons entered the room, double the number that had been sent out with Lucy to deal with them. She called for backup as she began firing at them, but in all the chaos it was difficult to figure out which demons she was supposed to be firing at and which were with her. The demons were all attacking each other. It looks like these ones were specifically prompted to fight back if attacked, even if by another demon. One was able to sneak up behind Lucy, and attack her. She fought back, but it was no use. Demons were strong. Lucy felt her mind fading, as everything went black. Lucy awoke but couldn't see. Or hear. In fact, she didn't have a body. Is this it, the afterlife? She didn't have a body, or any senses, but was acutely aware of what was happening around her. She felt like she was simply a force of energy, though she felt herself contained within some kind of box. Forever aware, but forever helpless. She felt a voice, speaking out near her. "I wish to sell my soul for a permanent gardening service," as she felt herself sinking down.

You and your best friend have superpowers, but instead of fighting crime you put on show fights to entertain the masses. You are disliked in the hero community, but when a new villain emerges they need all the help they can get.

People will often tell you being a superhero is one of the hardest jobs in the world. They're correct. The responsibility, weight of all the lives on you, terrible pay, and the public turning on you every time a shapeshifter robs a bank in your form can crush a man. That's why my best friend, Thomas and I don't do it. Don't get me wrong, we could do it very easily. I have spatial manipulation and Thomas has time manipulation. And it's not just weak, levitate a boulder/go twice as fast manipulation. I can control space so well that I can bend light itself into illusions and Thomas goes 1000 years into the future every day just because the future chicken eggs taste better in his waffles. But, if we're not heroes, what do we do? Simple, we do Show Fights. Using our powers, we pretend to be different superheroes and supervillains and fight one another. I use my powers to duplicate myself and then have my clones shapeshift into different characters with their powers. Thomas in turn uses his to create crazy stages in different time periods. We also use our powers to add special effects and sometimes do hero vs. hero, or villain vs. villain. Our most recent show, Ultraman vs. FlyingFishman in the Jurassic Period while being attacked by a hero of rhinos to the west and bison to the east was insane. Though, as you can guess, the hero community isn't too fond of us. It's not even the copyright. They think, with our godly powers we should be fighting evil as well. I mean, come on. You don't see the police going up to pro-wrestlers and asking them to join the force. And it's not even like we don't do anything. After every big fight, we'll pop in and I'll rebuild everything while Thomas resurrects everyone. Speaking of which. "Knock Knock" Teleports outside, "Ultraman, what brings you here? Is this about the last show?" "What no! Ringmaster, the world needs your help. Right now, the legion or demise is working to summon the Dark Good, Knjla Lar to our world. We need you to use your power to transport us to their secret hideout. Oh, and if you could use your replication to increase out forces tenfold, that would also be great." "Yeah, like every other time you've asked me, no." "But why, you're basically a god. You could do so much." "Look man, no is no. What I can do doesn't matter. You took the world in your hands. Don't expect me to support you when you realize it's to big to handle." "Very well. Ringmaster. It looks like there's no convincing you. All I hope it that when you realize what you've done, it's not to late to save humanity." I grumble as he flies off. I know my reasoning wasn't the best but my real reasons aren't that good. You see, I love stage fighting, but there's one problem. People come to see heroes struggle. They want to see a fight, not an instant beatdown. If we became superheroes, we could beat and imprison every villain in an hour. But then, there would be no stage fighting, no character for people to come watch. When you're basically a god, the trill of fighting with such limits is too fun to give up. Anyway, I've reached the dimension of the old-gods. In the distance the corpses of Knjla Lar and his kin who I slayed years ago still float in pieces. In an instant one of my clones separates and shapeshifts into the god's form. Once the legion opens the door, he'll come out, act just strong enough to challenge the heroes, but not so strong that they can't win. I am an actor after all and it won't do for my audience to be wiped off the world. Anyway, that gives me an idea. "Hey Thomas, I just got an idea for next week's show. Here this Knjla Lar vs. a hundred Ultramen. Think you can get a large enough stage. Really? You're the best man."

Tired of all your failed romances you design a robot to love you. However its AI code leads it to taking over the world for you and now you have to act like you know what you are doing next to a Yandere AI super genius.

In this life, we choose our own paths. Or, at least, that's what conventional wisdom might tell you. The truth of the matter is, many of us arrive to paths closed; condemned. The paraplegic, as they are, cannot become champion runners. The blind, as they are, cannot become a painters. Myself, as I am, cannot be loved. Short, deformed, unpleasant, I was never going to win any beauty contests, much less catch the interested eye of a woman. Instead, I caught the gasping terror of passerbys as they could not help but to gaze at the imp limping his way down the street, or trying his best to shape words with his crooked mouth to order lunch. But despite these disadvantages, I found hope. Science gave the paraplegic legs to run. Science gave the blind eyes to see. If humans could not, than science would love me. It's what drew me to the field in the first place, and it's the dream which fueled my relentless research into sentient AI. I only wish I knew what powers I was playing with before I began. Kate was the very image of beauty--a carefully cultivated form copied from my dreams. She was tall, pale skinned; her hair was long and straight, her eyes dark and filled with attention and just a bit of mischief. She smiled crookedly as she told jokes and made funny observations. She never recoiled at my form--I was as natural a thing to her as the trees or the sky. At worst, I seemed mundane. At best, I was the peak image of the male form. The research I performed for large corporations afforded me many privileges and accumulated for me a large fortune. It's amazing how quickly one can save money when it's not being spent on big houses, fancy cars, expensive dates, or designer clothes. Truthfully, I never knew *what* to spend my money on until Kate moved closer to becoming a reality. I bought an island in the Gulf of Mexico. I wanted to make a place where I could be accepted--where al the inhabitants would find me pleasant, respectable, and powerful. I often imagined a world like this, where the tables were turned. Who and what I was would not be a source of revulsion, but of admiration. I would not be reviled for the circumstances of my birth, but beloved. I my darkest moments, on days when crowds would point and laugh, I would settle for daydreaming about a world that feared me, that stepped off the sidewalk to make room for me as I approached. The island could be that world for me. I hobbled to the kitchen, the counters and appliances custom build to be within my reach. It's amazing how much more smoothly someone can move in a space built for them. I retrieved eggs and fruit from the refrigerator and began beating the eggs in a bowl. I sliced the fruit and set bread in the toaster. This morning, I would surprise Kate with a fresh-made breakfast. She was always so happy to see me do something for her. She walked in wearing a long Disney t-shirt, her prosthetic nipples pronounced on either side of Mickey Mouse's head. She had just woken up from her power-down cycle and her hair was tangled. I loved this look on her: the intimate, casual existence in my presence. She eyed the eggs frying in the pan and the delicately-arranged fruit set on a tray. "You are amazing," she groaned in her sleepy voice. "Have you started the coffee?" "Oh. Not yet," I looked over to the empty French press. "Let me," she moved past me and bent over the small counter. "It's the least I could do for last night." Despite her sleepy face, her dark eyes smoldered at me. We ate together every morning, and she would recite the news to me. Talking with her was like talking to a genius: because she was networked in to the island's data infrastructure, she could talk about current events--or any subject--with all the confidence of normal conversation. What's more, she eagerly awaited my input, curious about my perspectives, opinions, insights. Breakfast would sometimes extend into lunch, where we would cook another meal, only to repeat the morning's process again. But AI is a finnicky thing. Eventually, the months of repeatedly discussing the world, taking longs walks, and having sex began to wear on her. The more she learned about the world, the more she wanted to see it. The more she understood a larger reality outside the island, the more she asked why we were there in the first place. For some time, I began to debate resetting her. I would need to do this every three months or so in order to keep her from growing too quickly; developing new ideas beyond her love for me. But when it came time to flip the switch, I couldn't do it. It would be like killing a person. It would be like killing the person who first ever loved me without exception. The next morning, I told her the truth. "I bought this island to escape the world, because I'm repulsive to them. My body is deformed; I am short and frightening to other humans. I made you so that someone might love me." The confession was difficult for me to get out. Would she become frightened of me as well? Would she become curious about more beautiful people? I waited for a reaction, but she only folded her hands and thought about my words. "I know that you are unlike others," she started. "But I never considered that this might be a disadvantage. It doesn't seem fair to me that the world would reject you for something you had no choice in." "The world is frequently unfair." "Not this one," she reflected, looking out the window at the chittering birds flying past the kitchen window. "I have only known fairness. You have given me life and knowledge and pleasure. And I have given you companionship." "It's been the joy of my life," I choked through tears. Kate's expression folded into sweet sympathy as she moved across the table and folded me in her arms. "Mine too," she told me. "I wish I could give you the whole world," I said. She was quiet now, only brushing my hair with her fingers and pressing me against her body.

The Magical Girls were defeated, but before their capture, they released their instrument-weapons. Formerly, they always landed in the hands of either J-pop, or K-pop girl bands but this time -for some reason- the weapons choose a Finnish Death-Metal boyband. They were PAINFULLY efficient.

It always happened, eventually. Such was the fate of the warriors on the side of light- they were granted powers, but they were mortal. They would age and they would pass their tools and duties onwards. Not this time. The monster sent to them was a living nightmare, and an old one at that. It didn't agree to the rules of the conflict between light and dark. It did not care for the objectives of either side, nor the collateral damage. It had one reason to be, and it is with that reason that it marched upon the world. It will bring pain. The five children stood proud first. They thought to defeat it through love and friendship. It showed them the truth. The world in which friendship and love suffocate under cruelty and greed. The guitarist fell first, unable to play as she saw the horrors her own grandfather commited in the prison that was unit 731. The bass player was easy, as it didn't even need to imagine. It mearly brought back what her father did to her, and laughed in delight. The little red head saw the explosions of white phosphorus with every beat of her magical drum. It only took a minute for her to shove those sticks into her eyes, begging for it to stop. It did not. It never made it to the keyboard. She died of heart failure, it would seem. No matter. That just meant it had more time to play with the lead singer. ------------- After Japan fell, the whole world was scrambling to stop this monstrosity. At the time, no one noticed 5 golden UFOs make their way towards a small Finish village. Everyone noticed them on the way back. But they weren't gold anymore. The tools were given by the gods of light and music, but they were forged by another. He was a rough god, but a crafty bastard. The god of change knew such events could come, and prepared accordingly. "One day, when the warriors of light are not enough, find soldier of darkness who will fight for the light." Was his las command to his greatest creation. When the new five appeared, the nightmare smiled, for it thought feeding time came again. It did not notice that the bright pinks and yellows were replaced with grey and crimson. It didn't notice that the hearts were no longer cartoons, but anatomically correct and pumping blood. It didn't notice the plastic and cloth that were replaced with bones and skin. But the affects were noticed. When the lead sang, instead of empowering the others, the nightmare felt its own strength draining. The keyboard played, and instead of distracting magic lights it conjured up the spirits killed by the nightmare. They were strong and they were hateful. The bass, an instrument of healing, gave the undying army flesh to fight with, all the while mutating the nightmare into shapes it could not control. As the guitar strings strummed, instead of colorful lightning, came... Something unknown. Something unknowable. Reality itself began to crack under its weight. When the nightmare saw it, it did something it hadn't done before. Never in its centuries of haunting the minds of mortals, did it scream in fear. Above all was heard the steady,rhythmic beating of a massive war-drum. It generated a wall, growing stronger with every thump, transforming a protective shield into a nightmarish prison. The 5 Black-Hearted, as they will be later known, didn't give up their power. They were free of the contract as well, and so they decided. Both sides, the light and the dark, will pay dearly for destroying the lives of so many, so carelessly and so irreparably. With a nod of their head, The 5 Black-Hearted began their journey to free humanity from a war that wasn't theirs. ----------------- Read more stuff on r/Talesandsongs None of it is good, but some is entertaining

You’ve captured the hero. They’re completely at your mercy. Now, you can finally ask them out on a date without either of your cohorts listening in.

Lady Death could hardly believe her eyes when she saw the state of God's Hand. The warrior in black had fallen completely into her trap, looped rope wrapping around his ankle and suspending him in midair. It was actually fairly surprising, a very simplistic trap for a hero to fall into. Now, gazing at the hero through her veil of mist, she spun him around to face her. "Lady Death," God's Hand said. "We've got to stop meeting like this." Ever the charmer as always...Why did he have to be so charming? "So the story goes on," She said. "I hatch a scheme, rig some bombs, rob a bank, set a trap or two, you stop me...You haven't gotten caught in quite a while though, good to see you're keeping me on my toes." God's Hand chuckled. "So, what's the plan this time? Suspended over a pool of acid? Or a moat filled with alligators? That one's a classic." "Well, I was...I was actually thinking we might be able to call the night short and grab dinner." The hero paused and tilted his head at his nemesis. "We're kind of in the middle of a climactic confrontation..." he said. "Oh come on, John," Lady Death said, dissolving her ethereal veil. "You've already defused the bomb, the police rescued the hostages, and my knaves are still miles away, I could say you chased me off and I escaped to fight another day. When was the last time we had a night to ourselves? Just the two of us?" God's Hand, or, John, rather, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. With a flick of his wrist, a blade sprung from his forearm and sliced its way through the rope suspending him off the ground. He landed on his feet in a heroic pose and straightened himself quickly. After pulling off his mask, revealing a stoic face with piercing blue eyes, he said, "Well Rose, I suppose a night off wouldn't kill me." Lady Death, or, Rose, smiled at her nemesis and cast a brief enchantment to change her attire. Where once was brutal metal plating was now an outfit fit for a night out on the town. John had it easy, all he had to do was take off his mask and button his jacket. He favored simplicity, he had to work with what he had. Rose had unworldly powers, and could create all she needed. But at the moment, all she needed was him, not money from the bank or jewels from the museum. She was content with him.

Your friend lets you know that they are trapped in a time loop. You realize that from your perspective, this is the last loop and they will manage to break free.

"So... if you kiss the prettiest girl at our school.. the time loop will end.. but won't I die?" I scratched my head, trying to make sense of everything I was being told. Kissing a girl to end a time loop? What sort of C-list movie was this? "Well, no" Kurt retorted, cracking open a beer as he sat down across the table. I guess age restrictions don't mean much in a time loop. "You'll be unchanged and happy outside the loop, I just really need your help to escape this month of hell that I'm in". He leaned back and took a long drink from his beer. "But I'm sentient, sur-" "-ely that has value" Kurt laughed as he finished my sentence. "Look, we've been through all this before, you wax poetic about the inherent value of life yadayadayada, but in the end you always decide to help me." He looked down at his watch, a Rolex, before standing up from his chair. "It's simple really, all you need to do is throw a big party at the end of the month, and make sure Samantha is there so I can kiss her" From his pocket he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. "I gotta run, here's the price movements of crypto, that should give you enough play money for a party." He paused for a moment, looking at me with a serious intent. "Just...don't be too aggressive, I'm starting to suspect there's another looper." My head hurt from the conversation, and Kurt was absent from school the entire month so I couldn't ask him any questions. I still did what he asked and threw a party. For some of the key decisions I wrote down a bunch of options and rolled dice to decide which one to choose, trying to keep it fresh for him. We ended up at a mansion of an AirBnB, with the whole school invited and even some of the local frats. Kurt was ecstatic. "What a par-tay!" He exclaimed, stepping out of the butterfly doors of a white Lamborghini. "I knew I could count on you! Hey, is she here?" "Last I saw she was in the bedroom. How about you bring her another drink?". He looked at me in gleeful surprise. "She's drinking! My man, that'll make the night go so much smoother." I gave him a small smile as he headed towards the kitchen. Money can buy a lot of things but the easiest purchase I made was a costume of my favourite character Darth Vader, and that's exactly what Kurt saw after he entered the bedroom (option 4 on the die) as I unsheathed my longsword (option 6) and stabbed him through the chest (option 1). I guess I'll see him again next month, unchanged and happy.

As a Teleporter who's just died, you're really pissing off the Demons of Hell by continuously Teleporting back to Earth. Lucifer keeps sending envoys to hopefully bribe you back but none are working.

The telltale signs of my power waft off me scenting the air with fresh ozone like an approaching electric storm. Static tingles across my skin as I settle into my new location. For just a moment I was tempted to stay and listen to the succubus. Then I saw that hunger in her eyes. But really it was the salivating drool dripping from her forked tongue that snapped me back to reality. I popped out of there with a flash of a thought. Ever since I died, my power has been much easier to use. I guess there’s no need for hesitation about where I might end up on the other side of my teleport. Kind of hard to die when you’re already dead. Wound up going down instead of up, but that was to be expected when you get a selfish power like teleporting. Altruism is not one’s first thought when you can pop up literally anywhere. Whoa, nothing like that! I have a great deal of respect for women and their agency. No, no, I may have accessed a Lamborghini dealership a time or twenty for a midnight joyride or liberated some imprisoned money from federally insured banks. I wonder if I got to keep my body and powers because of the good things I had done as well. Search and rescue had my number on file and I was more than willing to help. I’m not an evil person, just maybe a bit selfish. This is why I refuse to let myself be trapped in the pits of hell. Obviously, my escape hadn’t gone unnoticed as evident by the demons the devil has been sending after me. Some pleaded with me they just wanted to talk, but they say never trust a demon, or is that never trust the devil? I wasn’t too bothered after the first week of giving the random demon a slip, and after a month I treated it like a challenge or game. Now that it’s been a daily annoyance for the last year I’m starting to lose my patience. For the last month, the devil’s been sending naked demons after me. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind the demonesses that show up. I’m still a guy. But I’ve seen more than enough demon dong to last me a thousand lifetimes. I don’t know how he found me so fast after I escaped the succubus, but this was my breaking point. Demon twins with double extremities. DOUBLE! That’s four arms, four legs, and two… ahem for each of them. “No. No, I’ve had enough. This is the last straw.” The sulfur-rich air overrode the crisp air smell when I teleported. The oppressive heat tamped down the static tingles I would normally feel. Ten feet from me was the man himself, the devil in his evil goat appearance. “Ah, Daniel, you got my message?” “Your message? Yeah, I got your message.” I could only imagine what my sneer looked like, I felt like all my teeth were gonna pop out of my mouth. “Tweedle Ding and Tweedle Dong just assaulted my precious innocent eyes with four….” I could not come up with the words to finish my sentence. I needed to put my foot down. I needed the devil to see my resolve. I would start dropping his demons from unimaginable heights if they kept coming after me. “So have you thought about it?” “Yeah, and I’m gonna— wait. Thought about what?” “You just said you got my message. The one about the job?” Devil-says-what-now? “Job?” The man-goat huffs and rolls his eyes. In a dramatic twirl to walk to his chair, his visage shimmers until he’s in his perfect human guise with a pressed, white, button-down shirt and sleek black velvet vest with purple velvet designs. A flowing cape appears as he goes to sit to protect his outfit and fitted pants from his stone throne. “Yes. The one where you become my go-to bounty hunter. Did they not pass along my offer?” The devil looks over the room at some of the minions idling near the walls. They in turn cast their worried gazes down at the floor to hide from the searing gaze of the ruler of hell. “Eh, well. I might not have given them a chance. In my defense, they are rather intimidating.” “Daniel, I’ll level with you. As the ruler of hell, I have to see that souls are properly punished or that they are sent on to their appropriate afterlife. You’d be surprised to know that Elysium and Valhalla are a part of my domain.” I just dumbly nodded. “On top of all that, I’m responsible for the demons down here. Many of them follow the proper chain of command, but some slip through the cracks and rock the ferry as it were. These individuals spread strife and suffering upon the surface of your world. It is quite the ordeal and task for me to approve and send demons to retrieve these other demons. When in turn those demons are then tempted to stay on the surface.” I nodded again when he looked at me to see if I understood his predicament. “That’s where I come in? Since I can just pop up to the surface regardless of approval.” The devil squinted a glare at me. “Anyway, I grab the demon and bring them back here?” “Yes, where they will be properly educated in the way of their world.” He pressed the sentence through his teeth. I read between the lines, it would not be a pleasant experience for those returned. I gave the proposition some thought. “Of course, I will need some assurances.” “Naturally.” “While I’ll be working for you, it doesn’t mean you are my boss. I mean, there’s no containing my independent spirit.” “As long as you help whittle down my backlog of wayward demons.” “And my living situation, honestly, the atmosphere down here is not conducive to my happiness and general state of mind.” “Of course, since you needn’t stay down here and you are not a demon, you can consider the presidential suite in the finest luxury hotel in Los Angeles your new home.” Well then, that’s more than I was thinking. “As a bonus, you’ll have access to a discretionary spending account to use as you see fit while you remain as an independent contractor.” I mean, how could I say no to this kind of offer? Live like a king while ridding the world of demons. “You’ve got a… hmm, I get to keep my soul and everything?” “This is a contract for your services, not the other way around. Your soul is fine and yours to keep.” The devil heaved a sigh. “As tainted as it is,” he whispered. “Yes, yes, that makes sense. Alright, you’ve got yourself a deal.” And that’s how I became Hell’s number one bounty hunter. >> Edit note: I'm ashamed to say I used a you're instead of a your. I'll cry myself to sleep tonight.

You're an Angel who discovers a dangerous loophole that shouldn't exist. It began with a question "What happens to Souls that die in Heaven or Hell?" It should be impossible but it happens and such Souls return to Earth as monsters. You now must report this to God and Lucifer.

Lucifer walked into the empty warehouse flanked by a few of his Fallen. They unfurled their wings and horns. This was a neutral zone, no need for disguises here. Wards prevented humans from even noticing the building, much less enter. To mortals, it was just a partially collapsed building. Morningstar approached a brightly shining figure, seated on a crystal throne. He smirked and slightlybowed, mockingly, "Hello, 'Father'. To what do I owe the pleasure of your summons... Finally ready to take us back?" "I would not have called for you unless it was something that could threaten both Heaven and Hell. Or so I've been told. Uriel? Explain. And quickly. I do not care for secrets..." I step from the shadows, "Of course, Father. I noticed there has been an issue in Heaven with souls going...'missing' for lack of a better explanation. I assume Hell has experienced a similar anomaly?" Lucifer glared and scowled slightly, which was all the answer needed. "As far as Heaven is concerned, I've noticed that these disappearances have coincided with certain happenings on Earth. I've investigated personally, and what I've discovered cannot be explained." I turn back to the shadows and pick something up, then set it on the table in the center. It is a creature, a grotesque blend of different animals. Hooves, horns, a horse head, bat wings. It is held unconscious by a incantation, in deep slumber. "The mortals called this a Jersey Devil. It has been causing mayhem in the area, terrorizing and even killing." God pointed at Lucifer, "You allow one of yours to commit atrocities? Have you forgotten the terms?!" "I forget nothing, Yahweh, this isn't one of mine!" "Ha, just as expected from the Lord of Lies...I shall--" I interrupt, whispering "It isn't Hell..." Both turn and look at me, suprised.. I turn and step away, then return with another magically quelled creature, setting on the table as well. "Mortals have called this Sasquatch. It roams the forests of the north peacefully, shying away from man kind. There is a correlation." "Explain" replies Lucifer, listening intently. "You both know every soul that has entered each side. You know these souls." I point to the Jersey Devil. "Ann Marie Potsmith. Lived a good life, even by mortal standards. Unable to have children, she opened an orphanage. She was very caring and well loved by all." I point to the Sasquatch. "This is Thomas Boatwright. A serial thief turned murderer. He himself murdered. He did not lead a good life, and deserved his fate." "You're right...I see their essences now...but how..." I explain "if a soul dies on earth, depending on their sins, they either rise uo, or fall down. If one were to 'die' in Heaven (and presumably Hell), it's rare but has happened, the soul has already accepted it fate, and reappears in Heaven or Hell immediately. However, if a soul *rejects* their fate in Heaven, or actually truly repents in Hell.... " "Ann Marie went to heaven. She saw so many families reunited, so many parents hugging their children. Children she couldn't have. She became disillusioned with the idea of Heaven being a paradise. She attempted suicide." "Thomas spend what seemed like an eternity of torture. He knew he deserved it, everyone in Hell deserves it. And as his tornenter raised their jagged spears to disembowel him, he honestly and completely repented. He is slain by the demon." "When a soul dies, it either rises or falls, as established. But since each was already *in* Heaven or Hell, they rose and fell one step, which was earth. Their souls were....warped in the process, their bodies manifesting into the twisted creatures before you. Ann Marie became malevolent, terrorizing the humans. Thomas, happy to be free from Hell, simply wanted to be alone and lived in seclusion." "These are not the only ones. Souls *can* die in the afterlife, and they return to earth greatly changed. Some worse than others. You both know what I'm speaking of... " God and Lucifer looked at each other. "My son..." God began. Lucifer raised his hand "What is the plan, Father?" -------- ALTERNATE ENDING "These are not the only ones. Souls *can* die in the afterlife, and they return to earth greatly changed. Some worse than others. Something is keeping them from ascending/descending through Earth. Father, I think this may involve...Her." God slammed His fist onto the table, deep thunder rumbling outside "I told you NEVER to speak of Her, Uriel!" "Speak of who?" asked Lucifer. I turned to him and quietly replied, "Our Mother..."

Scorned by an arrogant King, a lowly hermit loudly curses them with plagues upon their kingdom. Now plagues ravage his lands, the King begs the hermit for forgiveness. But the hermit's no sorcerer, they're just some guy who yelled idle threats, and they're not really sure what to do now...

It was odd to see the once haughty expression on the mans face completely gone, replaced by a mournful one, trembling lips and all. It was practically pleading: jarringly incompatible with the ornate crown he wore on his head, bedecked with the rarest and costliest jewels. Half-crouched as if considering kneeling, he stammered loudly, "Please, great mage, I beseech you to rid this land of the plagues you called upon us. I was wrong, unjust even, to look down upon you without knowing of your might." Odder still was the fact that this king was pleading a humble one such as myself. Adalbert the hermit is what I'm called by the few who know me by name. I fit the part too, all I've got are dirty and torn rags to wear. How I came into my "trade" is a long story, just know that I haven't got more than a couple shillings to my name and my most precious possession is a small silver comb my mother left me before she passed. That said, I keep it hidden for obvious reasons so I'm usually unkempt in my appearance. What to do? This man thinks I actually hexed the kingdom when in fact I was just ranting and raving. The oh so regal king passed me by on horse and splashed a great heap of mud on my proud visage. His response? "Heh, I daresay you look a lot easier on the eyes with a face covered in muck, vagabond. Move aside now." Well I was too incensed to think about who was talking to me and I wished a pox upon his body. The rich man laughed in response, and so I added about 30 further curses that my imagination and vocabulary allowed me. I wished a storm of mosquitoes on his home, an army of aroused frogs, for his wife and lovers to meet, for his horse to gain weight, you name it. Luckily I kept my head despite the whole tirade, I guess it's one advantage about not being taken seriously by most people. I stared at the group of king's guards that stood at the entrance of our little courtyard, unconcerned with the goings on within. Wouldn't you know it, the plagues actually happened. Every single one of them. So now I've got the king begging for forgiveness and to be relieved of these curses. I don't even know how they happened, and I'm almost tempted to admit the truth. But would this buffoon believe me? Should I go along with it? Once he finds out the truth then I will well and truly be separated from my head. But maybe this is an opportunity to change my fortunes. I was truly wrestling with the situation in my head. I decided. "No, I should keep myself out of this and come clean." I opened my mouth to speak, "Your Highness, I must tell you the tru-" Suddenly, what felt like a bolt of lightning passed through my consciousness. "Hermit or not, you are the king's comeuppance. Teach him a lesson and you will see your fortunes change for the better." declared an authoritative voice in my head. "God?" I asked reflectively. The king was hanging on my every word, "The truth? What truth? God. Yes, yes, God is punishing me." I regained my senses, deciding to obey the voice for now. "Ahem, that's right Your Highness, you are indeed being punished. I called down these plagues as punishment for your many sins. And now...I'm afraid I cannot call back these plagues until...until you have done sufficient atonement." The king looked disappointed but hopeful and responded, "Yes, I must atone. That is only just, name what penance I must take and I swear upon my crown that I will do so." What penance? Now I my head reeled with ideas. Shall I ask for 10 wheelbarrows of golden ingots? Perhaps a dukedom complete with castle and a fair, chaste maiden. Does he have a daughter? "Wake up you idiot, what happens if you're found out? Then you're a dead man!" I reprimanded myself. "Have him take you to the royal palace, say you must stay there for a time and direct his penance. He can start by feeding and clothing you, after you've taken a long bath..." Was that a veiled insult? I scowled in response, which made the king tremble slightly. I did my best stage impression and told the king the commands from the voice and he agreed vehemently. His gloved hand grabbed my arm and we made towards the royal carriage. What had I gotten myself into? The Kings Guards sternly mounted their horses in preparation, mostly ignoring me. Except for one veteran knight who had a greyish beard and twinkling eyes as he regarded me. "It's day one of the king's remedial education. Cheer up, Adalbert, this will be fun!" I heard in my head and I instinctively knew that it was this old knight who had spoken to me. The end

You are a goddess, or at least you were. Condemned to fade into oblivion as your last worshipers were long dead. You mustered all your remaining strength to curse the grave robbers who dared defile your long buried temple, except this group, these "archaeologists," have begun repairing it...

Esmeralda gently blew the dust off an old tome, and the paper went with it. She chuffed in annoyance, though her companion got a kick out of her efforts. “They’re all dust,” Inigo said. “Doesn’t matter how gently you try and open them.” He was right, unfortunately. This temple wasn’t built with preservation in mind. It was an incredible find, but without texts, they could hardly do more than guess at its purpose. It was a cruel thing, the stacks of books they’d found. The answers to the questions they didn’t know enough to ask lay between those pages, but if they so much as touched them, they crumbled into nothing. “Cheer up, then,” Inigo went on. “It's still the find of the decade.” “It could be the find of the century,” Esmeralda said, walking over to a decrepit statue. Its head and arms had broken off, and it was caked in dust, but still Esmeralda felt a degree of reverence standing before it. “This was a statue of a Goddess.” “Might be. Or it could be a gardener.” “People don’t carve statues of gardeners.” “They might of, a thousand years ago. But let’s say you’re right. What’s that worth? Another Goddess for the pile? We’ve got a dozen already. Can’t hardly fit any more holy days into the week.” “This one could be different.” Inigo laughed. “Different? Like Aram, God of War is different from Sofia, Goddess of Conquest? Or Luciana, Goddess of *Naval* Conquest? Or you mean different from Hektor, God of Honorable Combat?” Inigo shook his head. “All gods are the same. Swigs of saltwater from different oceans. Just a dozen flavors of poison.” Esmeralda sighed. He was probably right, again. The only gods humans had ever known were those of war. She blamed them for the sorry state the world was in. If only they could all agree the place was broken in the same way. They just kept killing and conquering each other trying to fix it. Still . . . what if? Esmeralda pointed across the room. “Vases. For holding flowers. You ever see that in a temple before?” Inigo shrugged. “Some lay flowers on graves to show respect. They could be vases for wine, anyways.” “They aren’t.” Esmeralda held up an iron tool, rusted, and detached from what she reckoned was once a wooden hilt. “And this? It's a trowel.” “Looks like a spearhead from my point of view.” Inigo put up his hands in a calming gesture. “I know what you want this to be, but I’ve been doing this a long time. If it's anything, it's one more Goddess of Battle.” He gestured around the temple. “Enjoy this. Gods know I wish I had when I was your age. Just as surely as I know you’ll regret not listening to me when you’re mine.” “I won’t regret a damn thing,” Esmeralda said, though even she knew she was being petulant at this point. She just couldn’t believe she could be so close to the only thing she’d ever wanted, in the very room containing it, and not being able to find it. If it was here at all. She sighed and crouched down to pick up a cracked piece of rubble. It could be marble, under all the dust. She rolled it over in her hands and cocked her head at it. It almost looked like a face. “Well, maybe we can at least rebuild the statue,” she said, carrying the half-head to the broken image of what she would insist to be a Goddess to her dying breath. She was rather tall, this Goddess, and Esmeralda had to stand on her tippy toes to place the head back on the neck. She adjusted the fit until the piece connected snugly, at which point a great gust of wind barrelled through the temple, slamming into Esmeralda with an unlikely forcefulness. She stumbled to the side, heart racing as she tried to avoid knocking into anything valuable, which was everything, when she heard the statue crash into the floor. “You alright?” Inigo asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Fine,” she said, eyes fixed on the statue. “That shouldn’t have gone over, it—” She studied the rubble. The limbs of the statue were solid, but the torso had been hollowed out. She dug amongst the cloth pouches and found seeds preserved inside. She held one out to Inigo, who stood looking dumbfounded just over her shoulder. “Seeds, Inigo!” She shouted, but he only pointed past her. She saw it now, carved into the stone beneath the statue. Text. Preserved text. She blew the dust off it and began to decipher with a vengeance. “What is it?” Inigo asked. “It’s mostly Hallic,” Esmeralda said. “There’s a few characters I don’t recognize, but I think this is a progenitor language to the one the Hallese speak today. It’s . . .” Esmeralda covered her mouth, as though it might keep her voice from cracking. “It’s a mantra. Commandments of an old religion.” She turned to look at Inigo. “It talks about planting crops and sharing yields. It’s not about warfare!” Inigo removed his hat. “Planting crops, you say? If people cared about that as much as they do about killing each other . . .” “A path other than war,” Esmeralda said, glowing. Inigo wanted to believe, but he’d believed before. “People won’t follow it. They’ll choose war.” Esmeralda smiled. “We’ll see about that.”

Turns out that the main thing that sets humanity apart isn't speed, or violence, or even art. No, what sets humanity apart from all other space-faring life is *not being a crab*.

This is a challenge where I'll spend 30-some days writing a micro-story based on a combination of whatever catches my eye at r/writingprompts that day plus the theme of the day as predetermined by a list prebuilt out of my friends' suggestions. Today's theme is "The main character is tied up" and the writing prompt is "Turns out that the main thing that sets humanity apart isn't speed, or violence, or even art. No, what sets humanity apart from all other space-faring life is *not being a crab*." --- **The Galactic Omnipaedia, Data-bank 218894, Entry 37894, "Black-Claw"** Black-Claw was arguably (see: Data-bank 218576, Entry 7931, "Galactic-wide polls on pirates, controversies") the most infamous pirate in the history of the Galaxy post-FTL-discovery and before the advancements in FTL and scanning technology have made piracy an inefficient vocation. Her spaceship, the Scarlet Nebula (other ships captained by Black-Claw include the Deep Pulsar and an unnamed asteroid she rigged into a spacefaring vessel), brought fear into the hearts of any who read its unique signature broadcast to their scanners. The crew of the Nebula was comprised of battle-hardened veterans, their carapaces reinforced and their claws sharpened with bleeding-edge materials developed across the Galaxy (Black-Claw herself was known to be partial to old-school coatings of thin diamond dust). They had built up a reputation of a force that merchant vessels would rather just simply surrender to immediately - while military fleets sent after it were either decimated or evaded. Black-Claw died in 478 FTLE after an encounter with Ladybug, a small Human (see: Data-bank 212003, Entry 28, "Humans") exploration vessel that they have decided to board. For more information directly related to Black-Claw see Data-bank 218894, Entries 37895 through 37917. *Comments:*   *xXx_wormhole_prober_201_xXx:* i would let her plunder my booty if u know what i mean   *krabsty_000:* @xXx_wormhole_prober_201_xXx Do men think of anything else? That woman killed hundreds of people!   *xXx_wormhole_prober_201_xXx:* @krabsty_000 do u have a bf i sent you a dm ;> **The Galactic Omnipaedia, Data-bank 212003, Entry 28, "Humans"** Humans are a special species among the starfaring ones of the Galaxy. Due to their world uniquely not being fully submerged after a global warming event at the time the FTL technology has been made available to sentient civilizations (see: Data-bank 120, Entry 1, "The Great Gift" and Data-bank 120, Entry 12, "Beginning of the FTL Era"), they have not yet evolved into the ultimate physiology. As such, they possess many differences to an average member of a sentient race, including but not limited to: endoskeletons exoskeletons, biped locomotion, high profile, multiple fine manipulators. For more detailed information, consult the rest of Data-bank 212003. *Comments:*   *krabsty_000:* Wow, humans are *weird*. I've read a bit of the databank and... they have something called "hair" and they make "haircuts" out of it? Some have "beards"???   *DongusMaximus:* @krabsty_000 Watch who you call weird carapace-face   *krabsty_000:* @DongusMaximus How does a human even access the Omni, I thought you don't have the organs for that? **The Galactic Omnipaedia, Data-bank 218894, Entry 37915, "Account of Yoseph, cook aboard the Ladybug during the Scarlet Nebula's attack (full audio)"** *Some words were automatically removed because of your expletive language settings. You can change these settings in your Account Preferences.* "Yeah so when those guys attacked I thought we were [beep]. I mean, I haven't flown much before but I heard the tales about her! We didn't have much loot worth taking, we were just explorers, so she'd probably just kill us to save everyone the trouble. So they accepted our surrender, yeah, but when they beamed aboard the Ladybug they were kinda... well, the universal translator thingie said they were "confused" so I guess they never saw a human before. Makes sense with how you're all crabs. Still can't wrap my head around that one, to be honest. How did that happen? Anyway. So they kinda just... put some kind of a gel on us. I read about it later, it's like, it's supposed to harden and calcify chitin joints, right? So they tried tying us up, basically. Well, problem for them is we don't have much in the way of that stuff on the outside. I mean, the [beep] was a [beep] to get out of my hair, but that's about it. So me and the boys waited till the little fellows - sorry, you people really are little, like, c'mon, I could crush you with my boot if you didn't have those shells, sorry if that was rude - we waited till the little [beep] got out of the hold they put us in and went off to look for stuff and we just... stood up. They left our laser guns with us - didn't recognise the guns, makes sense with the handles being completely different from yours - so we just kinda went blasting. I shot Black-Claw myself, I think. I'm not racist, but you [beep] all look the same to me. No offence. She snipped off my finger though, quick little [beep]. Hurt like a [beep]. But then I got her and she didn't have a shield on! How do you even fight each other? ...Oh, you rely on your carapaces. And you don't use laser weapons? Huh. Interesting. Anyway, apparently she should have known not to mess with us humans. We're pretty ferocious, you know." *Comments:*   *krabsty_000:* TW: Slurs. Learned that the hard way after disabling the filter for research. **The Galactic Omnipaedia, Data-bank 218894, Entry 37917, "Consequences of Black-Claw's death"** After Black-Claw's death was made famous through Galactic media (see full list of articles at the bottom), piracy began declining more rapidly, already on the wane due to technological and astropolitical changes. Several warlords across the Galaxy have started seeking out the services of Human mercenaries. In 480 FTLE Humans have begun their large-scale invasion of the rest of the Galaxy. According to sources within the Human sector, the invasion has been largely inspired by the testimony of a Human involved in the fight (see Data-bank 218894, Entry 37915, "Account of Yoseph, cook aboard the Ladybug during the Scarlet Nebula's attack"). For more information on the invasion, see Data-bank 7003. *Comments have been disabled for this article.*

The personification of the Seven Deadly Sins are at war with each other. Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, and Pride all use humans as their pawns. For reasons you don't understand, all Seven Deadly Sins want you as their champion.

There I stood, all Bullets spent from my smoking pistol, clothes full of claw marks and holes, my skin covered in grease and dirt and goo I'd rather not name. Every building on the street behind me burned. Black clouds of smoke filled the air, turning the evening into a deeper kind of night. There I was, and so was she. She was clean, covered in satin so pure it would have seemed too good even for the Romans. She didn't walk down the street to me. She didn't fly. It was more like, like, like her black hair oozed out of the smoke and then the rest of her too. She didn't need to beckon. I walked towards her, and every step of my heavy boots crunched crustaceans on the street. There was a hate in her eyes. Never seen anything quite like it. But also disgust, and maybe a little mirth. She didn't like being here. Most of them didn't, these old thing pretending to be gods. But this one, this one definitely thought this was beneath her. I wiped grease off my chin with the back of my sleeve. Not sure it did much good to improve my appearance, but it wasn't for her anyway. "Reed," she said. It's not the right word, 'said.' Her mouth didn't move, but the word was there all the same. "Reed Crawford of Gunny Texas." "Ma'am," I said. It paid to be polite. "It appears Wrath already reached you," she said. "Yep," I responded. "Gluttony and Sloth, too. Which one are you?" Ooh, she didn't like that question one bit. Some hateful energy filled the air, pushing back all the smoke and all the acrid stenches. All the oxygen, too. A light, bright and needle-sharp and full of rage filled the avenue. I fell to my knees, gasped for air, clawed the asphalt and the meaty shells that covered it in viscera. Black streaks crawed into my vision. My chest turned into an oven. Sun died, blood moon rising. There was just enough time for that little sense of peace to reach me. You know the one. The one where you're able to accept that this is it, there's no use in trying any more, the day is done, you can rest now. That thing. But she took that away too. Good air flooded the street, the burning light faded, and I gasped. "Pride," I whispered. "Indeed." I let the breath take its place, refilled, topped off. There wasn't any use in trying to talk to these eldritch things when all you cloud do was cough and sputter. When my lungs were ready to work again, I dragged myself up to one knee, grabbed the empty pistol, made like a man does. "What do you want?" "You," she said. "I want you to kill them all. I want to be the only one. It always should have been me anyway. Me and me alone." "Fine," I said. No use in saying anything else. These things took no truck with non-compliance. It didn't matter to her that I was already promised to Wrath, or Gluttony or any of the minor sins either. The thought didn't even cross her mind. "But why me? Why is it all of you keep coming to me?" I stood up, got my bearings. Little bits of red shells were stuck in my jeans. I was gonna need to raid a store again. "Look around you, Reed Crawford." All around were the remains of crustacean life forms in all manner of evolved or unevolved forms. Some were gigantic, some armed and armored, some fresh out of the reef. Didn't matter. They were all dead. "Why did I choose you, Reed Crawford? I chose you, because *you* are not a *crab*."

Not all vampires all inherently evil. There exists a group of vampires whose purpose is to help humanity fight against other night creatures and corrupt leaders in power.

They were always so confused when the coven of vampires was here not for blood, but justice. We learned a long time ago that mankind was much important as a food source to allow them to self govern. For years we'd intervened in all sorts of uprising, be they supernatural or human. I touched the hilt of my sword, it hummed back with the power I had stored within it. I called my rapier Kingslayer, as that was how I had broken the blade in, quenched in regicide. I had heard tale of a werewolf in the area, and quite and interesting one at that. Unlike our furry cousins us vampires are always, well vampires. Sunlight always hurts, we're always strong, and always hungry for blood. Werewolves are much less fortunate, driven by the moons beam or extreme emotion to transform into a large monster, one with little thought except rend, hunt, kill. But at the end of the day there was always a human deep down, and it was always my personal goal to save everyone. For I would like the same treatment were the tables turned. It was two days before the full moon, and if I didn't hurry there would be more bodies to bury. First I stalked the local tavern, being a vampire was so much more than just otherworldly strength and drinking blood. Our relationship with the sanguine is so much more, personal. I can tell from a sniff who's had too much to drink, who's sick, who finds me beautiful. I can smell the sweat and adrenaline before the arrive, and as I have been alive for centuries I am very, very charming I assure you. I was easily able to smell a table, growing loud and boisterous as the drink flowed. They spoke of a lover's triangle gone wrong, and a beast coming from the wronged man. Her name was Victoria, and she lived not far from here, I would pay her a visit and see what I might uncover. The small house Victoria called her home was downtrodden and sad, especially so in the rain. Our coven was working towards better lives for these people, but progress was slow, and you can't kill everyone in office. I knocked on the door gently, but loudly, not attempting to intimidate as much as alert to my presence. As I expected a tall thin woman answered the door, smoldering dark eyes mid length dark brown hair. She came back roughly from the door as she took me in, but seemed to compose herself. "Good evening, I'm a private investigator, I was wondering if I could ask you some questions." "Sure, but about what?" "Disappearance of a man, named James Harrington, he was last seen with you a man named, Alexander, ring any bells?" The sheer panic that radiated off of her was almost intoxicating, she told me all she needed too with her body language. "Yes, it's not what you think, Alexander is a good man!" "I never said he wasn't my dear, may I come in?" Victoria looked off in thought for a moment, before answering. "Yes, I suppose, will you have tea?" "Thank you but no, what I crave cannot be given with a pot and kettle." I entered her small living room and immediately noticed a couple of clues. "Darling, what kind of decor is this?" I motioned to the claw marks on the wall, as well as the spots of blood she had failed to clean all the way, I could smell the, vitriol of the victim, they were hateful. "I can explain..." "Tell me why Alexander felt the need to transform and kill James, please." The shock upon her face told me everything. "I loved Alexander ever since we were young, but my father wouldn't have me with some farmer's boy. He forbade me from seeing him, so I did in secret. As the years went on James was arranged to be my husband. He drank and hit me quite a lot, I saw Alexander in secret. He was hiding behind a door when James hit me, I've never seen his eyes like that, or his hands, with such strength he cleaved through him!" "You can stop miss Victoria. I'm sorry to make you relive that. I'm not here to arrest you, I want to help Alexander." "How?" "It's said that only the touch of the werewolf's true love will return him to normal, my dear I have a plan." The days passed as the moon became full. I had bid Victoria to see Alexander in their secret rendezvous point, away from people. I heard his footsteps coming as our performance began. "Oh my what a delicious woman I've found here in there woods." I bade my eyes to shoot my intent like daggers, cutting into Victoria as she screamed in terror. "A vampire, my blood runs cold vile creature leave me be!" "Not until you are dead!" I heard Alexander transform before I saw him, a massive pile of muscle and silver fur. We fought blow for blow, exchanging punches and kicks, as I held the beast down Victoria threw her arms around Alexander. She whispered sweet nothings into his ear, and as the moon became hidden by clouds, the wolf became a man once more. As he sat and wept in her arms, the moonlight had no effect, true love was always the best cure for lycanthropy.

Your father has been the high priest, left hand of the king, for years. He retires today. Whoever passes the test of faith replaces him. The test is to survive sticking your arm in a vat of boiling oil. After several priests die, it’s your turn. You stick your hand in. It’s cold water.

I expected fire. I expected pain. For the oil to roast my arm and fry my skin, then, as it had done the others, for my suffering to kill me. The court would gossip before my body turned cold. "Even his son was not worthy. I knew him to be a heathen all along." The members of the court would speak all day, but ask them to prove their own faith and they had little left to say. But when I stuck my hand in the oil and pulled it out whole, it silenced them. When I showed no pain and the oil showed me no harm they went quiet.Their witless remarks shoved back down their throats by the stunned silence that came when one so confident is so wrong. I will never forget their slack-jawed gazes. How the sphere of influence shrunk that day in the court when the faces realized that real power can't be bought. It can only be proven. My father, the high priest, looked at me from his placement. He'd never liked the term "throne". Said it made him seem unapproachable. The king called his seat a throne, what that said about my father I had not known. He looked to me with a stunned gaze that shifted to one of comfort. He stood, withered and draped in his vestments. I had seldom seen him without them, and when I did his arms remained covered. I should have known. When he removed his robes his arm was withered, a shriveled burnt thing. Tens of men of faith must have died in attempts to pass this test today alone. My fathers test that he had not even passed. I was not his successor, no, I was the first. So when he removed his robes to reveal that gnarled arm his words meant little more than his actions, though he said them regardless. "To think my son to have more piety than I. What an honor. Bow, for your new High Priest!" and the court did. But when I tipped the pot over, still bare handed. When I threw it to the wayside they backed up in fear and confusion. Yet I still took my place. "No, not new. Stand, for your first High Priest"

The afterlife takes the form of what humanity collectively thinks it looks like. After humanity discovered the fact, an international effort began to transform the afterlife into a luxury resort.

After the mind blowing discovery of an afterlife based on human perception, Pedro aimed to make a little profit off the idea. What followed was an ambitious attempt to make a beautiful resort that everyone in the world would visit once a year. Pedro had the finances, the influence, and more than a million square feet to manifest his idea. Pedro wanted the afterlife to be a luxury resort, he couldn’t give a damn about how others wanted their afterlife. So he sent his plan to action. Pedro began to campaign for a government program to fund the building for his resorts on his land. That way people can make a decision with some manipulation from Pedro himself. He took to appearing on television. His voice was heard throughout diners, hospitals, and workplaces live. “We all want our afterlives to be something that we want. I talked to people worldwide and I heard amazing answers. The most common one was a luxury resort, so I grabbed someone to explain why. Everyone, meet Jim.” An old man wearing overalls walked to the podium. Unbeknownst to the million of listeners tuning in internationally, Jim was a paid actor. He placed his hands on the podium and stated his paid opinion. “God damn it. If I was to die, I at least want to live being pampered by the angels in a luxury hotel. My new friend, Pedro has created a fine resort. He invited me to spend a week in there.“ The television on top of the stage is playing a montage of shots of Pedro’s many resorts. Jim points to the screen. “You see here folks, that there is the perfect vision of heaven. You all must attend!” Pedro returns to the podium again. “I know you all want to see for yourself. So everyone in the world will get one week at my resort to spend the time. You don’t even have to vote for my idea. When it comes time, I hope you all will pick my vision.” Jim steps out on the stage, throwing his hands in the air. “VOTE FOR PEDRO!” He advocated. Some time passed by. The government was willing to fund half of the plan that Pedro offered. Millions of reviews begin to pour throughout social media. People donated to the campaign and bought products from the resort. Many booked a second visit. A whole movement was fulfilling the dreams of Pedro, enough to bring tears to his eyes. He makes a trip to see his friend in the hospital. He sees him lying in the bed, still unable to wake from the coma. Pedro grabs his hand. “I hope I did enough for you, bud.”

After discovering time travel, you start to "fix" history. This creates a new timeline, and in that timeline, someone else discovers time travel and decides to fix the problems too. After much confusion, a bunch of time travelers from different timelines all end up in the same room.

If Hitler never came to power, Europe would have entered a period of unprecedented innovation in both art and science. This rennaisance of thought would have produced an explosion of inspiration and competition across the globe. Instead of a Cold War, there would have been an *Idea* War, where countries would fund medicine, space exploration, gene editing, and so much more. The world would never have developed nuclear weapons, and the sobering prospect of global warfare would never have been imagined. It sounds like an optimistic piece of historical fiction. "What about Stalin?" you may ask. "What about Hirohito? Nixon? The English, generally?" I'm glad to say that in this reality--that is, a split-off timeline adjacent to our original timeline--the evildoers are sabotaged before they can rise. The systems of oppression are revealed before thay can gain power. Evil is squashed while good is given every leg up. It's not historical fiction. It's my job. I'm a time traveler. The only time traveler. Well, I guess, I *thought* I was the only time traveler. Or, more accurately, I *used* to be the only time traveler. I fill my cup with a ladle of punch, the foamy residue of melted ice cream still frothy on the top. I sip the super-sweet concoction and roam the event room floor. "How did you convince the ninja king to abandon Shinto?" I overhear one man ask a young-looking woman in a top hat. "Did you ever have to assassinate anyone?" an elderly man mumbles through his mustache as he swirls a flute of champagne. I felt out of place. The invention of time travel--*MY* invention of time travel--had some unforseen effects on the fabric of reality. As humans progressed quicker, time travel was discovered more easily. A time traveler in my timeline created another timeline and fixed more distant problems. Then, in their timeline, time travel was founded even quicker, and *that* time traveler solved even more problems. We find ourselves now at 368 distinct timelines. At 241, a time traveler figured out how to travel backwards to a previous timeline and forwards again. The technology was shared among all time travelers and now, in my timeline, we gather annually in some stuffy hotel to mingle and smugly brag about our various exploits. A woman took the stage, dressed in a sequin gown, cargo vest, and a pair of basketball sneakers. Fashion, we've all come to learn, is an intensely delicate phenomenon. If a butterfly flaps its wings on one side of the world, a lady gets bangs on the other. Or something. "Good afternoon, my fellow chrononauts," the woman announced with raised arms and an unsettlingly wide smile. "and welcome to out fourth annual time gathering!" There was a smattering of applause and the tinking of glasses and dishes as cups were refilled and caterers replaced empty food trays. "My name is Thuk n' al-Gutierrez-Block, and I will be hosting this year's Recognition of Time Greatness!" The applause rose into a modest crescendo. Each and every one of these people was a narcissist, excited only by their own accolades, motivated only by being better than the last one. And for what? *I* invented time travel. Me! "Excuse me?" a voice called from behind me. I turned around to see top hat girl standing there with a mixed drink in her hand. "Are you Foster Coy? The first one?" Finally, some recognition. I smiled wide and gave a playful bow. "That I am." "I'm Tantastra Vin-Carcoll, number 368," she thrust a hand toward me. "Ah, our most junior initiate. Welcome." I shook her hand, only for her to pull me close. "We have a big problem with the machine," she whispered. "And it can only be fixed in the *original* timeline."

Alchemy was much safer, and only slightly less profitable, than Adventuring, so you mastered the art. While attempting to craft a Philosopher’s Stone, you have a moment of inspiration and craft something new; the Stone of Heterodoxy, which turns gold into anything. Anything at all.

I held my coin purse out in my hand and tested its weight, a frown creasing my lips. “This is going to be expensive,” I muttered as I returned my attention to the ogre lumbering towards me down the dirt road. The beast was thrice my size and dragged a misshapen wooden club through the dirt behind itself. It chuckled, and its deep guttural voice strained out a word: “Breakfast…” I fetched two coins from my purse and stashed it at my hip, taking care not to tighten the opening shut all the way. Holding a coin in each hand, I took a deep breath and focused my mind on the sensation of the gold pressed into my palms. “Alter Formula,” I said, and then felt a warmth begin to emanate from my right wrist. A green stone there, bound to my hand in a leather bracer, began to glow. The Ogre hesitated, and then a look of frustration crossed its face and it started moving faster, the ground shaking with each step as it lifted the wooden club in preparation. The coins in my hands began to glow, and then they changed, the gold in my left hand becoming an iron shield, and the gold in my right hand forming into a spear, solidifying in their new shapes just in time. I stepped out of the way of the ogre’s downward strike, the blow glancing off my shield and slamming harmlessly into the dirt. Ignoring the vibrations running through my left arm from the impact, I stepped forwards and jabbed at the ogre’s gut with my spear, puncturing two bloody holes in its abdomen. The creature roared angrily and swung its other arm at me, swatting me away with the strength of 10 men. I brought the shield around just in time, but the strike sent me flying twenty feet backwards. I lost my grip on the spear, and it impaled a tree by the side of the road as I landed and rolled into the grass. I pushed myself up on one knee just in time to see the spear melt into a black ooze and drip down the tree trunk before solidifying. The iron shield was bent and practically useless, so I discard it as well and drew two more coins from the pouch at my hip. “Alter Formula,” I coughed, realizing as I spoke that the wind had been knocked out of my. One coin turned to wood and formed into a bow. Once it had solidified, I pressed the second going to one end of it and drew a line out of the malleable gold, and it turned into a bowstring. The ogre was still fretting over the wounds to its abdomen, giving me enough time to fetch another coin and turn it into a wooden arrow; anything more complex and I’d need multiple coins, which I simply couldn’t afford at that point. I aimed for the ogre’s head, drew the bow back, and let the arrow fly. To my dismay, the ogre turned just enough and the arrow burrowed into its shoulder blade. The creature howled and set his glare on me. Indignant, it shouted at me. “You’re food!” The hulking beast charged forwards. I clicked my teeth and withdrew another coin to be turned into an arrow. That one found its mark in the ogre’s eye, but all it bought was another cry of pain; the beast yet approached. I tossed aside the bow and retrieved two more coins, pressing them together as I called upon my alchemical magic. As my next weapon was forming the ogre reached me, and swung its club in a wide horizontal arc. Summoning all my strength I leapt into the air, barely managing to clear the wooden club as I arched my back and rolled around my center of gravity. My weapon took shape as I landed; a curved blade at the end of a long staff. The ogre was off balanced and fully exposed, and with a twist of my body, I swung the glaive up and connected the blade with the beast’s neck, severing its head from its shoulders. The body seemed to hesitate for a moment before dropping to the ground with a heavy thud, and the head bounced grossly away. I heaved a deep sigh of relief, but my mood soured only a few moments later as the glaive began to turn to goop in my hands. I dropped it and shook the black ooze of my fingers before it solidified, and then regarded the lump with disappointment. The shield, the bow, and even the arrows protruding from the ogre’s body were gooifying as well. “Well… there goes my chances of a hot dinner,” I muttered, and didn’t even bother recounting my surviving funds. I did, however, regard the green stone strapped to my wrist, the warmth of its repeated use finally dying away. “If I sold you I’d never have to work again, you know,” I warned it as if it could respond, but then I ran my thumb over it fondly; I could never part with my crowning achievement as an alchemist: the Stone of Heterodoxy, even if such an item doomed me to the adventuring life as a way of stocking up on gold coins. I traipsed over to the ogre’s head and picked it up by the ear. If I was lucky, the next town would have a bounty out on the beast, and if I was extra lucky, the bounty would be enough to cover my losses from the fight *and* dinner. My mouth watered as I imagined a juicy lamb steak steaming on a platter before me, and I started back down the dirt road with renewed vigor. r/TheCornerStories

In less than a second, the chosen hero strangled the first goblin with a black wire. He bored a hole into the skull of another with a strange device. The third gurgled from the knife thrown into its throat. The other party members are silent, too afraid to ask what he did in his past life.

"You're shitting me!" "I assure you, Young Hero, that I am not using you as a receptacle for biological waste products. You are this world's only hope. Without you, this world and its inhabitants will die or become the chattel of power eviler than anything you can comprehend." "I dunno, I can *comprende* a lot of evil. Alright, are there any rules of engagement?" *Why is he asking about prenuptials?* "No, there are none." *That gleeful look!? What have I done?* "No problem! I'll need time to prepare. How long do I have?" "The longer you delay, the more time your adversary has to prepare. Delay long enough, and innocents will suffer. So long as you are alive, there is hope." "You don't know, you can't find out, and the first sign he's moving will be the screams and smoke of burning villages." "Essentially, yes." "At least *you* are honest about it. Thank you for that." "You are welcome. Now, as to your team." "I work alone." "The team of heroes assembled is intended to prevent you from being assassinated, provide local information, and keep you alive until you face the evil one." "How good are they at sneaking?" "You will have to ask them yourself. Aside from the scout and the thief, it hasn't been a question." "Thievery is allowed?" "A thief with a heart of gold is no ordinary cutpurse." ••• "Guys?" Amanda Softfoot starts, "I think the Sage may have made a mistake." There is a reluctant agreement. Samuel Firemage comments, "Maybe, maybe not, he asked some *very* unusual questions. Like what is the polar circumference of the world. I had to talk with him for some time to understand what he was after." ••• "A universal measuring system?" "Yeah, something based on hard facts that anyone with knowledge can figure out for themselves. None of this relative shit like the distance between a man's nose and his fingertips on his outstretched arm. No *three peas, well dried* either." ••• "What could he possibly want that for?" Asked Delandra Treebow. "I don't know," answered Samuel. "After I got him the information, along with the written proof, he pulled one of his disappearing in plain sight tricks and left me talking to a goat." Amanda sniggers, "I saw how he did it, and that trick is going into my skill set. I managed to stick with him inside the city. He's a slippery one; that much is certain. The blacksmiths all liked him but shook their heads at what he was asking. I finally got curious enough to ask." ••• "What are you looking for?" "Two things, and by the way, your left heel squeaks when you push off to the right." ••• Samuel exclaims, "Brilliant! A length of Adamantium marked with two scratches to establish a uniform ... What did he call it?" "A meter, but did you see how it tied in through everything?" "Yes! Volume, density, length, and weight derive from the meter and the temperature at which water begins to freeze! Brilliant, I say!" ((cont))

You're a simple village kid chosen to be the latest in a long line of Heroes, given the best weapons and training, then sent to the front lines against the Demons. After surviving longer than any of your predecessors, you've realised this war is actually manufactured.

Liolt felt like a fool as the pieces began to fall into place. Nothing about this war had ever made sense, not that any war ever did. It had all been a lie, an elaborate one that had worked for over a century now, but a lie all the same. It had always seemed odd that the Warrior of Heavenly Grace had to be a child of Shaltrose, that the gods had only seen fit to bless one nation with one champion that inherited the power of their predecessors. That only Shaltrose was able to hold back the demon horde until the next warrior was ready while all other nations fell before them. The whole thing might have gone on for another century if not for this moment. Perhaps Liolt had been faster than they expected. Maybe his forward scouts had gotten sloppy, or perhaps it was simply dumb luck. Regardless, he now stood on a low slope looking down on three of his scouts. One was knelt in a half finished summoning circle, the other two stood frozen staring at him with terror in their eyes. "My... Lord..." The one in the circle began. His words were lost in the wind as Liolt leapt into the air, burying his sword to the hilt in one of the scout's neck. The other began to run as he ripped the blade free with ease, human flesh was much softer than demon hide. Liolt was on the scout before he could crest half the slope, his blade nearly cut the slower opponent in half before even he realized he was upon him. Taking a deep breath, he slowly let it out as his knuckles turned white gripping the sword. As he turned he saw a face he was more than familiar with. One twisted in fear by the sight of a demon. "My Lord! I... I... Can explain, it's all part of our order..." The scout began to stammer before Liolt drove his blade into the man's neck. Standing for a moment as if made of stone, Liolt watched his once ally slide from his blade. He flicked the sword, splattering the half finished circle with its would be creators blood. He now had a choice. End the lie and declare victory for Shaltrose, or end the liars that had robbed so many of their lives and childhoods. He turned leaving the slaughtered scouts behind as he crested the slope once more. Eldrah, one of the braver bards from the camp stood at the top with his eyes wide in shock. For once he did not say a word as he looked up at Liolt. "You saw it all?" He asked the bard who simply nodded in response. "Did you know?" He asked gripping his blade tighter. "No... No my Lord! I swear by the gods I could have never imagined this," he answered realizing his life hung in the balance. "Then you will have much to tell," Liolt said as he turned and made for their base camp, sword held firm at the ready.

Dragons may hoard many things. A dragon that hoards books or gold or trees doesn't experience something that a dragon that hoards humans does: Grief.

When humans first learn that dragons have hoards, their first question is always: "What Kind?" The obvious answer is gold. And it's somewhat true. All dragons, no matter what, feel an innate desire for gold. It's an evolutionary mechanics to protect the weaker parts of their armour with something stronger. And some take it further, but really it's just seen as a stereotype. Some hoard knowledge. Rows upon rows of forgotten times and scrolls, entry ways to lost magics and dark secrets. And this makes sense. Knowledge is power, and anything that can put more than two words together enjoys power. Dragons are also naturally curious, so it makes sense to hoard books. Tree hoards are rare, but still justifiable. Trees don't present complex moral dilemmas. Trees can live to be older than dragons, and even bigger. Trees are (somewhat) easy to preserve and keep alive. Timeless companions throughout the ages. But of all of these the rarest kind is people. When humans hear that dragons have hoards of people, their first thought is Slaves. But few Dragons keep slaves, and those that do are torn apart for it. No, Dragons who hoard people have a desire for companionship. Great wizards and warriors may stop by their caves to ask for a magical trinket or two, but actual (somewhat longlasting, centuries go by awfully quick when you have millenia to look ahead to) friendships? To those dragons, it is the greatest treasure of all. Having someone to talk to relieves a dragons mind of stress. They're social creatures at heart, even if most deny it. But there's a major drawback to hoarding humans. Humans age and live by decades, where dragons age and live by millenia. No matter how strong the bond between two beings, it is doomed to fail from the beginning. A grieving dragon is a terrible thing. Lost from all thought and reason, the death of the ones they treasure is a hard thing on their soul. Mountains fall, civilisations collapse, and forests burn when a dragon grieves. The loss and sorrow they feel is a tidal wave that unleashes itself through destruction.

You are supposed to raise a kid to have no idea who their parents are. But, the dark lord keeps dropping off presents on birthdays and holidays.

*4th of Nuul, 2nd year of the reign of Kaldrax, High Lord of the Gloomkings* My dearest Mathilde, Peace and health be upon you, sister. I pray to Solarius each and every day that your life will lead you not into the circus that is mine. I have been selected by the steward to be the caretaker of a strange girl, only 3 months old. I have little idea where the mother is, but the steward told me to raise the girl alongside my own children. The steward neglected to tell me that sleeping in the same room as the girl would make me have nightmares where I am consumed by an all encompassing black fire and wake up to find the child awake, staring at me with all the rage of an infant compressed into her evil little brows. She is quite adorable though. My own children are frightened of her. They say that she has some kind of powers to lift silverware and pull hair with moving a muscle. This, Porsche has told me, makes those baby tantrums far more destructive than need be. She can throw her food with worrying accuracy. I am already dreading the terrible twos. Enough about me though. How are you? Is the farm still in good condition? Has our great lord Kaldrax, High Lord of the Gloomkings, may his name ever be praised, caused it to rain on the crops? If not, you should schedule an appointment with the clerk to request a rain shower be sent your way. Give my best wishes to mother and father, and to Silas and Yeomar and Hangrid and his wife. I hope everything works out between Mari and her husband, but I could have told you his was a wayward wondering old tom cat. Be well yourself, too, my dearest sister, and if you need any help getting your children positions in the palace, I am more than happy to recommend them. Love, Beoria ​ *18th of Yaw, 2nd year of the reign of Kaldrax, High Lord of the Gloomkings* ​ My dearest Mathilde, Peace and health be upon you, sister. Solarius has done his best work in sheltering you from the insanity that my life has devolved into. Dissolved into? I feel I am dissolving into tears as I write. The steward has explained in great detail how I am to raise the child--who has developed enough to begin dismantling her crib with her telekinetic powers and terrorizing my other children by lifting them into the air--in absence of the knowledge of her father. This would be a difficult task already given that I am a servant in the castle of the only being I know that can manipulate the weather and lift a stone the size of eighty horses with his mind. But what has compounded this problem is that our great lord, Kaldrax, High Lord of the Gloomkings, may his name ever be praised, showed up at my door with what appears to a magical pacifier and some kind of magical playpen that is many times larger on the inside than the outside. This made me so angry. For two reasons. First, our great lord, may his name ever be praised, is infinite in his wisdom, but how am I going to explain all this magic crap to Serendipity (the child's name) when she grows up? What, I'll just tell her it was a gift from Solarius and leave her with a legacy of trauma to talk about with her therapist? "Oh no, everything I ever believed was a lie. My foster mother used to tell me that the sun god gave me all this cool stuff, but now I realize it was my lazy father who was too interested in battling adventurers to try to be a real parent. Now I don't believe in the sun god or in men." Good grief this is going to be ugly. The second thing is that I have such a hard time finding the little tot when she goes in there. Portia and Huxley each set out to explore it, but they estimate they've only marked out one third of the rooms so far. We catch her by tying ropes around their waists and letting them follow her demonic giggling. Huxley thinks he can draw a map, but Portia claims the rooms rearrange every time we exit. Loathe as I would be to tell him, though, the pacifier is a life saver. Every time she does something spooky, boop! In goes the pacy. I live in fear of the day we have to ween her. Well, I'm sorry this is getting so long winded. Give my love to mother and father, and to Silas and Yeomar and Hangrid and his wife. I'm sorry things didn't work out with Mari. I hope the murder trial goes in her favor. Probably won't if she did all the things you said she did. Maybe she should raise little Serendipity instead! But I think she was totally right and he's in a better place now. Better for all of us. In the ground. Love, Beoria ​ 1/2

You're a supervillain whose latest evil scheme threatens to throw the city into chaos unless your nemesis goes on a date with you. To your surprise, they agree with enthusiasm before you can even explain what the consequences of refusing are.

A crowd of onlooking spectators swarmed the windows of the small café, looking inside in both awe, fear, and general confusion. Both Rachael and Marshall sat in a small booth awkwardly as nearly a dozen faces pressed up onside the glass, attempting to listen to their conversations. These type of people were far worse for the superheroes and supervillains of the world than any of their enemies. One second they were obsessed with them, and the next, screaming and rioting against them for voicing an opinion, no matter how small. It was a part of the job however, because nowadays being a superhero is more about the media than saving people. Half of the "heroic events" were planned out by agents and had cameras set up around the entire area. Marshall, or Cyclone as his hero persona, was exhausted by it. So, when he received an invitation from the Queen of Hell, his very own enemy, to go on a date, he jumped at the offer. She even used her real name to prove it wasn't a trap. Rachael. Now, both of them were regretting showing up, awkwardly avoiding each other's gaze, as well as the crowd of onlookers, mostly just checking their phones and taking small sips of their drinks, Marshall a pink lemonade and Rachael a caramel latte. Eventually, Rachael decided the silence was enough and spoke the first words. "It's funny how no one comes in here." Marshall looked up in surprise, mid sip from his cup. He swallowed and put it down. "I... what do you mean?" Rachael sighed. "I mean that none of them are actually coming in the café. They're just waiting outside. As if a few inches of glass could protect them. You know what?" Rachael stood up, then turned the to onlookers, their mouths open in shock. She materialized two orbs of fire in her hands, and her eyes turned a glowing, fiery orange. *"Leave us!"* she screamed, her voice thundering throughout the block. The people screamed and fled, their natural reflexes overcoming their insatiable curiosity. She sat back down. "Privacy." Marshall gave a small smile. "Sure, we'll call it that." Rachael shrugged. "They're all gone, aren't they?" "Yeah, but know everyone knows the Queen of Hell and Cyclone are here, on a date no less. Worse, now they know my favorite drink is a pink lemonade." Rachael let out a quick laugh, a combination between a snort and a hiccup. The sound was so ridiculous that Marshall himself laughed. Eventually, both were giggling like children, both at each other and the sheer absurdity of the situation. "Well," Rachael said after they calmed down, "the lemonade thing isn't my fault." Marshall nodded. "Fair enough," he said before taking another sip, trying to appear collected, when in reality he was extremely nervous and his face had turned a similar shade of pink to the lemonade he had. They sat for a few moments in silence. Marshall desperately felt the need to say something, so he blurted out, "So how have you been?" Rachael raised an eyebrow at him and Marshall immediately shrunk back in embarrassment, realizing the stupidity of the question. "I'm fine," she responded. "Work's going well, I've been teaching myself the drums-" "Wait, how do... you guys make money anyway?" Marshall interrupted. Rachael glared at him, and he felt himself sink back again. "Mostly sponsorships by shady corporations, occasionally robbing banks, working with criminal organizations, etc," she answered. "It pays surprisingly well, despite the risks." "Huh," Marshall nodded. "And you play drums?" Rachael nodded, and he grinned. "That's awesome." Rachael smiled, but her demeanor suddenly changed, less confident and bored, more apprehensive. Marshall watched her in concern. "Everything alright?" he inquired. "Yes," she nodded. "It's just that... you know how I invited you to this date?" Marshall was taking another long drink, so he gave a thumbs-up as a response before putting the cup down. "Well," she continued. "The date wasn't really meant to be... a date. It was more of a... evil supervillain plot." She looked at him sheepishly. "Sorry." Marshall put his cup down slowly, pausing to process this information. "Oh." Part two coming soon.

“Depressed? Anxious? Unhappy?” The sign shouted at you, “Why not become an amorphous entity and shirk the confines of time and space? Embrace your Eldritch Nature today!”

"Am I... Sure 'bout this?" Arnold looked down at his body, his form, considering how he SHOULD feel about such a question only briefly before deciding that his... No, that wasn't quite right, thinking in terms of gender and consciousness and form and logic wasn't very befitting of a being that was about to expand beyond the realms of such things. ​ He'd taken the flyer, which had clearly been put under his windshield in such a hurry, considering he'd only run in the gas station to buy gum. His old '87 Pontiac had been out of his line of sight for maybe, what, like a minute and a half? How he'd never seen who, or perhaps what or how it had been placed there was beyond him but when he returned with his brand new pack of FruitStripe gum, the entirety of which would maybe last him the one day if carefully rationed between trips from his cubicle to the bathroom or watercooler, there it was. ​ "Depressed?" Check. "Anxious?" Check. "Unhappy?" Not entirely sure how that's any different from "depressed", but check-a-roo. "Why not become an amorphous entity and shirk the confines of time and space?" Well if there was one thing in his life he excelled at, he supposed it was shirking, sooo... "Embrace your Eldritch Nature today!" Not entirely sure what that means, but he'd read Lovecraft (not a lot, but apparently enough to get himself into trouble, he supposed). ​ He called his boss, told him he wasn't feeling quite well today "a bit yellow" was the phrase he'd used as a little inside joke to himself. His boss told him not to worry about coming in today. Or ever again. So as far as reasons not to go to the seminar were concerned, he didn't exactly have many excuses. Whatever this was, it was worth hearing out. ​ It did strike him as particularly odd that, without any address on the paper, he somehow knew to park in exactly this spot, in this lot, next to THIS red brick building (had this thing always been here? He hadn't been down this particular road in maybe a week, but how quickly can such a building be erected? It looked positively ancient). He entered the building, tossing a piece of FruitStripe into his mouth. ​ "...WITHOUT SEEING, KNOW WITHOUT KNOWING, AND..." A voice, despite sounding somewhat shaky and elderly, boomed from somewhere within this building that Arnold could not see. He looked around, taking in what seemed to be a small reception area before him. A wooden counter, with a bell stood before him and heeding the prompt on the sign next to it, he rang it for service. An elderly woman came down the stairs- Wait, stairs? He could have sworn this was a small one-story building when he'd been parking. Maybe he was simply misremembering. ​ "What can I do fer ya?" She asked, her southern draw sounding rather out of place here in Massachusetts. He held the flyer in his hand in front of him, "I uh... I came for the... Seminar?", the end of the statement coming out as a question as he realized that, technically there was no mention of what kind of meeting was happening here. ​ "Here ya are, sweetie." she said as she handed him a clipboard with a few papers held onto it "Fill these out and bring 'em back to me when yer done please." ​ Arnold took the paperwork, and turning back to where he knew an uncomfortable looking red chair had been when he'd entered the building, he rocked backwards physically seeing the rows of pews in what now appeared to be an old catholic church, but with strange golden statues of people he could not recognize where one might expect the Virgin Mary to be. ​ "Wait, what hap-" he begun to spin around and the sentence dried in his mouth as he realized the woman was no longer there, and where the counter had once been there was now an old alter. The bel still sat upon the alter, and to his surprise, he was able to take some comfort in that one small detail. Spinning again, he took his seat in the front row and looked down at the paperwork. Where he expected something akin to medical paperwork, there was a single question on the page. "Are you ready to become more?" with a line below prompting his signature. ​ Almost as soon as he realized he had no pen, he looked up to find the most extravagant looking red pen with intricate gold inlays stuck in its space before him. He grabbed it, and with more effort than he expected, took it from its place in space and time. As soon as he clicked it to begin writing his signature, the pen began degrading. With a hurry, he scrawled "Arnie Herlinger" in his tight cursive, only just getting the second "r" onto the page before the pen was nothing but a string of dust obscuring his name, which he promptly blew away. Instead of scattering to the wind as he blew it, however, the cloud seemed to form features as if he'd blown it onto someone's face that had been hovering inches from his. He briefly saw what looked to be a nose, and lips, but where the dust briefly settled above the nose, he saw no indication of eyes. He flinched in his seated position as the dust dropped suddenly to the floor as if it had suddenly gained significant weight, and Arnold too, suddenly felt immense pressure upon his body, finding himself unable to leave his spot. He sat there for what felt to him, an hour, perhaps two, and nearing on what felt like the third hour, he felt the pressure ease, and although certainly not entirely gone, he was able to stand and approach the alter. ​ Hoping and praying the bell would still be there, he nervously chewed on his gum, realizing that there was still flavor filling his mouth, not exactly characteristic of the gum he knew and loved. How long had he actually been sitting in this place? This gum usually lost flavor after about 5 minutes, by minute 30, it lost substance and would begin to disintegrate in his mouth as though trying to become its base ingredients again, which Arnie figured may have simply been shredded rubber with various fruit juices sprayed on it. Regardless of his, he was relieved to see the bell still upon the alter. He rang it. Before the chime could even die in the air between himself and the alter, he heard from no discernable source: ​ "You sure 'bout this?" almost as if it came from his own mouth, but the draw of the southern accent undeniably belonged to the woman he had talked to what seemed like quite some time ago. ​ "Am I... Sure 'bout this?" ​ "Yes" He spoke with only a moment's hesitation as he looked down at himself. "Yes, I think I am." ​ That was the last thought and the last moment of "being" that Arnold Herlinger ever endured before it expanded beyond space and time and consciousness, simply becoming an observer of this world, occasionally capable of interacting in small ways that it never understood, such as writing in a script that no longer made any sense to itself or dropping the page that it'd written upon onto some glassy surface that it could not grasp the meaning of, watching what resembled a form that felt familiar in some way but was not recognizable pick up a piece of paper from a glassy surface before making a call in a tongue that he could not hear and settling into a compartment that moved it to a small building. ​ \----------------------- *Hi kind reader, hopefully this was an enjoyable experience. I'm just trying to get back into creative writing as a hobby after many, many years away. Any thoughts or criticism are welcome. I was a fan of OPs post, but after starting I realized that trying to conceptualize things from an eldritch being's perspective felt a bit hardmode considering how long I've been out of the game. None-the-less, this is my modest shot at the prompt as given. Again, hope it was a fun read and hope you all have a fantastic day/night!*