[WP]You are a shy kid with a magical coin. The coin answers yes-or-no questions with high accuracy but landed on its edge when you asked it if God was real.
Original post here.
Click, click, click, bark, click, click. Mia turned the coin over again, a well-worn piece of metal stuck between the weeds under her family's trailer home. She looked at the ceiling and flipped the coin again.
"Will Freddy be home soon?" Click. Yes.
Mia licked her lips and leaned forward. She didn't even want to put the horrible thing into words. She did so anyway. "Is he," her voice faltered, "is he hurting Wendy? When mama and I aren't home, I mean." Click. Yes.
She closed her eyes. She'd known for months. She knew she shouldn't have taken up that part-time job. She knew they needed the money.
Bark, bark.
Mia held back her tears. Wendy was ten and she'd never even told Mia. She'd never cried about it. Mia scratched her nails through her scalp in an effort to hold back her pain, her fury. "Will the police stop him if I tell someone?" Click. No.
She got up and pulled the family gun from a drawer. She'd decided before she'd even asked the last question, but this was confirmation she was doing the right thing. She clicked the safety off and went back to the table, setting it down.
She heard the rattle on the front door and kissed the wooden cross around her neck. "Will he see it coming?" Click. No.
She stood up and lifted the gun. It was heavier than she was expecting and her hands were shaking. He would never touch her little sister again. She threw the little coin once more. As it spun on the table waiting for a question, she asked, "Is there a God to forgive me?"
Her head snapped to the door before she saw the answer. Click. She aimed the gun at the man coming through the door. The coin stopped on its side. Mia squeezed her eyes shut and pulled at the trigger. No answer. It took more effort than she thought it would, tears streaming down her face.
"Mia!" She heard Freddy's voice at the door, "Put that down! What are you doing?!"
The first shot put him on his back, screaming in pain. She didn't stop after, she opened her eyes and emptied the handgun into him. Click, click, click, bark, click, click. She dropped the gun. Click.
[WP] In the silence of a quiet afternoon, you hear it. When you close your eyes, you see it. Without a touch, you feel it. Before you learn of it, you know it. What is it?
Original post here.
Part of Jarl Ronald’s Institute of Applied Sorcery.
In the quiet afternoon, among the dusty tomes, she had felt it. Eli wasn't shocked, of course. It was the same sweet thrill she always had on days like these. Like her patterns of motions were a melody that made the world align. She hummed as she whisked her pen over the page, the tangle of problems falling apart effortlessly.
Her mother had called it magic, the same exhilaration she had for art. Eli always pictured the determined, beautiful look on her mom's face whenever she was painting. Every perfect afternoon had dawned with that look.
Since Eli had started learning real magic, the word felt like it'd lost the suspended dust motes and paint splattered easels of her memories.
What shattered the harmony was her familiar, Kel, rolling onto her paper, still an unformed rubber ball. She sat back, scowling at him for interrupting, tapping her pen anxiously.
"Girl," Eli thought he looked shocked, but was trying hard to hide it, "What did you just do?"
Eli looked at the paper, then back at him. "Prep work for that potion. Like I said. I know you're bored, but--"
"Not that," he interrupted, impatient, "The tapping."
She stopped tapping, drumming her fingers with her other hand, "You just said it. Tapping. Didn't you say you were smarter than witches? Keep up."
Kel glared up at her and rolled back to the book he seemed to be attempting to read while having to roll around on it. She had a vague impression he kept losing his place that seemed to come from their link.
"What'd you think it was?" Kel ignored her so she tapped him on the top of his head. He bit her and she honestly hadn't known what she was expecting. She lifted him up, glaring down at him, then dropped him onto her other hand, bringing him close to her face.
"I'll bite your nose," he warned, "It's big enough that I won't miss." She narrowed her eyes. After almost three days, she'd already learned silence was the best way to deal with him.
He squirmed and rolled around on her palm. "It just sort of felt like magic," he finally relented. Eli blinked and sat him back down on the library table.
"I was just concentrating," she didn't know why she sounded so cautiously optimistic. "You said it yourself, I don't even have enough magic to transform you."
Kel opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Lana slinking around the corner, "Oh, you have enough magic. He's just stubborn. If you can form the contract, he can transform." The little black cat jumped onto the table and set a paw on top of Kel.
He tried to free himself, but did no more than wedge himself into the crack of a book. "Off," he huffed, muffled under her fur.
Roanne followed her in, taking a seat across from Eli. "We came to watch the fireworks," she said by way of greeting. "If we're right, these should work," she handed Eli a pair of pants and a t-shirt.
Eli blinked, "Wait, what? To all of that."
Her tutor just grinned in response and pushed a clock forward. "Exactly three days in a few moments." Then, Roanne threw Eli a beer she fumbled and just barely caught. "You'll probably want that."
Eli often found Roanne frustratingly elusive. Instead of asking, she just twisted the cap off and took a swig. Her tutor hadn't been wrong yet.
She felt Kel's pain before she'd registered what it was. Her eyes went wide and she set the bottle down quicker than she would have liked. Roanne gave her a surprised look, but said nothing as Kel rolled off the table and then--
Eli blinked a few times as the pain faded, her brain trying to piece together why there was now a man laying on his side, looking as stunned as she was. Eli shrieked and covered her eyes, standing up too quickly. A chair leg smacked the man in the face and Eli felt it right on her nose. "Sorry!" Her voice sounded on the edge of a hysterical she didn't feel like belonged to her.
He snatched the pants that had dropped out of her lap, getting up frantically to hide behind a bookshelf. Eli peeked between her fingers when he was gone and glared at Roanne, "What the fuck?!"
Her face cracked and she was clutching the table, laughing. Lana flopped down, gasping for breath between snorts of giggles.
Eli rubbed at her nose as the man rounded the corner, also rubbing at his nose. Eli quickly dropped her hand as realization hit her. "Of course you couldn't transform into something normal! You hipster demon trash."
Kel glared at her and took a calming breath through his nose, "If you ever call me a hipster again, girl, we will have problems."
She tried to laugh accusatorially, "We already have problems."
Roanne had finally stopped laughing, covering her mouth to hold back the dam. Lana had calmed down enough to gesture at Eli to sit down. "He didn't choose that. Let me explain. Also, hello Lord Kelechsy. I'm so surprised, I never would have guessed it was you beneath all those layers of arrogance," she grinned at Kel as he glared her down.
Eli looked between them and took a seat. Kel looked for another seat, then sat on Eli's calculations when he didn't find one. "Explain quickly before anyone else sees me like this," he growled.
Lana laughed again, "Well, you have time before you get another shot, Kelechsy. That's what happens when you don't transform, you stubborn ass."
Kel started to protest, but Eli talked over him, "So he becomes a dude?"
Roanne wagged her finger and took a swig of the beer Eli hadn't seen her open. "No, he becomes his natural form. Which happens to be humanoid."
The little black cat nodded, "The transformations protect us. We are stripped of our powers as familiars. It's the perfect time for our enemies to get revenge. All demons are equally powerless as familiars. If a demon is being stubborn, they get to be their normal form as punishment. And Lord Kelechsy has made his share of beds to lay in." Eli found Lana's grin particularly unnerving.
"So," Eli glanced over at Kel's sulking figure, noticing the hooves for the first time, "I'm just stuck with this weird guy following me around for the rest of my life?"
Roanne broke out into another fit of laughter as Lana flopped back over.
"Fuck both of you," Kel snarled at them. For once, Eli agreed.
[WP] "He asked me to spare you. But that was a long time ago. He said those words to the man he trusted and for the woman he loved. And we both know those people are dead."
Original post here.
The cigarette smoke was an easy trail to follow. Ophelia had barely needed to look to find him, leaning against the railing of the burnt out penthouse, gazing at the city light. Slacks and a button-up, sleeves pushed to his elbows, suspenders hanging loose.
Her heels clicked on the charred tiles, the rhythm interrupted as she stepped over a soot-stained hat laying in front of the door. She plucked the cigarette from him and took a drag before returning it. He discarded it to the busy line of traffic below.
She leaned against the balcony next to him, slipping a business card between the two fingers he'd used to hold his cigarette. "He asked me to spare you," he started," but that was a long time ago. He said those words to the man he trusted and for the woman he loved. And we both know those people are dead." His voice was cold and detached.
Ophelia touched her delicate, jeweled wristwatch, checking the time. "Xavier, you have two options: You come with me or you go with them," it was a clinical statement that brokered no argument.
"Ophelia, it's not that simple," he gave her a sideways glare.
"It looks that simple to me, Xavier," she pulled away from the balcony, not turning her back on him.
"Oliver loved you," he didn't turn around to meet her hard stare. He could feel it on his back.
She sighed and he heard a small beep from her wristwatch. He heard her backing up to the shattered sliding door. "Xavier isn't real," he heard a note of regret as she stepped aside.
Two men came out, guns cocking as he pushed himself onto the railing, swinging his legs over the free fall below.
"Oliver Coldstone, you're under arrest," the officer's voice was strong, commanding.
Xavier looked down at the business card Ophelia had handed him. It was simple, Oliver isn't dead.
He tore the piece of paper in multiple pieces and threw it to the wind. He heard Ophelia's retreating footsteps. Then, he let go.
Hours later, Ophelia tapped her way down to the morgue. The mortician who greeted them shook her head sadly. "I'll warn you, Mr. Coldstone, it's a mess."
"Please," Ophelia's companion corrected softly, "Just Xavier. My brother was Mr. Coldstone."
[WP] You've summoned a demon to assist you with your nefarious deeds. A hole opens in the floor, revealing your new helper. "Tell me your name," you command. An hour later, it's still not done making the incomprehensible sounds of its name.
Original post here.
Part of Jarl Ronald’s Institute of Applied Sorcery.
The Soon-to-be-Great Wizard Bailey waved her hand to silence the demon's droning. It had been about an hour since she'd commanded it to tell her its name and it hadn't stopped speaking since.
"Well," she began, "Yergal, do you mind if I call you Yergal?" The demon shook its head no, so Bailey went on, "Do you have any friends?"
The demon looked at Bailey suspiciously. "Demons don't have many friends," it said scornfully.
With a name like that, Bailey couldn't imagine why other demons didn't like the poor fellow. She waved her hand as if to bat away its ire. "Alright, do you have anyone you don't like very much?"
Yergal tilted its head and then seemed to piece together what was going on. "There is this one asshole named Steve. Steveyuit," it nodded. "He calls me pukeface."
Bailey laughed. "It's always someone named Steve, isn't it? Very well." She began to write the name down. "You're dismissed," Bailey added, distracted. The demon disappeared in a puff of smoke.
Bailey began the ritual again and another demon appeared, looking angry. "Tell me your name," Bailey commanded.
The new demon winced under her gaze and power. "Steveyuit," it whimpered. Bailey sat down in her creaky chair with a satisfied look.
The moonlight lit the clearing just enough to make out the bleached bones of the grave doe in the roiling fog. What little of the fleshy frame that had one held her together now dragged behind her in tendrils of gore. She tossed her head as she crept along the well-worn wooden boards. Her destination lay between the man-made path, face turned towards a ray of moonlight.
A flock of crows sat wherever they could watch but still keep their feathers dry. It made the shallow grave seem alive.
The doe snuffled at the crack in the woman's skull, a red-stained rock was tossed on a nearby board. Her black hair moved with the waves and the doe forgot her purpose, mesmerized by the motion. Her attention snapped back as a crow landed on her back and took flight again.
The doe nuzzled her nose along the woman's jaw, leaving a trail of rot against the pale corpse's skin. The wind picked up and the doe let out a terrible wail of pain. Then, collapsed into the marsh.
The woman rose with a gasp, coughing up water and blood as the crows scattered in a great cacophony of caws. They blacked out the moon and left her in darkness. She reeled her arms forward and grabbed the side of the pier, pulling herself out of the shallow water. She stayed on her side, coughing until she felt like she could breath properly again.
She smelled her blood before she saw the rock, turning and sniffing at it. She grimaced at the memories, then reached up to touch the top of her head gently. It was still cracked, but there was no more bleeding. She looked down at her hands. Was she dead? She turned her hands over, blinking at the claws she found there. "Wha--?" she started to say, but cut her mouth on her teeth. She snarled in pain and then reached up, touching her mouth and finding two rows of sharp teeth.
Jenny had the idea in her head that she was, in fact, dead, but just alive enough to find justice. She picked up the rock and bounced it up and down in her hands. She remembered her fear watching it come down and her unable to do anything about it. She looked at the gathered crows and spoke, mindful of her teeth, "Find him." A group of six crows took off. Another landed on her shoulder and handed her the wedding veil she'd lost in the current.
She smiled and swept it back into her hair. Another crow handed her the engagement rings she'd ripped off in fury during the fight and tossed to the swamp. She began to walk, following the swarm of crows as they led her to the schoolhouse.
She saw him sitting with his head in his hands, rocking back and forth and whimpering against the back wall. She heard the sirens approaching in the distance. Jenny went forward, her train catching and ripping against the cracked ground. He looked up and startled violently against the wall, shrinking down, his eyes wide in fear.
She had no monologue for him. No last words. There was no begging. They both knew this errand was not something he could stop. With one, powerful smash with the rock, his head caved with a sickening squelch. She smiled and left the rock there, leaning forward to lick at what blood she could. She pulled back, satisfied she'd gotten all she could from him, then touched the tender spot where there had once been a crack.
As the sirens careened into the parking lot next to the school, Jenny retreated back to the swamp. She picked honeysuckles and wildflowers along the path to her grave, humming an old lullaby. Jenny had always thought she'd be married, have five kids and die by the side of her husband. Since none of her plans had worked out, Jenny saw no reason to rest in peace simply because the man was dead now. Why put her bones down to be forgotten in this forsaken spot?
She licked at some of the blood smeared all over her hands and felt a thrill of excitement. No, Jenny thought as she threw the flowers on her grave, she had a lot of time to chase new desires.
[WP] "There is yet insufficient data for a meaningful answer."
Original post here.
Part of Jarl Ronald’s Institute of Applied Sorcery.
The lights washed over the cave again, wavering as if it had become submerged underwater. The creature rose from the top of the cauldron, its humanoid form wavering along the blue, glowing smoke. It tilted its head side to side.
Eli cautiously handed it the slip of paper with her formula on it. The smoke thing grabbed the query with both its blue hands and zipped into the bubbling mixture. It reappeared a moment later, its hands moving as a song played. Eli tried to follow the rhythm to see if the calculations was going smoothly, but couldn't quite keep up as the beat hit the climax.
The song faded and the smoke creature blinked quizzically. It opened its small mouth and stated, "There is yet insufficient data for a meaningful answer."
Eli slammed her fist into the side of the cauldron in a fit of frustration. Roanne, her tutor, put a hand on the other side to keep it from tipping over. "Look, girl, I told you it wouldn't be easy," Eli turned her head so she didn't have to look at Roanne's smirk.
Eli made a noise of frustration midway between a groan of defeat and a muffled scream. She went to her bag and pulled out a laptop. "You know what's easy? Computers," she pried the lid open and looked down at her notes, copying the formula into the program. She hit enter and moved aside to wave at it triumphantly, "Nothing to it."
Roanne rolled her eyes. "Of course you can do plain formulas like that in a computer. It's not mathematics, it's mathemagics. Magics. As in, it's magic," she sat down at the work table scattered with herbs and empty glass vials. "You didn't tune your bow string right," she plucked at one of the spare strings to emphasize her point.
Eli wadded up a pad of paper and threw it at Roanne's head, "It doesn't make any sense!"
Roanne laughed and caught the paper ball, throwing it to her familiar, Lana. The little black cat proceeded to bat it around the room and then into the fire, watching it burn with a satisfied look.
Lana stretched and jumped onto the work table, shoving things out of her way so she could sit down. "Maybe she's ready for a familiar, Roanne. It might help her hear the songs better," Lana tapped a paw on the same bow string Roanne was still playing with.
Eli picked up her spellbook with a snap and tossed her laptop back into her bag. "Let's go," Eli was already at the cave entrance, the doors automatically opening for her. Roanne rose to follow, Lana jumping on her shoulder. They headed out of the mountain that made up most of Jarl Ronald's Institute for Applied Sorcery.
She'd come here four days ago after graduation for advanced magical tutoring so she could amicably join the mathemagics PhD program in the fall. Eli had been sure the whole thing was insane, but had quickly discovered that magic was very real and taken seriously. She'd been assigned Roanne as a tutor and had spent the last few days learning how potions and math were inseparably intertwined in the basic foundation of magic.
Also, that the mathemagics program was extremely difficult to get into, but somehow her thesis had brushed the metaphysical world in ways normal people found boring and the magical (academic) world found exciting. She'd been playing a lot of catch-up and learning how to brew potions that would help her with calculations was supposed to be the easiest part of becoming a witch.
Roanne, however, was often quick to point out that Eli had almost no magical aptitude. Eli got the feeling that Roanne didn't like her much, but tolerated her greatly. She wasn't sure why the witch had volunteered to tutor Eli if she was so opposed to a normal person becoming a witch.
The great entrance stone shuddered and rolled open as they approached it, shutting behind them. They passed the administration building and headed down the steep road into The Valley. Eli had learned it was an area mostly inhabited by witches, which Eli had also learned was a gender neutral term as wizards referred to a specific type of witch who practiced a certain kind of elemental magic. It was hidden from regular people and was much like any other campus town Eli had been to. With, of course, magical elements.
They made their way down to a familiar shop, where the formless demons yet to be shaped hopped in the window. They looked sort of like rubber balls with mouths. The last time they'd come here, none of them had reacted to her presence. Dr. Farrow had tried consoling Eli by telling her that she probably just needed to practice magic for a few days and then they'd all be transforming to link with her.
Eli was sure they could tell she was an impostor.
Still, doing this was better than redoing that potion for the fifth time in a dank cave with nothing but candlelight. The bell over the shop door rang out their arrival to an elderly man who greeted them with a wave. Roanne went over to chat to the shop owner at the front desk while Eli drifted towards the back. She ran her hands over the front of the glass as the demons yawned and ignored her. Yeah, she hadn't gotten her hopes up at all.
She continued over to the new arrivals section, watching the little demons rolling around and napping. She noticed one off to the side that seemed to be isolated from the rest. She eyed it, then went forward and tried to pet it on what she assumed was the top of its head. She was having one of those moments where, maybe, the isolated familiar would befriend her because she was different and it was different.
The thing bared its teeth and bit her. She made a small noise of pain in the back of her throat, then pulled back, "You little..." She knew the little demons were sentient and had been forced to become a familiar by a witch who'd caught them committing a crime.
Roanne came over from behind her. "Oh, you found one," she sounded surprised.
Eli blinked and turned around to face Roanne, "No, it bit me."
The familiar voiced its protest, "Why would I link to someone as normal as that girl?" Eli shot it a dirty look.
Roanne gave her an unimpressed look, "Making a blood contract is how you link to one." Eli turned to look at the little ball, which seemed to have gained eyes solely for the purpose of looking as unexcited as she was.
It sighed and Eli glared down at it, "It's normal for me not to know that, but shouldn't you have known better?"
The familiar glared right back up at Eli, "Between getting sentenced to one witch lifetime as a familiar and being shipped here, I guess I missed the brochure about blood sacrifices. I'm so sorry." Its voice was masculine and clipped, with an accent Eli couldn't identify. She heard Lana laughing.
Eli pinched the bridge of her nose and held out her hand. It rolled on and she brought it up to the counter. The shop owner scanned it and Eli handed over ten dollars for the thing. They had already gotten her discount voucher. He shook his head at the familiar, "Don't take too long to pick a form, now." It was a warning Eli didn't quite understand.
She left the shop with Roanne, holding the still-unformed familiar. "So, when does he change shape? At least, I thinks it's a he."
The familiar made an annoyed noise, "Yes, I'm a he, my name is Kel."
Lana laughed again, "He should have transformed already. You're lucky to have found the stupidest demon in there or you might still be without a familiar."
Kel glared down from her hand at Lana and then turned, as if ignoring her.
Yeah, this whole mathemagics thing was going great, Eli thought.
[WP] The sorceress granted him eternal life and youth. But unbeknownst to him in exchange, any woman that fell in love with him would never bear his child. However, should he confess his love for that woman, she will indeed bare his child but die during childbirth.
Original post here.
Part of The Overlord Stories
The Overlord, Lawrence, was enjoying a dreary day in the sun room. His family shared a common love of watching the storms rage on the seas the sun room overlooked with a full wall of windows. It may not have been proper, but they'd spread out a bedsheet on the floor and were snacking on fruits while listening to the thunder shake the building.
Maria, his daughter, was reading a book while propped against a small hill of blankets they'd stolen from the guest rooms. Michael, his husband, and Maria had insisted he stay put least some courtier spot The Overlord and their relaxing day went on without him.
Lawrence knew very few recognized him without a mask, but that number had been increasing lately. Still, he had the vague idea they wanted to spoil him and who was he to deny that? He brushed a stray strand of hair out of Michael's face and smiled down at him.
A louder boom of thunder caught Lawrence's attention and he looked up to watch the clear streak of lightning ark right onto the balcony. As he blinked away the impression of the lightning, he saw a woman standing there that he hadn't seen in two centuries. Michael also sat up, giving The Overlord a concerned look.
Maria looked up from her book and then covered her eyes. She felt around herself blindly and threw a spare blanket at The Overlord, "Papa, go put something on her!"
The Overlord laughed and took the blanket, opening the door and getting a face full of rain, "Hurry up!"
The naked sorceress came in and gave The Overlord a strange look when he draped the blanket over her, then shut the door back. "Lady Jian, it's er, been a while," The Overlord pushed his wet hair out of his face and tried to shake the water from his button up.
Lady Jian glared at Maria. "Why isn't she dead?"
Maria peeked between her fingers, then put her hands down when she deemed it safe. Michael moved closer to her, reaching for the dagger in the boots he'd taken off.
"What?" The Overlord moved between Lady Jian and Maria.
"She's your daughter, isn't she? I heard from the rumor mill that there was a princess. You are cursed, Lawrence Hoppersfield, no woman should be able to live long enough to bear your child," she stared The Overlord down, "Or did you somehow alter our deal?"
The Overlord smiled sheepishly, "Well, it's a good thing that's never been a problem for me." He coughed awkwardly into his hand to hide a laugh.
She shook her head, "I'm looking at your child right now. Any woman who loved you would die and you're too kind for a child by any other way. Even the corruption of this land could not twist you differently."
The Overlord fidgeted, "Gee, Jian, I thought we talked about this. We should just be friends." At this, he heard Michael standing up behind him and moving closer.
Her glare increased, "You didn't know until I told you just now. My power is to do what I please with. Explain her."
"Ah, well," The Overlord turned around and found himself bumping into Michael. He took a step back with a nervous laugh and turned to face Lady Jian again. "This is Michael Smith. I'm Lawrence Hoppersfield-Smith, now," he motioned to Maria to join them. She stood up and stood in front while he put a hand on her shoulder, "This is our daughter, Maria. Our adopted daughter."
Lady Jian blinked a few times, the realization slowly dawning. She broke out into cackles, "All these years! Why didn't you tell me?"
Lawrence smiled at Jian more warmly, "I, ah, I didn't think it would help and there didn't seem a good time to bring it up. I remember you mentioned something about no other woman having me and didn't want to lead you on by saying something like 'You really don't need to worry about that.'"
Michael held out his hand and Jian shook it.
The Overlord was glad to catch up with an old friend and help her make two new ones.
Prince Hubert Sylas von Duskwater, simply Sylas as he preferred, or Princess Sylian to those outside the palace walls until his birthday, had not been expecting to be taken to the sovereign nation of Pleasure Murderland.
Forcefully.
He'd been looking forward to going when he was twenty-one next year, a trip with other lordlings to take part in all the debauchery they could ever think of. Instead, he was sitting in the hold of a ship, trying to catch dirty drops of rainwater from the ceiling. His lips were cracked and they hurt. Yesterday, they had let the drugs work their way out of his system so he would be coherent when they sold him as gladiator fodder.
Sylas knew it was an assassination that would leave his body in a nation that had made enough enemies. His nation was small, but with ten beautiful older sisters all queens in other kingdoms, it had more than enough allies to flatten the nation. The question was if his home would be flattened first.
A rough-looking woman about Sylas's age threw him over her shoulder and carried him upstairs like a sack of potatoes. The man he assumed was the captain of the ship matched her pace and they went to a booth loading a cart of other prisoners.
The bald woman at the booth eyed him as they set him down, reaching forward to turn his head back and forth. "A Tur'iaj. Even if his face is bruised badly, I can still see it. Sure you don't want to sell him to one of the brothels? You'd get more for him." She gestured to another area of the make-shift market. Sylas grimaced at the stereotype. "Be a shame to cut his pretty hair. Keep someone from using it as a good grip to break his button nose to pieces, though," she sighed and touched one of Sylas's braids.
He wanted to jerk back and tell her not to touch him, but he needed any sympathy he could get. The captain shook his head and gave the woman a small pouch of gold. "Let him heal up, then throw him out there. Tell them not to touch his face or hair," he nodded to the woman.
She bit one of the gold pieces and nodded back. "Aye, one of these. What'd he do?"
The Captain frowned, "Knocked my daughter up and left her."
Sylas growled, baring his sharp teeth at the man, "Liar!" He was seething. The Captain was trying to turn away any chance of escape.
The bald woman nodded and spat in the dirt, "Tur'iaj come from them succubi. Can't expect 'em to act decent. Worse he left you with one of those things to raise." The pouch of gold had disappeared when the woman stood to drag Sylas over to the wagon, throwing him in on his face. "You'll get yours, captain."
The captain nodded, "I'll be in the audience tomorrow." Sylas knew this was also a lie, they were setting sail that evening. He'd heard sailors discussing it. The bald woman nodded again.
Sylas lay in the cart, unable to do much but squirm to the side by how well they'd tied him up. Eventually, the cart moved towards the cheers and excitement of the arena and Sylas did all he could to keep from re-bruising his bruises as it rattled along the cobblestone streets.
He refused to cry. It wasn't that he had a problem with crying, he'd grown up in a family well in-touch with their emotions, but rather that he didn't want anyone to see the poor, sensitive Tur'iaj crying. He wondered how his sisters dealt with it in the far-flung corners of the Earth.
When they reached the arena, they pulled everyone off the carts and brought them to small rooms. He only had a brief moment to appreciate they weren't cells where he could easily be seen and mocked when he was shoved against the wall and his ropes cut.
He rubbed his raw wrists as a gnomish woman directed him to sit on the edge of the flimsy cot. She rubbed a healing salve on his bruises and then left Sylas alone. He gratefully curled into a corner of his cot and cried.
This was more out of stress than any assurance that he thought he might die. Sylas had grown up with ten older sisters. Weapon or no weapon, he knew how to fight. The only reason they'd managed to grab him in the first place is that they'd drugged his wine.
The next morning, they gave Sylas a shield and sword, then shoved him into the arena. He supposed it was supposed to be clever when they freed a few demons into the pit. Instead, it was just incredibly ignorant.
As a giant, red-skinned demon raised its hammer to squash Sylas underneath, he threw his sword and shield down, holding up his hands. It paused, then laughed with the audience. It brought the hammer up higher and Sylas caught its eyes with a mad grin on his face.
He'd never tried it in real combat, but it worked all the same. The demon dropped before his feet, bowing and trying to kiss his boots. The audience started booing. Sylas tipped its head up with his toes and pointed to the doors humanoids came out of, not enchanted against demons. "Think you can smash it, big guy?" The demon stood and puffed out its chest, running over and charging the door before anyone could stop it.
Sylas made a rude gesture at the audience and grabbed his sword as guards poured out of the broken door.
It wasn't the same as paying to go, but this would do.
[WP] You got drunk and accidentally sent many typo-filled college applications. Months later, you receive a single letter of acceptance from a College of Mathemagics. It's not a typo.
Original post here.
Part of Stories of Jarl Ronald’s Institute of Applied Sorcery.
Eli had been thinking of transferring for months. She'd been at her home state's university for two years and knew it was too late into her third. By the time senior year rolled around, she accepted her fate and began the process of GSAT's for her masters in mathematics, particularly the fields of discrete and combinatorial that weren't secretly a computer science program.
By the time she opened the gold envelope she found in her campus mailbox, she had totally forgotten getting drunk and applying to all kinds of hilarious programs with her friends. It exploded into confetti and left her just holding a letter. She screamed and fell backwards on her bed, blinking rapidly at the piece of paper.
"What," she glanced around as if expecting this to be a prank and then read the letter, "'We are pleased to accept you into the mathemagic program at Jarl Ronald's Institute of Applied Sorcerery...'"
She started laughing and got a piece of tape to pin it on her door. Someone was having a good goof at her and she'd get them back. She wrote her acceptance letter and sent it to the listed PO Box.
In the process of completing her senior thesis, she completely forgot about the letters except to laugh at it with friends. Yet, all her applications were coming back denied. She didn't understand and neither did her advisors. She had a 4.0, was a leader in multiple organizations, volunteered with the school, and had a stellar thesis that might even win her a couple prizes.
As graduation neared, she was dreading the idea of staying at this place for another year just so she had some continued education before she transferred somewhere else. At least she had until August for that.
When graduation came and she started to walk across the stage for her place amongst other award winners, already preparing to wince when they had nothing to say of where she'd go, the announcer said, "Eli Jones will be heading to," the speaker paused, "Jarl Ronald's Institute of Applied Sorcerey for their Mathemagics program."
As the entire auditorium erupted in a mixture of cheers and laughter, assuming it was a joke, all the color drained from her face. When the ceremony was over, she scurried out before anyone could talk to her. She went straight to her room and dug through boxes of packed keepsakes to find the letter.
She called the number on it. "Hello? Dr. Farrow speaking," said a hushed voice.
Eli wasn't sure what to say for a moment, "Uhm, I was just calling about my acceptance. This is Eli Jones, by the way. I think there's been some kind of mistake."
"Oh! Eli," the voice on the end lit up, "We are looking forward to your first day here. Did you get the financial aid information? It's rare for the director to foot the bill of an applicant, but you are such an excellent student. Even if you have no magical background, we're confident you'll do well." The woman's voice was practically gushing.
Eli's hand trembled, "Oh uhm, well, I just wanted to know more information about anything I'd need." She had nowhere else to go.
"We'll have an assistant guide you through the process of selecting a familiar and an appropriate spellbook. You'll have accelerated magical tutoring over the summer, as our letter said," the woman soothed, "You'll still be here next week, right?"
Eli paused and looked at all of her things. It'd take two days to drive there. "Actually, I want to get started early and can be there in a couple days. Is that okay?"
Dr. Farrow laughed, "Of course, dear! We'll see you soon. Might I just say this institute is honored to have such a serious young witch coming to it."
She was sure this whole thing was crazy, but it was better than swallowing her pride and going home or staying in this awful school another day.
[WP] You used to be the most powerful evil overlord humanity has ever seen. Then you turned over a new leaf, and your empire is a utopia. The only person who refuses to believe you've changed? The hero who has tried to stop you for decades.
Original post here.
Part of The Overlord Stories.
Fenthris was sure this was a trap. He was the leader of The Resistance, opposed to the tyrannical empire of Naji. Yet, they were losing lives and The Overlord wanted to parlay. The Empire had lost a few holdings recently, so maybe they were going to surrender territory.
He snorted to himself as the palace guard guided him to a sitting room. Looking around, the palace didn't look quite so evil as the last time he'd been there. Not as many lava pools.
Fen braced himself as the door was opened. At a small table sat two fearsome figures and another he didn't recognize at all. He paused, eyeing the lanky man who seemed to be greying before his time. At least he didn't look dangerous. He looked like one of those awkwardly tall scholars who might have been terrifying if he'd applied himself to a sword. As it was, Fen was only scared the man might bore him to death.
The other two, though, were a problem. He heard his general, Ha'ana, gasp behind him. One was General Michael, the shrewdest military strategist the Yahji lands could offer. The other, "Commander Maria," she said it too low for anyone but Fen to hear. Her concerns were sound. They hadn't heard anything about the insane gnome commander in three years and thought she was dead.
Fen paused. Was she taller? Did gnomes get that tall?
He and Ha'ana walked cautiously over to the table. Upon seeing them, the unknown man rose and the other two followed. He smiled at them awkwardly, "Leader Fenthris, General Ha'ana, it is an honor to have you join us. Two of the strongest warriors in Yahji. Please, take a seat." He gestured to two empty seats at the table and they all sat down. "Ah, Zachary should be bringing tea momentarily. The elves drink ginger tea, right?"
Fen glared, "We did until Naji took the sacred lands and we could no longer grow it." He let them all feel the heat of his anger. "And excuse me, but who the fuck are you?" He turned his eyes solely on the stranger, "Where is The Overlord? We are here to parlay, not drink poisoned tea."
The man blinked and then had a dawning look of understanding. "Oh. Sorry, I guess we should all re-introduce ourselves. I am The Overlord," he paused, "There's no need for formality, though. You can just call me Lawrence."
The elves looked at each other in shock and then Fen turned his eye on him suspiciously. "The Overlord is disfigured under that mask he always wears. Everyone knows that," Fen countered.
Lawrence hesitated, "I've also heard them say I'm a woman so beautiful that men fall in love with me instantly and that's why I wear a mask." He laughed, nervously, "Really, it just makes ruling easier when people aren't reading into every thought that flickers across your face. I know you can't remember it now, you're way too young, but it's traditional, too. In the old empire."
Ha'ana slammed a fist on the table, "The empire of peace and prosperity you and your generals destroyed two hundred years ago for immortality!"
"Uhm," The Overlord - Lawrence, started. "Why don't we finish introductions first?" He glanced over at Maria and General Michael who seemed to be waiting patiently. Fen barely caught Maria mouthing, "I told you so," at The Overlord.
Fen shook his head, "Now that I know your face, Lawrence, I don't need to hear anything else."
The Overlord sighed and exhaled out his nose, tiny flames with the frustrated breath. "This," he gestured to Commander Maria, "is my daughter, Maria." Fen and Ha'ana glanced at each other. "Not a gnome. She posed as one when she joined the army at age ten," he offered by way of explanation.
Knowing her exploits, this just made Fenthris fear the woman - no, girl - in the trousers and frilly tunic even more. The Overlord went on, gesturing to General Michael, "This, is my husband, Michael."
Ha'ana gasped and nudged Fen in the side, "You owe me five silver." The Overlord glared at them and Fen finally saw the look of a man he'd fought for the better part of his hundred years of life. Well, it seemed campfire speculation was partially right and he was out five silver.
A butler brought a tea tray and served them all ginger tea. He eyed it suspiciously and then reached out, swapping his tea with The Overlord's without asking. The Overlord spilled sugar on himself, but sighed resignedly. "I already put a lot of sugar in it," he warned. Fen waited. The Overlord took a drink and grimaced at the bitter taste. Fen swapped their teacups back, satisfied.
Maria laughed, "Papa could have just made us all immune to a poison and put it in all the cups."
Michael nodded, seeming stiff and, Fen thought, nervous. The Overlord gathered the spilled sugar into a napkin and set it aside, "Don't start giving them ideas."
Ha'ana glanced around the table, "So, you didn't call us here to say 'Just wanted to let you know we're evil dads with an evil daughter!' Can we get to the point?" Fen voiced his agreement and looked around again, searching for danger in the sunny tea room.
"No," The Overlord said simply, "We want to call a truce. The Resistance wants The Sacred Forest and Western Finst, right? That's where most of you reside."
Fen stared at him, waiting for him to waver, but should have known better than to try to win a staring contest with an ancient, evil wizard. The elf finally relented, "Yes. There's still villages and people even here who oppose Naji, though." Though, those cells had been quieter lately, but they were in more danger than the distant forest and the harsh deserts of Finst.
General Michael drew a document from a box next to his chair, handing it to Ha'ana. She held it open and they put their heads together to read. "This can't be real," Ha'ana disbelievingly traced the words again.
"There's stipulations, of course," The Overlord leaned forward, "You would have your own nation, but you'd still be part of the empire. Our borders would be open to each other for our people to come and go as they please. Naji will offer soldiers to protect you. In return, no law could be passed here or decree carried out until the heads of both nations agreed upon it."
Fen knew better than to get his hopes up, "Why?"
The Overlord hesitated, but General Michael broke the silence, "We want a better world for our daughter." He glanced at Maria and she smiled at him encouragingly, "No man likes to admit he has done evil, but no child should have to grow up cutting down men three times because it's what they think will bring peace. To our world, to themselves." Fen hadn't heard the general speak often, but it was a voice that betrayed more kindness and thoughtfulness than the elf had even considered in his actions.
Still, he was suspicious. "That child murdered my best friend after feeding her her own children," he snarled.
The girl looked at her hands. "I know saying sorry won't make it better, but I am sorry. I was going through a lot. The Resistance killed my family when I was nine and I wanted vengeance. I started getting therapy with Dr. Chaos and I'm doing a lot better," she studied her hands on the table.
He looked between them all in disbelief, "You can't be serious."
The Overlord nodded solemnly, "We are. You've seen the capital. We're not all words, we're also actions. When we overthrew the old empire, we wanted to build a better world. The crown comes with consequences, old curses, corruption." He frowned deeply, "It corrupted us slowly, in ways we didn't notice. Maria jarred us into realizing we'd become almost exactly like the Old Empire. No blood sacrifices to the moon god or mass eradication of entire generations of nonhumans, but we were hardly better." He chuckled nervously.
Ha'ana shook her head violently, "You are lying!" She pounded a fist on the table, upsetting her cup of tea. "The Old Empire was peaceful! The moon goddess protected it. You destroyed it for power," she accused.
The Overlord pinched the bridge of his nose, "No, we destroyed it for good." He held a finger up when Fen started to protest. "This land is cursed. Beyond even my ability to break. With my power, I sealed it, but I will need help. Humans aren't as close to magic as the elves and dragons. When you officially take power, it will corrupt you, too, unless we keep it locked down," his voice had turned pleading.
Ha'ana stood suddenly, "You're just wasting our time. You only share immortality with your tainted generals."
General Michael also stood and went to a chest to the side, "I thought you might say that. So, we brought the seal with us." He pulled out a small, unassuming opal and brought it to Fen, who stood up and held his hands out.
He couldn't detect anything from a distance, but as soon as he touched the ice cold stone, he felt a shock of pure evil and dropped it in his tea. "Oh," it was a simple, shocked note.
"Oh," he said again, looking between the faces of two good men.
[WP] When a person dies, Death sends one of their deceased loved ones to reap their soul.
Original post here.
Jim hadn't known what he was expecting death to be like. He looked down at his body, crumpled against the dashboard of his car as the horn wailed above the approaching sirens. The drunk teenager who had slammed into him stumbled out of his truck and tried desperately to wake Jim up.
He felt bad for the kid, but he knew this was no longer something he could help. He saw the gold locket just barely hanging out of his shirt, and closed his eyes. What now?
Behind him, he felt a soft hand on his shoulder. He turned and fell to his knees, taking her hand, "Jenny. Lizzy." He put his hand on Lizzy's little head and pulled her close, hugging her tight.
Jenny looked down at him, looking peaceful. Jim had hoped that more than anything else. The paramedics were trying to revive him, but he knew it was time.
Lizzy leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "Daddy, please save me." Jim's eyes immediately darted up to Jenny who was still smiling peacefully. He pulled back and then stood, pulling Lizzy behind himself.
"Jenny, where do we go?" His voice was cautious and quiet.
Jenny shook her head, "Jim, if I wouldn't let you take her from me in life, what makes you think you can take her from me in death?" She still had that undisturbed look on her face, but Jim paled.
His hands shook but he kept his hand tightly around Lizzy's. "Jenny, please. You already took her with you in death. I never wanted to take her from you. You were sick, you needed help, I love you-" he was pleading, trying to keep his voice soothing.
She snarled and he heard Lizzy scream, "Daddy!" Then, he was staring at the ceiling of the ambulance with tears in his eyes.
The paramedic took his hand in comfort, "It's a miracle. Listen, you were in a car accident, but it'll be okay. Do you have family we should tell the hospital to contact?" Jim started crying. "It'll be okay."
[WP] A young farmer leaves home to sign up as another faceless soldier in the Evil Overlord's army. The farmer's adventures on the way make the Overlord very worried.
Original post here.
The Overlord wasn't particularly fond of these sorts of things. For all the evil he'd done in the world, it seemed somehow wrong. In a deeply uncomfortable way, not the usual laughably absurd way.
He sank down in his chair as his generals shifted nervously and looked down at their notes. He could hear every sizzle of lava in the pool behind him. He sat bolt upright in his chair when the door opened, barely catching the skull goblet he disrupted.
The person of the hour walked through with two demons pulling treasure chests behind her. "Overlord," she called, "My mission was a success." Her eyes gleamed as she opened up the chests to reveal gold and jewels in one, the other a dead body.
The Overlord cleared his throat and looked at his generals. Then, he boomed as softly as he could, "Maria, please take a seat." He gestured to an open seat at the very end on the long table. She blinked, then sat down, her feet not quite touching the floor. "Please close the doors on your way out," he told the demons as he waved at them to leave.
"Am I in trouble?" She was already starting to look upset, so the Overlord waved his hand.
"No, you're not in trouble," he paused and looked down at his notes, clearing his throat, "Maria, over the last several months, you have been a joy to our armies here. Some of your recent behavior has made us all concerned. We are all your friends and just want the best for you, so we gathered here today with the help of Dr. Chaos," here he nodded to the therapist on his left. "We have come up with a plan to get you help and consequences if you refuse them."
Maria started to protest, but the Overlord cut her off, "Maria, you have pillaged and burned down several villages."
She frowned, "They raised armies against us."
"You single-handedly drown a nest of dragon hatchlings. You fed their meat to their own mother."
She shook her head emphatically, "Their parents were part of the resistance! They wiped out a whole town of dark elves!"
"You enslaved an entire species of pixies."
She started again, "They were useful!"
"Then, eradicated them when they no longer proved useful, causing them to go extinct."
She went quiet and looked at her hands. The Overlord clasped his own together in front of him, leaning forward. "You have made me very proud, Maria, but also very concerned. Where are your parents?"
She kicked her feet and replied glumly, "Resistance killed them. Siblings, too."
The Overlord nodded slowly. "We thought something like that might have happened," he shouted as gently as possible.
"Please don't kick me out! I can do better!" She was starting to cry.
The Overlord looked to Dr. Chaos and his generals for strength and took a deep breath, "Maria, you won't be allowed on any more missions."
She covered her face and croaked, "Why?"
"Maria, you're twelve. You need to be in school!" He hadn't meant to shout loudly enough to cause the lava to flare up, and winced.
Maria looked up defiantly, "You're racist! I'm a gnome!"
The Overlord shook his head, "That may have worked before you hit your growth spurt, but we need you to be honest."
She sniffed and rubbed at her face, "Sorry I lied. The officers wouldn't let me help otherwise."
The Overlord sighed and General Diana handed Maria a handkerchief. "It's not so bad, Maria," Diana menaced as kindly as she was capable of.
"What's not bad about it?" She grumbled into the lacy rag, rubbing at her face.
"Well," The Overlord started, "I've been having trouble producing an heir. General Michael and I are very busy adults often leading armies in different places. We can't ever agree on which woman would be the best to be blessed by our choosing." The Overlord took his partner's hand in a rare display of public affection.
General Harold gasped and grabbed General Ted by the shoulder, hissing, "I told you so!"
The Overlord gave him a dirty look while several of the older generals tried not to cackle.
General Michael nodded, ignoring the interruption, "We decided an heir just needs to carry on the legacy we started when we overthrew the empire. We both finally came to an agreement. Maria, would you give us the honor of being our daughter?"
Maria blinked, looking at all the adults in the room, then hauled herself onto the table and ran across it, giving them both a big hug. Though, mindful of the spikes on their armor. "Yes!" She jumped back and jumped up and down on the table.
She paused, "But I can still go on missions, right?"
The Overlord started to protest, but General Michael began before him, "If you do well in school, we'll discuss it."
A few days later, the generals threw the new family an adoption party.
[WP] Lucifer meets his biggest nightmare, a scorned woman
Original post here.
Lucifer hated days like this. It wasn't just that he had fallen for pride and that admitting mortals could outdo him was painful, it also just put the demons in a bad mood. Which meant they didn't work as effectively and stood around the water coolers whispering to each other. There was a gaggle of them every time he went to get coffee. He'd glare, but only the interns would sheepishly scamper back to the cubes.
As with most cases like this, a gloomy intern came to his office, claws clicking on the side of the door. He bowed low and Lucifer looked up from his computer, "Did you need something, Richard?"
The intern bowed a little lower, "Lord King Lucifer," he hesitated, "Uhm, there's a woman here who asked to see you."
Lucifer raised an eyebrow and stood from his desk, "What exactly did she say?"
"'Can I speak to your manager?'"
Lucifer internally winced, but put on his best smile, arranging his wings in an orderly fashion. He followed the intern down to external affairs, where a beautiful blonde woman sat with only a slightly torn dress. Judging by the state of her skin, Lucifer thought it was poison.
The intern handed him the clipboard of her information and left as quickly as an imp could go. Lucifer took a seat across from her, scanning her case. At least he was still right about the cause.
She drummed her fingers on the desk impatiently. Ms. Fionna Simmons had a list of petty offenses and enough charity to only barely tip her into Hell's domain. It'd be no more than community service before she'd be sent to limbo.
"I'm not seeing much of a reason why an intern couldn't handle your case, Ms. Simmons," he said, switching to only lightly accented English.
She frowned at him, then grabbed his wrist and shoved it against the table. With her other hand, she produced a shard of glass and stabbed it deep into Lucifer's hand, pinning it there. "Then, you get me Lucifer himself, or I will make you eat your own fingers," she snarled in his face.
Lucifer held back a howl of pain only for the sake of his dignity. He plucked the glass shard from his hand and only just noticed the painting of a flower hiding behind a potted fern, a few shards swept away there. He recoiled his hand and curled it against his chest, refusing the urge to lick it until it stopped leaking white pus.
Ms. Simmons, for her part, just looked satisfied and waited, "Tick tock."
"Well, it's a good thing I'm Lucifer then," he growled. He was trying not to sound petulant, but it came off that way regardless. She paused, looking mildly surprised, but hardened her eyes anyway.
She gestured to him, "Send me back up."
Lucifer rolled his eyes, all of the ones on his wings, too, she she really saw it, "No."
She glared, then tried to soften it into a smile. "I'll come back down. I'll bring someone with me," she offered, "Please."
He looked her up and down, "What makes you think we just send people back up?"
Her smile widened and she spread her hands out. "I don't. But you'll send me. They told me I just barely landed in hell. That's where he said he'd see me again. So, let me drag him back down here," she had laid her deal down.
Lucifer looked at her case file, "You won't be here long. We only send demons back up. Ms. Simmons, if you become a demon, you'll never leave."
She shook her head, "Make me one."
He held out his hand, the one she'd stabbed. She hesitated, steeled her resolve and shook his hand. Her smile widened, breaking her pretty face in two and she looked up. Like a bolt of lightning, she was gone, leaving behind only the echoes of her tinkling laughter.
He shook his head. He knew she'd repossessed her dead body and marveled that she hadn't created a new vessel for herself. He shuddered a little. She'd do great in the Nightmare division and he marked her as such on the paperwork.
Lucifer hated dealing with scorned women, but they were a valuable asset to the company.
In ten million years, Milo Hart would have never thought that he’d have ten million years to consider how wrong he was. Mostly, just that Milo rarely thought he was capable of being wrong. He knew he was fully capable of objective immortality. Among the dreary books that oozed Poe and smelt of Anne Rice, he sat alert, wincing at every shock of thunder that shook the old library. He half-wondered if the swelling swamp water would finally make it yet another secret it’d laid deep within it. Still, it stood after each concerning groan and pop that briefly flooded the room every few seconds.
It was not a great place to be holding a knife in a white-knuckled grip and waiting.
Milo tried to shake his messy bangs out of his eyes, but didn’t do much but fling water on the books. He gave an annoyed huff and pushed them back from his face with a jerking, halted motion. Glancing at the books, he didn’t think they minded too much. He lifted his foot to move it out of the way of a compilation of Lovecraft as it crawled past the desk he was sitting at and then grimaced at the slimy trail of ink and glittering letters it left behind. He nudged one of the children’s books where he wanted to put his foot and smashed its covers down before it could try to bite him.
Most of them were chirping lightly in whatever dreams books dream, but he always noticed horror couldn’t sleep through a thunderstorm. They tended to swarm around his feet. He didn’t know if it was because they thought it was the perfect time for him to read them or if the lightning had them rattled.
Momentarily distracted by the books, he just barely caught the flicker of light between the cypress trees. His head snapped up and his grip tightened on the rusted knife. He watched as the light flared and died a few times. Finally, the orange glow steadied and a woman ran from behind the trees, leaping across the surface of the water as the storm began to lull.
Milo watched the spirit dance around a flowering branch of honeysuckles that had weathered the storm. She bowed to it, as if courting its favor. That’s all Milo would normally need to know before he curled deep into the hollow of the tree that had broken through the old library. Tonight, he could not wait for her to die in the dawning light.
He checked that his hair was tied back as much as could be reasonably hoped for and rubbed a handful of black powder onto his face. He stood and grabbed his woven moss cloak and threw it over his shoulders, pulling the hood low and pinning it in place to his hair. The floors protested his shifting of positions and then he leaned down and put a finger to his lips and shushed it. “Do you want to lose another librarian?” He whispered close to its rusted nails so he was sure it’d hear but the spirit would not.
Milo felt the library shudder and then he could hear nothing but the dreamy cheeps of the books as the storm broke from its drizzle. The storm still rumbled threateningly, so Milo moved downstairs quickly, muttering prayers in a nonsense language his parents had never taught him, but he was far too superstitious not to do anyway. He silently dipped his feet into the water, slithering in with no more a ripple than a raindrop.
He let just his black eyes settle above the water and then started moving towards the spirit at such a slow pace that she wouldn’t notice him there. He kept the knife in one hand and held out his other hand, palm open, so he could see where he was stepping under the water, easily leaping across gaps and crouching for the shallow swamp. He noticed an alligator making its way towards him and then realize he was there. It did such an abrupt turnabout to flee that the splashing drew the spirit’s attention.
Milo gritted his teeth under the water and breathed in a sharp intake of dank water in frustration. He let his crawl come to a standstill. If there was one thing his kind was good at, it was patience.
The spirit looked around herself, alarmed, for the better part of ten minutes. Unfortunately, Milo had failed to inherit many things from his parents. Spirits had only one night to live and Milo thought it was a personal affront that they’d spend half their lives looking around for anything dangerous at the slightest disturbance. He looked between the spirit and himself, judging the distance.
He narrowed his eyes at it, waving his hand to force a cypress root under his feet so he could get into a comfortable crouch. Then, he leapt and dug his black claws into her fiery heart and his knife into her throat. It hurt, of course it hurt. She bleeted in pain as she collapsed against the bank and smacked him hard across the face with a burning hand.
He took the blow and kept his claws in her heart as she struggled and finally withered into the corpse that she’d rose from. Milo pulled back in disgust from her half-rotted, gaping mouth, quickly cleaning the yellow pus from his hands. He pulled off his moss cloak so he could reach the center of the mound more easily without having to worry about getting dirt in his palm eyes. Then, he swan dived into the water, swimming to the honeysuckles. He dug and picked away at the clump of dirt until he felt a small, wooden box. He pulled it out as the honeysuckles began to rot back into the swamp, grinning like a fool. He peaked into the worn box and spotted a pair of rings and then gave a whoop, pumping his fist in the air and wishing he’d brought a book with him so he would have a reason to tell something how cool he was.
Then, he heard voices.
Milo automatically ducked below the water and then panicked when he remembered he didn’t have his cloak. He resurfaced, coughing and sputtering, trying to get back to the bank. He wheeled back when someone flashed a bright light into his face and fell, landing on his ass halfway on the bank. A woman screamed and the light was dropped, landing right in Milo’s eyes. He covered his face and rolled over, every instinct screaming at him to crawl into the water and bury himself under the sand with the catfish. But also not to drown.
He heard another woman shout, “It’s one of them bog witches! Dale, get your ass over here!” He knew it was another woman because the first one hadn’t stopped screaming. Well, Milo had already known he was well and truly fucked, but at least he had verbal confirmation.
Then, Milo realized he’d dropped the box. He was at the point of swearing, but that high-pitched screeching wasn’t doing his mood any favors, so he rolled back over and stood up, snatching up the flashlight and turning it on one terrified woman and another woman gaping at him disbelief. “Will you shut ya fuckin’ mouth, girl? I ain’t need no howler tellin’ all them wingies to come an’ gobble me up,” he hated how thick his deep swamp accent came out, something even other witches laughed about.
She stopped screaming in shock as her friend’s eyes went from saucers to moons. He heard the click of a gun being cocked and cringed more towards the women as a man pointed the barrel of a shotgun at his head. Yeah, Milo was doing really great at hearing danger tonight.
He realized that this might come off as even more threatening than swearing at two women, which Milo was under the impression humans found more offensive than normal cussing, so he took a couple steps back from all of them, holding the flashlight defensively. Well, at least the man hadn’t actually shot him yet, so maybe he could talk his way backwards to his cloak and then swim away. “Uhm,” he started. An extremely eloquent beginning of a plea for mercy.
“Girls, don’t look, ya’ll don’t need to see this,” the man started, staring Milo down over the barrel of the gun. The blonde human, the one who’d said he was a bog witch, shoved his shoulder and started towards Milo in alarm. Her friend grabbed her arm, trying to pull her back.
“Dale, wait,” she shouted, “She talked! Bog witches can’t talk. What if she’s one of those swamp angels?” He saw Dale hesitating, his eyes softening and the gun dipping slightly.
Though, Milo did internally wince at the characterization of bog witches as too dumb to talk. It was the wingies with the problem with words. Also, she seemed to think bog witches could only be women. Still, Milo would take it, his face breaking out into a smile, “I-”
Dale cut him off before he could speak, “Dee, I know they look human, but they ain’t close. Swamp angels don’t look nearly that close to human, they can just imitate speech, like parrots. She ain’t a person either, just look at her. Fuckin’ tall even for a bog witch. Gonna have to take a picture of her to show my buddies.”
Milo swallowed a growl, knowing that wouldn’t help to start clicking at them. Dee cocked an eye at Dale and put a hand on her hip, “It was an oddly specific imitation to tell Milly to, ‘shut her fuckin’ mouth’.” Milly nodded, still staring at Milo with abject horror. “She ain’t some fish for you to brag about,” she went on.
“Yeah,” Milo added, “what she said.”
Now, it was all eyes on him and Milo remembered he was supposed to be backing up to get his cloak. Dale shook his head, "Hear how rough her voice is? She's trying to imitate me."
He glanced over at his cloak and then back at them, smiling nervously, “Would ya’ll have happened to lose a rotter? See, not an imitation.” Dale stared at him in shock and confusion. Milo paused and cleared his throat. “Sorry, I meant a dead body. We call ‘em rotters if someone’s been usin’ ‘em for, uh, somethin’. Dunno why they’d want a spirit all the way,” he paused, thinking, “out here,” he finished more quietly.
In the deeply uncomfortable silence as the humans turned their eyes to each other nervously, Milo remembered he was only a ten minute walk from his burrow. While Milo had to go near humans out of necessity on occasion, such as to collect doll hair and human baby teeth for spells, he lived far deeper than they were typically willing to go.
Whatever they were doing summoning a spirit seemed to overshadow meeting a bog witch who was willing to talk to humans. They were all shouting. “She was over here”, “I told you this was dumb”, “Do you think she found it?”
Milo waved the flashlight at them vaguely to get their attention again, “What are ya’ll doin’ playin’ with necromancy? Don’t ya’ll lay yours in the dirt to sleep?” He had never fully grasped the concept of sentient creatures being dead. All the human books made it seem very sad and troubling, but it was outside his range of understanding as a mostly immortal swamp fiend. After all, he’d just killed a dead human again. Milo, like most bog witches, was vaguely sure humans were just making death up so they had something else to whine about.
The two women looked guilty, but Dale looked frustrated. “Her name is Jeanie. She was Dee’s best friend back in high school. Milly and Dee said she was haunting them because she had unfinished business, so of course the most logical thing to do was get some kind of black magic book and try to summon her spirit,” his sarcasm was thick and he shot them both a glare. Milo was impressed how quickly his hostilities had switched.
“Oh,” he replied, “Why did you think that would work? Spirits are dumb. They find some treasure in the water and then they court it and then they die and ya got nothin’ left but an empty dirt chamber to explain to somebody, if you humans really ‘die’,” here, Milo did air quotes and gave them a respectful amount of a suspicious looks.
He went over to the body and pointed at the yellow pus oozing from its cracked jaw. Dale blinked at Milo and glanced behind himself at the girls who shrugged in an equal amount of confusion. He carefully stepped towards where Milo was pointing and looked down, then away quickly as if stung, “Yup, that’s her.”
Milo tried to parse why Dale looked like he was trying not to cry and decided that humans just enjoyed crying. “She got me good on the face before I could crush her heart,” he patted the cheek that had already healed. When Dale’s lip started trembling, Milo patted him awkwardly on the head in a gesture of comfort. He would have patted the human’s shoulder, but that felt more awkward since Milo was so much taller. Dale startled and gave him a bewildered and slightly offended look, so Milo withdrew his hand. The women came over to look, too, but seemed less upset than Dale considering he’d seemed to imply they were closer to this Jeanie.
“Yeah, that’s her alright,” Dee muttered, “Guess she didn’t find them rings. Milly, you have some spare gourds so we can do it again?”
Milly fumbled with a bag and pulled one out. Milo looked between them and shook his head, “You ain’t summonin’ no spirit in my bog. ‘Sides, she had some rings. They mine now.” He frowned at them disapprovingly, then realized he’d just revealed the location of his burrow and growled in frustration, a deep ticking rattle in his throat. The women startled back, eyes wide.
Dale seemed to remember Milo was supposed to be dangerous, re-leveling the gun at him. Milo remembered he didn’t have his cloak on and that death was an actual possibility for him, not just a phase that would hurt for a few days. He glanced down at it again, just out of reach, and back over at Dale nervously, clearing his throat to stop the growl, “Sorry.”
Dale shook his head and waved Milo away from the body, opposite from his cloak. He complied out of the recalled fear, and slight confusion, of death. “Can I just get my cloak, please?”
Dale blinked at him and then the girls turned around from already looking over their dead friend’s body. “Oh yeah, you don’t have one of those moss cloaks. Why I guess it’s weird for a bog witch to wear jeans,” Dee remarked, looking him over as if actually seeing him for the first time.
“What nudists do you have in ya neck of the swamp?” Milo was snipping, but he really hated that they were surprised witches wore clothes and spoke, which they seemed to have gotten over rather quickly in the face of other priorities. He crossed his arms, suddenly self-conscious.
Dee reached forward and took the flashlight back from him, shining it back at Milo. “Huh,” she nodded. “Why do you have stuff all over your face?”
He blinked and rubbed at his face. “It’s just a kind of mud to hide our face better in the water,” he replied. “I forgot I put it on. Seems like a long time ago I hunted that thing down so I could…” Milo trailed off and then looked at the moon to gauge what time it was. “Shit,” he swore. “I gotta go. Ya’ll have to let me go,” he waved his hands vaguely and started to move forward even despite the warning gun wave he got from Dale.
Milly tried to move out of his way, but just ended up stumbling into Milo with a shriek of surprise covered by a loud sound. Milo tried to catch and right her, but his left arm suddenly seemed to not want to work. Being mostly protected by his cloak, Milo was unused to pain. He was trying to process it, but wasn’t doing a very good job. He put a hand over the bleeding hole in his shoulder, not quite understanding what was happening. His brain seemed to finally catch up to the fact that he’d been shot and the pain hit him all at once. He heard a distant splash as the world went dark.
[WP] Upon death, you find yourself with a pad of paper, filled with time-stamped quotes. You soon realize that they are things you wanted to say in life but never did. When reading each one, you are given insight into the often heartbreaking results of your silence.
Original post here.
The list was simple for the unused words that made up all the things never said in a life, every regret. Now, there was no more time to add to it. It is as follows:
Mommy.
Bird.
Pretty.
Love.
Doggie?
No!
Why not?
It's not fair that I have to go to school.
I don't want to give grandma kisses.
Ginger is dumb and has a pig nose.
Daddy doesn't love me.
Bird.
Can I get it tomorrow?
I hate it.
Why?
Hurts.
Bird.
What's "cancer"?
Bird.
I know Santa Claus isn't real.
Do I have to go to church?
Can I have ice cream?
I want the green one.
I can do it myself.
Ginger is going to make fun of me.
Bird.
Ginger, you look funny without hair.
Can we stop going to the doctor?
Mommy, don't shave your hair. You have to be pretty for me.
This is scary.
I wish I wasn't dying.
Mommy, I'm sorry I'm dying.
Please don't cry because I love you. I'm sorry I'm dying.
Bird.
I don't want to see daddy.
If you're going to miss me so much, why didn't you call me?
Bird.
Bird.
Mommy.
I love you.
Thank you.
Can I go home?
It hurts.
Bird.
Santa isn't real.
I don't want a baby brother.
You're replacing me.
I'm sorry.
Why are babies so ugly?
Don't tell Timmy about me. I just make everyone sad.
[WP] Olympic athletes are chosen by lottery so countries are encouraged to increase the average athleticism of their citizens and not just elite athletes. You were just selected.
Original post here.
When the Olympic announcers shouted her name, Gina tried to look surprised. She gasped and hugged her mother in an area of other, randomly selected Olympian lottery finalists. She waved to the other finalists, who looked more relieved than anything.
She stepped up to the stage, waving to the crowds as they placed the golden pass for the Olympics around her neck. She bowed to the other gymnasts who looked just as excited as she did and then stepped back to chatter among them.
Sure, every country could have improved the athleticism of every single one of their citizens. Yet, when the Olympic committee announced randomly selecting each competitor, most countries just turned to a few of its citizens to make sure the lottery was fair.
As long as they all played honestly at the games, Gina didn't see a problem in cheating to get there.
[WP] The entire planet has filed a class action lawsuit against the Devil, blaming him for all their wrongdoings. You are his lawyer.
Original post here.
Steve wasn't sure what it said about him that Lucifer, King of Hell, The Adversary, Betrayer of God, etc etc, had asked him to take his case. The day had started normal, with Steve taking the bus to the law firm. He read case notes on the way and while walking into his office. He had a bologna sandwich for lunch. He drank two coffees.
These were all normal ways to have a day. Steve looked down into his coffee cup doubtfully, as if expecting foul play. He looked back up at the handsome man who sat across from him, one leg crossed over the other. "Right," Steve sighed, "Mr. Morningstar, you said it was?"
Mr. Morningstar nodded, smiling in a way Steve found far too charming, "Yes, Lucifer Morningstar." He wondered exactly how evil you had to be for your voice to sound that sinful.
Steve tugged at one ear and then scratched the side of his nose. "Little on the nose, don't you think?"
Steve's client threw back his head laughing, then leaned forward onto Steve's desk, resting a cheek against his hand, looking a little bored, eyes half-lidded, "Mr. Harbinger, have you ever thought of your own name?"
"Not since I was a kid," Steve replied, pushing his glasses back up his nose. He looked down, over the notes he'd been given about the case. "But I'm not trying to pass myself off as the devil," he said casually.
He was only slightly relieved when Mr. Morningstar declined to respond. Steve could feel the man's eyes on him as he read, the papers sounding too loud whenever he turned the pages.
"So," Steve paused, finally looking up and then startling back at how close the client had gotten. He put a hand over his heart and let out a wheeze, "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"
The client just shook his head and sat back in his chair. Steve cleared his throat, "It says here that every nation in the world is jointly suing you in the court of heaven."
Mr. Morningstar inclined his head, gesturing for Steve to continue. "That's impossible," Steve stated and stood up, staring down at the man, "If this isn't some kind of joke, then you very clearly need some professional help, Mr. Morningstar."
The client tilted his head and nodded, "That's why I'm here. You are a professional, aren't you?"
"If you can prove to me you're the devil, I'll represent you pro bono," Steve glared.
The man smiled that charming smile and leaned on Steve's desk again. As Steve began to protest, Mr. Morningstar swirled his hands and a dark cloud appeared there. The TV in the office turned on and flipped to the news, "You haven't watched the news, have you?"
Steve opened his mouth to ask about the swiftly dissipating dark cloud, but then just turned to watch a news anchor going over the same details Steve had read in the case. He looked between the client and the news a few times. "Oh my God," Steve muttered. Then, he did a reasonable thing anyone encountering proof of the supernatural could be expected to do: he fainted.
When Steve woke up, he groaned in pain, rubbing at a sore spot on the side of his head. He sat up with a start as he remembered what had happened before he fainted. He couldn't see anything beyond fuzzy blobs, so he scrambled around for his glasses. He found them on the side table and shoved them back on his face.
He wasn't sure where he was. It was a nice room that looked antique. He was in a bed, his shoes and jacket were next to the door. Steve was glad he saw a bathroom on the side of the room and ran over to vomit. He hadn't had an anxiety attack this bad since his first case.
He washed his face in the sink and splashed himself with cold water. "Oh my god," he murmured again to his reflection.
"I was going to tell you earlier, but it seems highly inappropriate to be representing me pro bono and taking the Lord's name in vain," drawled a voice behind him. Steve startled and turned to see Mr. Morningstar leaning against the bathroom's doorframe. "How's your head? You smacked it pretty hard on your desk," he made an explosion noise to emphasize.
"Fine, fine," Steve murmured, touching the side of his head and wincing. Maybe not fine, but it seemed the lesser of the evils in the room. "Where am I?"
Mr. Morningstar looked disappointed, "I was hoping you'd say, 'Where in the hell am I?' I had this great joke ready. Well, anyway, welcome to Hell."
Steve wondered if it'd be extremely bad for his health to faint again. Instead he walked past the literal Devil and sat heavily on the bed. "I've gone mad," he sounded slightly defeated and stared at his hands. "At least, I really hope I have. How do you honestly expect me to convince the world the purveyor of all evil isn't responsible for every wrong in the world?!" He looked up at Mr. Morningstar with a sudden surge of anger.
His client arched a delicate eyebrow in response, "I'm not the lawyer here." When Steve was about to start shouting, Mr. Morningstar sighed deeply. "Not guilty," he pointed at himself, "I tempt people, I don't make anybody do anything bad. They choose to. I am only one man-shaped being, Mr. Harbinger."
Glasses off, Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep inhale. "Okay, okay. Well, they have a list of witnesses, both alive and dead, and you'll need counter-witnesses and..." Steve trailed off, thinking. Of course, if Mr. Morningstar had truly tempted them, he was still at least guilty of conspiracy. "How do you tempt people?"
There was that charming smile again. "You've seen it yourself. I thought you might need a little more convincing, maybe some personal investment," his smile turned into a smirk as Steve felt heat rising in his cheeks. "I also produce media that supports my agenda. Gives people bad ideas, that sort of thing. People give me a lot of credit, but I had one original thought. Humans are more creative than me. I know," Mr. Morningstar continued, "Humans think I would be too prideful to admit that, but all children are stubborn. We all have to grow up eventually." Steve thought he looked vaguely embarrassed.
Well, that wasn't exactly what he was expecting. If all his client did was look pretty, engage in consensual sexual relations, and use his freedom of speech then Steve felt like he had a good argument.
"Okay. I think we can win this, but you have got to do everything I say," Steve sighed and grabbed his suitcase by the door. It was going to be a long night and Mr. Morningstar was just going to make it feel longer if he kept eyeing Steve like that.
