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For everyone who decided to participate, here's how this will work:

Every day at 12:00am EST, I'll post at least two prompts. You are welcome to choose which one you want to write. Completing the exercise gets your name added into the lottery pool 1 time. Writing more than one prompt or creatively combining multiple prompts gets your name added 3 times. You'll have 24 hours until the next prompt is posted to submit your exercise (and I'll be pretty lenient with the submission deadline, since I might not be perfectly on time depending on real life events). You are welcome to write as much or as little as you'd like.

At the end of the week, I'll pick a name out of the total lottery pool and that person can PM me what kind of illustration they'd like (within reasonable limits - eg. nothing vulgar or inappropriate). I may also give away quick little sketches for participation on personal whim, for anyone I feel deserves one.

Anyone is welcome to join in at any time in this contest - just drop me a PM so I don't overlook you by accident.

Rules: Please respond only to the prompt post, and DO NOT respond to any other writer's submission post. Any praise or constructive criticism should go into the feedback thread thread here

That being said, have fun, give each other constructive criticism, and write!

Day One (Tuesday, Mar 14):

Prompt #1: Let's begin with the end! Your character returns after a long journey. Write what they're thinking and feeling at the very end of the story.

Prompt #2: Your character is trying to keep a secret from another character that may or may not already suspect the truth. Write their interaction.

(I'm going for both prompts)

As he glanced around the small house he was overwhelmed by the strange duality it presented. Everything was the same but different as well. Agatha's painting still hung above the mantle and the course sheep's wool blanket was strung across Willy's rocking chair, same as ever, as if Tom had woken from a dream. But small changes reminded him of how long he had been gone. They had a tea kettle now rather than the pan they used to boil their tea water in, and it shown a distracting, polished red in the firelight that kept drawing his eyes back to it. The washbasin in the corner was metal instead of wood, and instead of oil there was a container of kerosene to fuel the light at the center of the table.

Agatha drew Tom away from his thoughts by setting down a plate of eggs and potatoes with a warm, buttery roll. Tom didn't mind the distraction in the slightest.

When he was done he rose to clean his plate, but Willy yelled from his rocking chair,

"You sit down, boy! You've been out in the cold for the past three years, rest for a night and let us take care of you," before giving a wheezy laugh and rocking back contentedly. Agatha got up and cleared the dishes. These were kind people. Their smiles and laughter were recorded in the wrinkles of the their sun-scarred skin. Tom had forgotten such kindness still lived. 

They asked him questions about his exploits west, who he had met, what he had seen; and he tried his best to answer. In his heart he still regretted that he had come home while their son had not, but they had said nothing of it. Perhaps his presence alone was enough to open old wounds, so why twist the knife that was already driven in a loved one's side? Willy eventually got up and went to bed, leaving Agatha to finish the cleaning and Tom to keep her company. When she finished up she sat across the table from Tom rubbing her hands on her apron. After a moments hesitation she said guardedly,

"Jeffery came through here the other day. Told us our Henry stopped in a mining town 'long the way." Tom's heart nearly stopped. Jeffery hadn't told them then. Hadn't told them how their son had gotten lost in the mines. Agatha gave Tom a knowing look, a pleading look as if hoping he could take her fear away. "You know anything about that?" she asked. Thomas swallowed before saying slowly.

"Yeah, I... I reckon I know about that." Her eyes all wreathed in laugh lines seemed to lose their light. She nodded solemnly. She choked on the words as she asked

"And you think he's happy... over there?" For four days Henry had yelled hoping someone would find him. His voice had pounded in the searchers' ears as they looked and looked... but found nothing. Henry had cried. He cried out for his friends, for his mother, for the grace of God, but no one came for him. Remembering the sound of his screams distorted by the cavern walls left Tom to wake up in a cold sweat every night. They never did find his body. But on the fifth day the mines fell heavily silent and on the seventh, the searchers could take it no longer and left.

"Yeah... I reckon he's happy."

(Combine the two? Yeah. I can do that. *grin* Thank you for giving me an excuse to write this, I've been looking for one--though your requirements made it sadder. WARNING: Anyone who has not read all of The Other World--including the hidden epilogue--is advised not to read this entry due to (implied) MASSIVE SPOILERS. I would not write this if I didn't know Quiller already had.)
--
(Seriously. You were warned. Also, for the sake of a clear narrative, Nikki is male.)
--

In the year 6, AV:    

"She will see you now," a human soldier announced, bringing Nicholas back to the present. Nicholas nodded and murmured his thanks, hesitating before he slowly walked down the grand halls. He passed a large, golden mirror and caught sight of his face--he barely looked a day over twenty five. Not at all bad for a forty-three year old, having a quarter of vampire blood in his veins did have its perks. Though, he'd certainly acquired quite a few new scars since he was actually twenty-five. It was worth it.

Humanity was free, truly free, starting today. All he had to do was announce their victory to the owner of this place. This place, which was once the palace of Vidia Hacate, now belonged to the lovely, twenty-four year old Aria Hartwin. 

Humanity had traded the most feared queen in all history for the most beloved--not that she would remain their leader for very much longer. Nikki knew her true desire, the one she had confided in him and his father nigh-on six years ago. She longed to escape the dark memories of this city to one of the smaller, country homes. A peaceful place, with plenty of room to live a quiet life, to raise a large, happy family.

Nikki felt a sharp pang of jealousy and he brushed it off calmly as he stepped into the war room, where Aria had just received a report from every other military leader but him. She was sitting at a stone table, reading over some scrolls while she waited for him.

When she looked up and beamed at him with that beautiful face, he could feel his heart crack and crumble under her gaze. 'Your smile... it hasn't changed at all,' he wanted to blurt out the thought, but the words caught in his throat at the sight of her middle. 'Heavy with child, still. Her third.' He reminded himself, scolding. He knew better. She was married and in love with another man. He knew that the past meant nothing because of the reality of the life she had now. She didn't even remember.

"Nikki! You've returned! I'm so glad... I was told that you faced the most vicious group, but you seem no worse for the wear." She stood and began to hurriedly walk over to greet him properly. "Still as handsome and youthful as ever, of c--"

She tripped and he ran to catch her, holding her as close as he dared to keep her from the unforgiving stone floor. "Steady! Steady, your highness... a lady in your condition shouldn't strain yourself, especially for my sake." Nikki guided her back to her chair gently, giving her a stern look.

Aria chuckled softly. "Thank you, but please, you needn't address me so and you really mustn't say it that way. I am grateful beyond words for everything all of you have done to help humanity regain control. I am no general, no soldier. I could not have stopped the vampire nobles from keeping their hold over the lesser cities. You and Fang especially have been great champions for our cause, and at such cost... I... I can't imagine what you've had to go through--" She trailed off and looked away. "I'm sorry to have asked so much of you. I wish this all could've ended more peacefully."   

'I'd do anything for you.' He firmly bit back the words before he could foolishly voice them. He'd wanted humanity's freedom and revenge for his mother's death desperately, especially in his youth, but oh, Gods ... he hadn't been thinking of either for the duration this last battle at all. He had been thinking of her. Winning and coming back to her, as her champion. "It was an honor."

She smiled at him again. "Even so, I thank you. From the depths of my heart, as I would have every generation after me thank you. But please, tell me, how did you and your companions fare? Were... were you able to spare any of them?"

Nikki managed a weak smile at that. As much as humanity had despised that part of his family, Aria really had wanted to see everyone live in harmony once Vidia was gone. The vampires that had given up and agreed to live in peace were ... not exactly trusted, but Aria had at least convinced her people to give them a chance. He was grateful for that forgiveness from her. Even though he had despised his own kind at times, he understood that no race was truly fully good or fully evil. Though he had hunted them down with vigor, he had offered mercy with just as much fervor. The whole experience had been quite cathartic.  

"It was... difficult. Leandro is not a foe any of us could take lightly, but we fared better than I had hoped, and less men were lost than I or my father predicted. His older followers were less than cooperative when we gave them a chance to surrender, but a few of the younger vampires agreed to lay down their arms." He offered her a scroll detailing the events more thoroughly. She accepted it, then laid a hand over his.

"Are you well, though?" She inquired. "You seem exhausted. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Nikki forced a smile. "No, my lady. There is... nothing I could request of you."

"Aria." She corrected him, then paused. She seemed to reflect on his words, then with some trepidation, she lowered her voice. "Could I--would you pardon me, if I asked you something rather strange, Nikki?"

Confusion danced across his features for a moment, but he shrugged. "You are welcome to ask me anything, m--Aria."

Aria's deep blue eyes gazed into his searchingly. "Do you ever feel a sense of--of familiarity between us? As if we've known each other much longer than these past years? Like we met at least once before?"

Nikki's heart leapt into his throat. 'YES!' "... Whatever do you mean?"   

Aria glanced down at their hands and frowned. "I can't properly explain it, it's just, every time I'm with you, I feel ... it's like coming back to a familiar place, hearing a song I knew as a child again for the first time in years. The memories we have together now feel incomplete."

Swallowing, Nikki was careful with his next words. "And, what is it you feel that means?"

"I was hoping you knew," Aria admitted softly, with a shrug, but there was a trace of pain in her voice that he just barely caught. Something she was trying to push away, to distract herself from, perhaps. It was only now that Nikki noticed a faint scent. Very, very soft, old, but it must've been quite strong once--'tears?' "Aria... why were you crying yesterday? What is it you haven't told me?"

Aria looked startled. She glanced up and regarded him with wide eyes. "I--how could you possibly...?" She shook her head slowly. "Truly, vampires are amazing creatures. I--there was an attack on the palace days ago. It was handled swiftly. A young vampire, desiring revenge for their sire, came for me. The guards were successful in taking him down, but there was ... one casualty." Her voice choked. "Eric, he... there was nothing the healers could do..."

'Her husband.' Nicholas was dumbstruck. 'He's dead?' Nikki had had no news from the battlefield, everyone was too caught up in the effort free the cities. Her happiness before, it had all been a front, it had all been a part of her being a leader, smiling brightly for her people's freedom even as she mourned for her own loss. A soft sob loosened his tongue as he realized she was crying, hard, but quietly in front of him.

"Aria... gods, I'm... I'm sorry..." And he was. He really, truly was. He stood and drew her into a hug. 'How could I have been so selfish, so self-focused as to not even see her grief sooner?' "If there's anything I can do--" She buried her face in his chest and cried, and nothing more was said.

That night, a feast was held in honor of both those that returned victorious and those that had lost their lives in the battle against Vidia and Vidia's supporters, past and present. Eric was among the ones mourned and his bravery in protecting his wife, their leader, was also honored. Nikki raised a glass to the man who he envied, even in death, for giving the one he loved in another life the one thing he never could, and for stealing her heart in this life before he'd had the chance to try it himself.

~~~  

(:D Sufficient?)

Prompt #1:

Journal entry: Day 364

It's finally nearing its end! My year long journey is finally coming to a close! It really has been amazing! I've traveled to so many places and seen so many things, i can't store them all in my head at the same time! Like that guy that let me stay on his boat in La Maddalena. The beaches there were so beautiful! It was like stepping into an image off of a postcard. Oh and the Colosseum in Rome! Those 2 guys dressed up as gladiators and fought. It was SOOO funny! Vancouver was also really nice. It was like a winter wonderland! I finally got a chance to learn how to ski as well. That safari park in California was amazing too, with all those exotic animals there! But i can't pick a favourite place It's quite the dilemma. But it's a good thing i came up with the idea to bring a journal. By tomorrow morning I'll be home though. Back under familiar skies. But i can't say i won't miss being on the road... all those chances to meet new people, have new experiences that i would never get back home. But I'll be able to see my family again, after so long too. Well that's all for today.

Journal entry: Day 365

Its eerie... so empty... its a ghost town. Not even a tumble weed rolls past. There are just quite breezes drifting through the empty buildings. Its like everyone just disappeared. But everything else is still there. There is the town square where we had all our holiday festivals and bonfires. And the field where we celebrated guy fawkes and set off our fireworks. And my house. All my childhood memories, my mum and dad... my whole family. But everything all over town is still the same! why is that!? What happened? Maybe I'll just go to sleep. Yeah i'm sure morning will bring a solution...

The idea:

So the idea of this is deeper than it seems. The character writing in the journal, is the last remaining survivor of the human race, after the rest of the human race wiped them selves out in a 'total war'. She spent the last year of her life wandering all over the world, to places she visited as a teenager, hallucinating that she is still a teenager on that trip. But when she comes home everyone is gone, and she doesn't know why. That was the end of her last year, and the end of her journey. There is the explanation for ya! :D

Six men emerged from over the guard-rail, surprising the weary traveler, who was just beginning to open the supply drop. One of them produced a small, automatic weapon and methodically gunned the other survivor down. Blood spewed from the wounds, spraying both the assailant and the supply drop in arterial spray. His journey was over, but not in the way he expected. 

_______

The steady, rhythmic  beat of six-legged cows traversing a highway created an almost metronomic, soothing noise. Two of these  great, mutated riding-beasts happened to be doing just that, on one fine morning, sixty years after Armageddon.

"It's just a couple miles ahead. Promise." One of the riders said to his counterpart, as he swiveled in the saddle to look at her. 

"Seems further than I remember." Her voice was muffled by the gas-mask. Her fingers slightly tightened on the reigns, as she glanced over at the other rider. 

"It's all there. I swear to God." He responded somewhat nervously.

"Had to move the  drop. Fuckin' Freaks get more aggressive every year, I tell ya." He glanced around, nervously; as if even saying their name would bring a pack of the creatures down on top of him. 

"Pretty unlike them to get into the supplies." She commented casually, although her voice was strained; it was almost as if she could tell the man was not being straight with her. 

"Yep. Tearing open the bags and everything." His voice trailed off as his hand casually reached into his cloak, fashioned from a tarp. His fingers curled around the sawed-off shotgun resting on his lap. 

The woman in the gas mask turned  to her cloak-wearing travelling companion. "This is getting to be bullshit. Where's the fucking supply drop. It's miles from the usual spot. My people need that food, asshole." 

"See the turn-off over there?" He asked, motioning vaguely to a spot on the highway some five-hundred meters away. "It's just beyond there." 

"Seems like a perfect place for an ambush." She responded. She narrowed her one remaining eye, but it was a somewhat useless gesture, considering the mask.

He didn't respond. The two rode up to the turn-off in silence. 

"See? It's all there, just like I said it would be. One supply drop, courtesy of me and mine. I told you it wasn't an ambush." 

"Oh, it's an ambush, all right." She responded as her cohorts leaped the guardrail...

Author's Note: This is unrefined shit. I'm so tired right now.

After battling and slaying all of the 99 Demons of Darkness at the Tower of Heaven, Pell walks on the Emerald Road, which is close to his home. Suddenly, he sees Felicity standing in front of him, looking distraught and heartbroken. Felicity tells Pell, "I know your secret. I just want to ask why? Why did you kill Cora?" Pell recalls his meeting with Cora. But instead, he says: "Who is Cora?" acting as he does not know what happened.

   Felicity says, " Don't lie. I know you when you lie. I see your ears becoming red again." "What? I only drank a potion. It has side-effects you know." Felicity says "Why are you lying to me? Why are you keeping a secret from me?" As Felicity begins to whip up a storm.

  "How did you know?" Felicity then takes out her satchel and shows its contents. Pell is surprised to see his journal inside it. Felicity then turns to a specific drawing inside his journal and Pell sees it. It depicts a woman in a dress with the word 'Cora' at her the back of her dress. Pell asks, dumbfounded "How did you find it?" "During the time when you defeated the 30th demon. It seems you thought Cora was an evil demon." was the reply.

  Just before Felicity casts the storm spell, a slash was heard. And after that, a thud. Pell collects Felicity's head and throws it into a river, whereas he disposed her decapicated body by hiding it into a rather convenient log. 

  After that, Pell returns to the castle, feeling remorseful. "I shouldn't have killed Felicity. I shouldn't have killed Felicity!" then, another voice pops up and says "You had no choice. I know you enjoyed killing Felicity. Now, just take the sword in your hand and plunge it into the king's heart. Then nobody will care about Felicity anymore.

  Pell, who seemed to be insane after killing the demons, entered the castle, silently creeped to the oblivious king, plunged the demon sword into the king's heart,

For those that are confused, Felicity is a witch and Cora is Felicity's friend.

(Both prompts)

Magnus walked slowly through the forest, a bittersweet smile on his face. He had played a large part in saving the world from destruction and that made him happy, everyone in the world had a future and a life to enjoy now... except his friends. The final fight was nearly impossible to win, they were fighting against something that was more powerful than the gods themselves and that took it's cost on his friends, many of them had fallen in the following battle and the rest had sacrificed themselves to seal away this nigh invincible enemy. What was worse, was that his power was equal to that of all his friends combined, he could have sacrificed himself and the remaining people would have survived and had a future to look up to, but cowardice took him and he feigned death to escape the actual death.

As he was reminiscing, he could see a small house appearing from among the trees... his home. He smiled again as he saw the house, to think that when he started his journey, he was barely an adult, leaving his childhood home to go on adventuring and charming young ladies. That was 20 years ago and now he was finally back where all had started, where his adventures had started and couldn't help but chuckle.

He placed his hand on the door and pushed it... it creaked open, revealing a small and dusty home with only three rooms, two small bedrooms and a large living room/kitchen. "Father, mother, I'm home!" he said, in his mind he had practiced saying this when he would eventually return, but even he knew that now was too late to say it. He slowly walked towards his room, besides the dust, nothing had changed since he left and all he could see was a note, most likely from his parents. 

"Dear Magnus,

It's me, your mother... I don't know if you will ever find this, but I really hope you will, your father has already passed away and I am terribly ill and alone and I fear that I too will be joining your father shortly, but I just want you to know that you have made us both proud, in the town, two years after you left, we could already hear tales about you, how you saved so many people and I'm glad to know that I will soon pass away with my family name living on in tales and legends thanks to you... remember, mother loves you."

"Isn't that a shame?" a feminine voice asks from behind him. Magnus knew who this was and he hated that she of all people had come here right now. "They died, thinking you were a hero who put other people's needs ahead of his own, sacrificing himself for the good of the world... a real pity they never lived to see the real you, DEAR!" up until the last word, the voice had been sweet and melodic, but the last word was filled with hate.

His hands began to tremble as he heard her, he could barely stop the tears from flowing down on his face. "But as you know, I don't really care about other people, I care only for my children, or rather, child, since I ever only had one." the voice said in a oddly happy tone. "Where's she, Magnus, where is Annie?" she asked

"She's... somewhere..." his voice trembled as he tried to speak. "She left... once we defeated our enemy." he said, though he knew full well he was lying and she would most likely realize it as well.

"Ah, I see... she left." the woman spoke in a somewhat sad tone. "I do really hope she didn't leave me like you left your parents." she answered. "I couldn't bear not seeing her at least once again before I fade into nothingness, you know." she answered.

"She'll... visit, I'm sure of it." he said trying to smile. "She's our little daughter after all, isn't she?" he asked, doing all he could to prevent the tears from rolling down his eyes.

Steps were heard as the woman approached and soon she comes into view, it was her, the only woman he ever loved. She was dressed in a long and intricate white dress, in direct contrast with her eyes and hair, her eyes shining purple and her being raven black. "How long will you try to keep my daughter's death a secret?" she asked with a bitter smile, however that quickly changed to sadness as a few tears started roll from her eyes. "A father... would sacrifice himself for his child, not the opposite." she says and with those words, Magnus could no longer hold it in and tears started to come down on his face as well. Here he was, a grown man crying for letting his child sacrifice herself for him... he was a pathetic human being.

"I am the goddess of lies, trickery and deceit, but even I would not be able to lie about such a thing!" she said, a bitter smile forming on her lips. "It was a mistake for me to choose you..." she said, as she slowly began to fade, though not because she was dying, she was simply leaving him here... alone in his misery.

And with her gone, Magnus cried alone in his home thinking of how a terrible father and friend he was. Then he heard her say that he would die and smiled at it, this would release him from all this pain and misery and maybe in the afterlife, he could apologize to his daughter and to his friends. The reason he was dying was simple, lack of mana. Unlike most of humanity, Magnus had mana instead of blood running through his veins and now he had almost none of it in him... he would pass away soon enough.

He raised his head as his vision slowly became blurry. But among the blur, he could notice quite a few figures... his friends and they were all smiling at him and holding our their hands towards him. With a genuine smile on his face, even as tears still poured on his face, he took the hands of his friends. 

Now he was finally ready to join them, he would never be alone... even in death.

(Sorry if the writing quality and story is average(or even below it), but I felt like this would fit these two prompts quite well...)

#1:

"Are you sure it's here?" The squire asks his master, frowning, staring at the urban city. The knight nods, solemn, silent. Now is not the time to speak. Not yet. The knight sighs, and walks forward, past the towering buildings and the mechanical carriages. Things were simpler in the past, there were less lights, less noise. People, children to the knight, stare and gape as he passes them by. He pays them no heed. He is not here for them.

The knight walks onwards, through the flashing lights, towards the only building he still recognizes. It's wood has rotted, it's paint gone for a long time, but that's all right. The raging rooster rests on the door, the carving faded. The knight removes his gauntlets, and lays a hand onto the carving.

“I'm back.” The knight says softly, a subtle smile forming behind his metal helmet. “I'm finally back.”

Prompt 1: (Tried to do automatic writing for as long as possible, came back to edit that mess into a comprehensible plot later.)

Sir Ricard was tired after a hard day's work. His duty was to provide the land with Blood, and his payment was Honor. Only, you can't really eat Honor, so he always kept some Blood for himself. You see, in the land of WOR, Blood was an invaluable, life-sustaining substance. One of the three essential elements that all life requires, truly. Blood was the substance that all beings were made from, solid blood, mixed with the second essential element, Mojo, created a magnificent substance known as "Meat", from which all solid living creatures are made. Non-Solid living creatures are often made from a heathenous substance called  HOEK, which is Blood that has been tainted by the blasphemous Fourth Element, but that is not immediately important, nor is it something that can be mentioned by name without causing blindness and genital hemorrhages, so I will refrain from explaining it.

Sir Ricard lived for the first two of the three non-essential elements of life, Honor and Glory. While all life forms produced the third non-essential element, Saffron, Honor and Glory were the things that truly separated Men from the filth-eating maggot creatures that he often slew to gain the sacred first two. Indeed, he had reached a state of superhuman ability. No crawling monstrosity in the Black Wastes outside his shack could hope to escape the justice of his shotgun or his mighty beef-splitter.

He rode his loyal, tentacled steed for many nuclear winters, Or perhaps the ashes were only white? And now, he was ready to finally retire it. After the noble beast had lain its last eggs, the Knight Errant sent it to the many heavens it deserved with his mighty, enchanted beef splitter. He gave it a viking funeral. An a spit. And he heroically imbibed its delicious meat parts for sustenance.

This was the life, truly. This was satisfaction. As a man, he had everything he needed in the world. Glory, Honor, and delicious meat. He had never reached such levels of Glory before, as he saved the abandoned hovels and sparsely inhabited Ghost Cities from the Fire-Breathing Arthropod that had likely tormented them for days or centuries. He had never been as Honored as he was now, asking nothing in return but a sharpening stone for his magical blade and enough Blood to sustain him on his journey home. Now he was ready to retire into his shack and live the simple life, farming wasteroots and loyal steeds for the last thousand years of his life...

However, a hero's work is never done. Though there is much Honor and Glory to be had, the path is long, hard, and treacherous. Not more than 200 parsecs after his retirement, the unwashed, tumid commoners came begging at his door once more. It was his duty, as a Knight of the Black Wastes, to save each and every one of them. But his next journey into the Bowelmire to slay the Thousand-Maw-Giant is a tale for quite another time... For now, he was enjoying the brief millenia on the small wasteland ranch he had built around his shack, living the good life, and sipping the purest of Blood. There are few tangible rewards in the eternal quest for honor, but this was as much reward as he needed.

(Shooting for both)

The flowers were blooming, and all was well. The land had been peaceful after the great journey Jarnson went through. He was glad it was over. Marilynn walked over to Jarnson.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"..I'm fine." he answered. He didn't want to tell her what happened. He had seen his best friend die, after all.

"Well, that's good to hear." she replied, trying to act like she didn't know what he was hiding.

Jarnson got up, and walked towards his old reading place near the large willow tree. The sun was setting, and the world was saved. Marilynn told Jarnson she was going to check up on the others. She had decided to give him some space, and was a bit tired from the travelling.

He remembered an old tune he had heard when he was just a child. It reminded him of his friends and family. He missed them.

Jarnson looked to the sky. "Thank you, for everything." he said. And with that, he got up and went to the rest of the group. They would all visit their parents, and journey home. Whatever would happen along the way, they had each other now. And that was what mattered the most to him. The past was the past, and the future is still to be forged.

But some things are better left untold.

(I'm going to do both prompts, because everyone else is doing that, and I'm a sheep.)

Jonathan walked along the path up the mountain, the breeze blowing past the trees and rustling his torn coat. He spotted the outline of the buildings and tents that made up his camp through the trees, and sighed. This was it. This was the end of the journey of a thousand miles. He had set out weeks earlier with a dozen men he had been stationed with at the military base to said military base. The plan was simple. Scavage what few fighter jets could be made operable, and board the ships. The ships… the fucking ships. The ships had arrived three months ago, appearing in the sky on mass. Then, minutes after their arrival, it began. Orbital bombardment striking down and targetting the highly populated areas, before beginning to target more rural areas. Within days, 90% of the populace was gone. It was clear, unless something was done, humanity would be wiped out. So Jonathan had voluteered to lead the pilots on a mission to board the ships, and attempt to negotiate with the aliens aboard, or to wipe them out. Anything to save mankind, anything…

“Stop! Who goes there!” a voice Jonathan recognized as Palmer’s cried from the camp.

“It’s me!” Jonathan replied, replacing his exhausted, dejected frown with the kind of shit-eating grin he used to wear when he worked as a cashier in a shitty outlet mall.

“Jonathan’s back! Jonathan’s back!” Palmer yelled, turning and running through the camp to alert the others.

Quickly, people began to emerge from the buildings and tents, crowding around Jonathan. Their faces were a mixture of hopeful, nervous and terrified, all of them wanting answers.

“What happened?” someone cried.

“We…” Jonathan began, before gulping. “We succeeded.”

There was a chorus of cheers and whooping, before it was quickly hushed down.

“Where are the others?” someone asked.

Jonathan began to make out terrified faces in the crowd, looking worried for their loved ones. Ed’s fiance. Joe’s two kids. Ash’s mom. Jillian’s sisters. Lowe’s sons. Jonathan knew what needs to be done.

“They all survived. We took no losses. The aliens agreed to leave Earth within three days. The others stayed behind to ensure they did so, and sent me back as a messenger.”

A wave of relief and exhileration overtook the crowd as they broke into cheering. Grins shone through at Jonathan as laughter burst out.

“We did it!” someone yelled.

“We should hold a celebration!” Palmer suggested.

 “Yeah,” Jonathan replies weakly.

“That does it, then! Break open the caskets and the kegs! Tonight, we celebrate humanity’s survival!”

The crowd continued to bask in their joy as some attempted to organize the first prepartions. Jonathan mumbled some excuse about needing rest, and headed to his room. He walked inside the building and headed to his floor, collapsing on his couch and staring out the window. Jonathan saw the happy faces as people began to prepare for a great party and celebrated their fortune. He wished he could share in their joy. The journey was done. The quest was finished. He had met with the aliens.

But they had not agreed to leave.

The aliens had managed some communication, which only began after they had tortured half the group to death. They questioned them on the location of their camp. After they had tore through every single one of his friend, he broke and told them. He knew they’d be wiped out anyway. He had one request: The chance to see them before they died. The orbital strike was coming within a few hours. Without a doubt by nightfall. But Jonathan had given humanity some hope. He had given them joy and exhilaration. Humanity would die that night, but it would die as a group of friends and family, cheering and having fun. If there was a time to go, this was it. Jonathan felt some relief as he knew that humanity would have one last celebration of everything they had accomplished, before it went out with a bang.

Both prompts! Yay! ^_^

Twindyl pushed open the large metal door, the rusted doorhinges squeaking as she swept into the room. Her usually grey cloak was now streaked with crimson from the blood of the enemy. She grimaced as she surveyed the room. The blank white walls were now also lathered in red, with the bodies of her once-friends lying expressionless on the tile floor. The blood was unnaturally splattered across glass and mirrors, reflecting the violent scene as Twindyl spun, knocking over a microscope in the process. No one had ever suspected her, of course. The petite woman had acted so innocently that she was passed as innocent in the trials. But no one, not even she, was expecting her to murder all the people in this room. She ran over to the figure previously identified as Uldiol, her lover, and fell to her knees. His face was filled with horror from when she had stabbed him in the chest. A single tear had dried on his glowing face and blood had seeped through his mouth. Twindyl put her head on Uldiol and wept. She was murderous. Traitor. She saw a figure standing in the doorway. She looked up.

It was Mikeal, the man she called "friend". His face twisted as he surveyed the scene. He walked over, slowly, to where Twindyl lay, and knelt next to her and Uldiol. 

"Twindyl," he said softly, "It's time you left him and grew up. He's gone now, but at least you have me."

Twindyl wiped her cheek. "You're right, of course but....But Uldiol was a good man. He really was."

She got up and Mikeal soon followed. Mikeal was also a good man, but he wasn't to be trusted so easily. He grabbed her wrist no led her out of the room.

"My friend, we have much to do." He said, smiling. He had wonderful eyes.

"Like what?" She asked, folding her gore-covered arms. "I don't suspect you to be keeping any secrets right now. Especially not when Uldiol has just passed."

"No, no, my dear," Mikeal said, drawing back. "First we have to pick up where we left off."

Twindyl smiled sadly. "When I slapped you all those years ago?"

"Yes, but no hurting your companions."

"Like I'd say yes to that."

He laughed. A single bead of sweat popped up on his forehead. He couldn't keep his secret. Not anymore. But he had to. Nobody here was going to listen, after all. Because they were all dead....

"Hey, where is everyone? It's like all of them left!" Twindyl's eyes dimmed. "Wait."

"No, no, Twindyl. They're just off at a scouting party and the rest are hanging around here somewhere. Let's just go get a drink by the falls." He laid a hand on the redhead woman's shoulder as if to console her.

Twindyl nodded dully and let Mikeal lead her off.

Mikeal sighed in relief, hiding his blood-tipped dagger behind his back. Twindyl will never know.

(Both prompts, because everyone else is so I kind of HAVE to don't I?)

A matching team of four turned heads and had early morning pedestrians stopping to gawk as it pulled the stately carriage down the narrow street, the horses with their glossy coats and bejeweled bridles never missing a step despite the loose and crumbling cobbles. Once a prosperous residential area, the two-story townhouses had gradually been divided up into small shops and flats, most in need of paint and repairs. When the carriage rolled up next to one such building, a quaint little potter's shop, the passenger called for the driver to halt, bouncing out onto the street and signaling for him to wait before he could even step over to open the door for her.      

Dressed in a battered felt hat and a pair of men's trousers, her overcoat travel-stained and worn,  the rail thin, scarred and tanned woman with the wind-tousled coppery brown hair wasn't what most would have expected to step out of such an elegant transport, but a second look would reveal the gold gleaming at her waist, wrists, and throat, and the fiery flash of gems as she moved in the light. Whisking through the shop and up the stairs in the back, she slipped a rusty iron key into the door of the loft apartment, a grin spreading unbidden across her face at the well-remembered and satisfying click.

"Fenae, I'm home! Sorry I--" she started to call out, then cut off, eyes narrowing sharply.  "Who're you?" she demanded, glaring at the nude, blonde wood elf tangled up in the sheets on the bed at the far side of the room, then raising and directing her voice toward a pair of doors in the back before the astonished young woman had a chance to answer. "Dammit Fenae, get out here! What's this whore doing in our bed?"  

"Kyera!? What in the blazes!" answered a startled male voice, and Fenae came stumbling out of the washroom, still pulling on his pants while the girl rushed past him all wrapped up in the sheets. Short and stocky for a wood elf, Fenae's dirty blond mop falling across his face and dark green eyes, even the stupid little tuft of fuzz on his chin were exactly as she recalled, but obviously some things had changed around here.        

"So is this how it is?" she asked in a scornful voice. "I go on a trip and--"

"Ky, for Spirits' sake, you said you were going out to buy a loaf of bread five months ago and then I never heard from you again," Fenae interupted. "Do you know how worried I was? I tried to find news of you for the longest time, but then I had to move on with my life!"

"Fenae honey, who's fancy carriage is that out there?" came a muffled voice from the washroom.

"It's mine, you homewrecking harlot!" Kyera shouted back.

Fenae blinked and moved toward the window. "What? How did you afford a--"

"A coach and four? Barely put a dent in my chest of silver. Didn't even have to touch my sixteen pieces of fine jewelry." She rattled the heavy gold chain around her neck as she spoke. Smugly.

His eyes were bugging out. "Ah, I can see that, but where did it all come from? I thought you had given up on--"

"Adventuring? Well, you know how it is. Sometimes adventures just find one, on the way to the market. I, uh, helped kill a bandit lord, and stuff. Anyhow, that's not even to mention the other chest of coin, or all the masterwork steel swords I buried, and dare I mention the Paverian crown jewels...why are you looking at me like that?"

"Are...are you sure you didn't, you know..." he trailed off, miming picking a lock.

"What?" Suddenly she was scowling again. "Like you even have a right to ask. What are you, but an unfaithful potter's assistant?"

Fenae met her gaze and licked his lips. "Um. So. H-how big of a chest are you talking? Because I mean, babe, I know this is a rough time for both of us, and I admit maybe I was unfair to you, but surely we can work something out..."     

 "Fen-AE!" came an outraged shriek from the washroom. "Don't you dare!" A moment later the other woman appeared at the doorway, clothed now, with a hand on her belly, glaring at them both and then fixing her gaze on Kyera and declaring in a defiant, triumphant voice. "I'm four and a half months pregnant."

With a huff, Kyera rolled her eyes and wilted Fenae with a scathing look, "Well, isn't that just--"

"By the way, if you're Kyera, you should know some men from the Paverian Royal Guard were here asking about you last week," the girl added.

"Oh bloody hell." Kyera gave an exasperated sigh and put her hat firmly back on her head, slipping a bracelet flashing with diamonds and rubies from her wrist as she did. "Yeah, uh, to tell the truth? I fuckin' stole it all. Meh. Guess I better get a move on before they get wind of my being in town again. Didn't exactly make a discrete entrance. Anyway..." She tossed the bracelet to the girl. "Thanks for the tip. Something to raise little baby Knife Ears on there, in case daddy can't spin pots fast enough to pay the rent. And Fenae...?"

Turning back to him, she gave a regretful sigh. "I liked you. Sorry things didn't work out with us, but I guess that's just how it goes. And uh..." an awkward cough, "Anyway, to be fair, I guess I should mention I may have married a bandit lord's son while I was away." She shrugged. "Orc, though. Don't know if that's legally binding in this province. 'Spose I should look into that, sometime."

Pulling the brim of her hat low over her eyes, she slipped out of the loft and the shop, exchanged a brief word with the carriage driver and then disappeared into an alley on foot, at the end of one adventure and beginning another.     

Both prompts

After This

The ache in my arms has subsided, to just dull flashes as we trudge along. Trudge. What a word to use. Falling forwards, with the feet just getting into position in time, in time for the next trudge-step.

"We're the lucky ones."

The trudge stops, and restarts as a stomp at the voice of him. A grunt, but the hint is not taken.

"But we're nearly back now, and we can do the right thing."

Every bloody kilometer. The only sound for some time are our footsteps, and the rattle of the cart as it is pushed along. The anger and shame flare up again, at the same question.

"Glad you got out as well. Did you see what happened?"

Evidently the grunt network is broken in Sam. Clearing out some dust, I respond flatly "No."

Another kilometer. The final leg is approaching. So are we. So is my tether. But this time....

"If you'd have gotten there sooner, Jake might've gotten out of it. Where were you?"

The dull ache has moved from my arms, walked up the shoulders and is nestled in my jaw. Just a little further. We're too exposed out here still, and maybe a distraction will get him off this track.

"Where I was supposed to be. That's what I do, stand where I say I do."

The truth issues out of my mouth, and slithers into the air, but changes meaning. I wasn't. I wasn't, and hadn't, and didn't.

"A damn shame then. A shame and it's never going to be right, how it happened."

He can't even say it, it's still raw and bleeding. Will that ever heal? No, not in a lifetime. Somethings don't fit the mould, and you have to throw it away. Life become Before This, and After This. AT day 1 it is. Just to shut him up,

"Yyyup."

He seems to take the hint.

Finally, the horizon becomes stunningly familiar, it's the last corner. Sam, as always, good, reliable, dependable Sam, takes 4 steps past the gate, then swings back abashedly to open it for me. The wheels rattle over the cattle grid, nearly getting stuck. Nod of thanks as he lifts the front, but it's an empty one. Be poignant if there was a river to cross, something symbolic. But I'm too damned tired to care anymore. The jaw is aching constantly now.

"I'll talk to his wife, tell her what happened. It's not your fault you weren't where he needed you, when he needed you".

A final clatter from the wheels, as I drag and push the cart up onto the porch, it has certainly done it's duty and then some. Idly ponder where this fits into the lifecycle of a normal shopping cart, from construction to packaged up and sold to a super market, pushed around over asphalt a few months and finally a peaceful resting place in the nearest river, after a charged night witnessing teen drinking and giving rides to their dumb arses through a park. But, that's just a distraction from him. I turn and face the man who I thought knew me. Who I thought I knew.

"Bullshit"

His face froze in the moment, then returned to life, a translucent mask of confusion. “What? What do you mean?"

I could feel the venom flowing in my mouth. Thick, rancorous, vile. Spitting on the floor in the hope of dislodging it, but only saliva expelled. Enough, it must come out before it corrodes my skull.

"I was where I was supposed to be all right. I sat, and watched, and saw what I needed to see."

I can see his face crumbling, as the veneer fades. Now, what's beneath it? My mind casts back to what I saw, Jake standing at the bottom of the hill, his own confusion painted over his face and looking up at Sam. The chill that froze me to the bone as I saw them both of them flanked by blackshirts, and how the chill penetrated my soul, when I noticed the difference in where the guns were pointing. The wisps of words that floated through the branches, only the banal formality of them coming through. A routine everyday occurrence for them, as my heart bled out on the same dirt that they slouched on.

"I saw what you did, I've seen enough the last week to know exactly what you did, and even got the why. Talk to his wife? Sure thing. Tell her how he looked as they pushed him against that tree. Tell her how he looked at YOU, as he lay on the ground gutshot. Tell her that, and see what your family does to you."

There. The mask is fallen away. There’s not a noble reason behind his betrayal, not a glimmer of righteousness to his idea. Just lust and pride. Pride over his own flesh, damn it. His foot steps onto the porch with a creak of floorboards, echoing the creak in his voice.

“You knew. All the way back, all through that running, and hiding, and sleeping in that yacht. You knew, and said nothing. Why.”

It’s not even a question, it’s a tactic. Good, dependable Sam, always going rock. Another quieter creak.

“Because I wasn’t about to drag your dead body back all this way.”

A blink, and another creak. Ahh, he wasn’t expecting that, and he’s rattled some. Another push.

“Do you think they’ll swap your body for his? Or at least where it’s lying? If you're sorta dead, sorta alive, how do you think they'd prefer you to be for them?”

And the hits keep coming. Another creak. So close. I can feel his heat. I idly shift my weight to the left, and see his entire stance stiffen, then relax as no attack is forthcoming.

“But what gets me, is why you didn’t crush two birds instead of one. Had plenty of chanc-!”

I break off, as he breaks into a rush and then breaks through the floor. Always been a bit crappy this porch, and he’s helped repair it often enough to know. Dependable Sam. His startled drop through with one foot leaves a nice wide triangle. I take my size 10’s and apply them to his hypotenuse. He’d been loud before, but now there’s not just tone in the alarm, but real volume and pain too. Fend off some weak flail and dance in with a knee to the chin. He slumps forwards, coughing horribly and semi-conscious. Raising his head and butting it onto the floor solves the semi part of that.

Now, with the adrenaline back under control, the what fades away, needing to change into the what now. AT. The day that a rat bastard gutted a friend and wore his face for a while.

Both prompts.

It’s a chilly late afternoon in October when I check my watch. I look out the window. I look at my watch. God, time goes real slow in a hospital. I lean back, stretch my neck, numbly examine the unique ability of an architect to be able to choose the most unflattering pattern for a ceiling. It’s the colour of straw and faecal matter, or perhaps the colour of body fluids when one is sick with a cold. I feel nauseous. My chest rises slowly, falling into step with an organic metronome, but my breaths are shallow and out of place. The air in here; there’s a frustrating imbalance, a just-off-ness of chemical that is mild enough for my brain to not completely block out, but just enough to gnaw at the back of my throat whilst I simply sit in this miserable corner of the world. My eyes too, they sting.  I don’t know whether it’s because of the sterile white walls, or because they’re still holding anger and frustration inside of them. A single streetlamp stands guard outside under the drizzle of soft rain.

I hear her coming before I see her round the corner, the click of her shoes announcing her appearance through the single tiny window before it swings outwards and she is standing there before me. She stares at me, the same face she wore only a year and a half ago. She steps forward and touches me on the shoulder gently.

‘Mr Feng, I’m sorry for your loss. She’s ready to see you now.’  Her voice is hoarse as she murmurs these words, and her eyes are red and irritated like mine. She must have said those words many times before. I’ve heard those words many times before too, but every time it feels just as raw as the first instance, when I was younger and more innocent perhaps.

I mumble a ‘thanks’ as I get up to walk past her. Her eyes are on me as I let myself inside, but I know she’ll turn away soon and perhaps it’ll be time for her to return to her own family, waiting for her patiently. Perhaps her daughter will already be in bed. Perhaps she will come home and kiss her on the cheek, then the forehead, then tuck in her blankets and apologise when she wakes her up. But those thoughts are pushed out of my mind when I see her in the cot. I embrace her in my arms, stroke her hair, kiss her in every single place. Tears roll down our cheeks and in this familiar place I say the words I always say. ‘We’ll find a way soon honey, I promise.’ She is unresponsive.

When all the tears have finally bled out and we are simply two shadows embracing each other in this galaxy, listening to one another’s little sounds and heartbeats, she starts to speak.

‘I don’t laugh enough.’

She’s avoiding my eyes. I kiss them gently. ‘Sometimes you don’t laugh at all.’

‘Do you remember when I told you about that story of the butterfly and the cocoon? You asked me if I thought they were afraid of what was happening to them beneath the surface; becoming something else; irrevocably; inexorably. And what if, after all that time, when finally they come out of their shell, they are still the same… Would they be frightened if at last, they understood that they were incomplete?’

I grip her hand. It’s shaking, just a little.

‘I just want to be enough. I’m so scared of failing, I’m scared absolutely shitless of failing again. And it hurts. It hurts so fucking much James.’

‘I know baby. We’ll try again.’

Of course, I knew what she was going through and how she felt, to some extent, for I felt it too. But it was still jarring to hear them spoken out loud, as if the words, once released, refused to fade away to some dark corner of memory only to be grasped and pulled out roughly in moments of shame and self-pity, but rather hung on the air which had frozen and was now so brittle as to break.

‘It’s been six years James.’

No more clinics. No more doctors. No more of this thing that’s holding us back. Just say it. Please. But she doesn’t say it, and I let her continue, even when I know what’s going to come out of her mouth. The Words That Have Been Left Unsaid. The Words That Begged To Come Out But Never Did.

‘There’s a selfish part of me that wants to love and be loved because I know that being loved will make me want to be worthy of being loved. I used to feel this way… But now I don’t feel it anymore. What I mean is-’ an ugly sob escapes out of her throat, and she blinks away incoming tears furiously, ‘what I mean is, James, I’m not the girl you married anymore. I don’t know if I can be that for you anymore. I’m not good enough.’

I grip onto her hand more tightly. I got to stop the shaking. My throat tightens and my chest pounds at irregular intervals. God, it’s so hard to breathe. If only you could look through my eyes and see what you could be. You’d be fucking beautiful.

I hold her, tightly so that she doesn’t run away, and wipe away her tears, even as tears run down my own face. To me, every single night I spend with you, is made up of more starlight than darkness. I’ve never loved you more than I do right now. You’re so strong. I’ll wait for you until you’re not scared anymore. I’ll wait until your tears dry up. I love you so fucking much. If only you knew. If only I could be a better husband. If only you knew.

Prompt 1:

It's been so long since Timathias has been to his home village.

He's been through so much since he's joined The Royal Army, fighting wars for not only Her Majesty, but for the Divine Six as well, defending against the savage Forbidden, the dreaded undead army of the Lich King, and the wretched, demonic Hellbourne. Against all odds, Timathias has prevailed in every encounter to date.

Timathias remembers the victories like they were yesterday. Slaying  the Forbidden elites, only to find that the leader was the Queen's bastard sister. Hunting her down was easy. Too easy. It was barely a surprise when he found out that the Forbidden were merely stalling for the Lich King's rebirth.

Thousand upon thousands of undead filled the land of Moroboro. Fallen comrades and townsfolk alike joined the ranks of the enemy. It took more than an army to stop them. Timathias, regrettably, left the front lines in search of the Shrine of Illu, the Elder God, God of Light, Life, and Humanity. It took a little over 6 months of brutal scouring, but Timathias eventually found the Shrine in a cave of the High Mountains of Cépen. He was as close to the Gods as a mortal could be. After pleading with the God for aid in this dark time, he received it. Given powers beyond mortal limitations, he pierced through the undead masses with his Divine might. A tense confrontation ensued in the Lich's castle, between the Lord of the Undead and the Paladin of Illu.

In the end, Timathias won. But his troubles were FAR from over.

The Lich King had ended enough mortal lives to open the portal to the Netherealme, his true goal. There, the Demon Overlord Pltharnaxx invaded the human realm. His countless Daemons overwhelmed the already battered and beaten Royal Army. The Hellbourne had taken Moroboro.

The Royal Army had gone into hiding, reduced to mere guerilla tactics. Her Majesty led the rebellion from the Holy Meadows of Gardan, where the Gods' power was the strongest, weakening the Demons. Timathias was sent on another quest to aqiure the Armor and Sword of the Fallen God (and founder of the kingdom of Bakis), Farengar. It was said that he was a seventh Divine, the original Elder, weakened by a battle with Pltharnaxx to mortal form. His armor was said to be made out of Mythril, and Sword out of Pltharnaxx's blood. Timathias DID find these legendary artifacts, and used thier incredible power to defeat Pltharnaxx.

At last, the lands were at peace once again. Timathias was formally and publicly praised by the Queen (personally and privately as well), and was given the title of ARCHKNIGHT, leader of the Royal Army.

And finally, after so many years, be home. He would see his mother, sister and brother, friends. He couldn't wait to see how everyone had grown!

"My Gods..." the Carriage driver whispered.

"What? What is it? Stop the Carriage!" Timathias ordered. He as soon as it parked, he rushed out the door.

"I'm so sorry, my Grace..."

"What do you mean?! What's-"

Then he saw it.

His village. His home for so many years, where his family settled and where he grew to a young man. Where he played, ate, sang, dance, fought, cried, laughed over the years.

Where he was born.

And it was nothing but ashes.

Houses broken, furniture destroyed and spread throughout the blacked roads. Charred corpses, mere shadows of people's final moments. Some running. Some cowering. Some protecting others. He could still see the burnt sign, barely legible through the burnt wood, but he knew what it said.

"Welcome to Goodsmith".

Just then, Timathias dropped to his knees and cried.

END of Book One

Prompt 2: Coming Soon IT'S HERE!!!

A Conversation

An Excerpt

By Tim

The two guards met after they finished the second version of their patrols.

"Hey, Jake." Said the first guard. He was slimmer, but more agile than the second with a pistol-knife combo.

"Hey, Ed." Said the second. He was clad in full kevlar, a heavy bodysuit, but stronger than the first, equipled with a shotgun.

"How's your patrol?" Ed asked

"Quiet. You?" Jake replied.

"I thought I heard something, and I could've sworn I saw someone move through the shadows, but I couldn't find anything." Ed admitted, rubbing the back of his head.

"Must've been your imagination. This place is getting to you."

"Yeah, you're probably right. I can't wait for us to get home. It'll be like old times. You, me, and a bottle in each hand."

"Yup. Gonna see everyone else back home. Ma, Hal, Belle, Mark-"

"Wait, what? Belle? Whyyyyy do you want to see my girlfriend?" Ed asks with a raised eyebrow.

"What? I can't say hi?"

"Dude, c'mon. You always hang out with her when I'm not around."

"Who else is she gonna hang out with? She just moved there, and you always stay inside during the day to sleep or play video games." Jake retorts, causing a "burn" effect on Ed.

"What, you saying I ain't good enough for her?! Like she wants a muscle-bound freak like you!" Ed says, getting up in his face.

"What I'm SAYIN', my friend, is that you can't stop me from hangin' out with her. I'm fine with you two dating, but I still wanna see her."

There's a moment of silence between the two.

"Look, we'll talk about this later, ok?" Ed says, backing off.

"Yeah. Let's just wait for the guys to finish rigging up the dirty bomb and get the fuck outta here. This abandoned factory is givin' me the creeps."

They start to patrol again, but they don't make it too far. A hooded individual comes down from the rafters onto Jake, stabbing him in the jugular on impact. Before Ed can react, the man quickly spins around, slicing his neck in the process. Ed joins Jake on the ground as they bleed to death, together.

The last thing both of them hear is:

"This is Tim. Room clear."

On the other end of the radio, a woman answers:

"Great work! Now clear the next room and disarm that bomb!"

Before Tim leaves, he turns to them, uttering the last 3 words they ever hear.

"Requiescat in Pace."

END

Both prompts included:

Home. 

It was queer to think how a simple word could mean so much to him. Throughout his journey the word had accompanied him in his thoughts, however only to cruelly taunt him, filling him with a sickening, constricting doubt. At times he did not know why he was even bothering with the journey back home, but then his mind brought him to the thought of Urzhath and her beauty. He could not leave her there, to spend her life trapped in four walls, taking care of her spouses’ children and cooking and cleaning and not realizing how much she was missing out on. A creature of her beauty did not deserve such a life; he would take her away, far from the tribe, and to the city where he had gone all those years ago, only to return now. His stomach ached and his throat tightened as his mind raced, trying to come up with a plan to take Urzhath away: it was his bad luck he had been born to the chieftain and Urzhath to the farmer. Perhaps they could make their escape in the dead of night and through the forest? But what if they got lost in the dark -- for it was a long way to the city from the tribe – or even worse, what if Father sent his men after them? To quell his mind he had taken several sips from his flask, hoping to erase away the worry with some alcohol, but it did not help much. 

And now, as Yor’mak the orc stood upon the hill, looking down upon the village he had grown up in, he felt much more at peace. The village was located in a valley of meadows, and for some reason he had never really noticed how beautiful his home really was; he had left for the city at age twelve, and returned twenty years later, so perhaps his mind had simply become accustomed to the city and it had been far too long since he had stopped to appreciate nature. Butterflies flew here and there, sometimes resting among the grass and flowers, and in the distance he could see grand purple mountains. Yor’mak stood like this for a moment or so, as the memories of his childhood flooded him. Then, he made his way to the village. 

Several children came up to greet him as he entered the village. People stopped and stared at him. They all knew who he was: Yor’mak, the chieftain’s son, who had left his tribal responsibilities to pursue a different future. Although some more greatly than others, he could recognize most of the orcs, and as he looked from face to face, he was trying to see if he could find Urzhat among the crowd but he couldn’t. 

“It’s – you!” An orc, Zerkal, boomed. Moving forward, he took out his club and pointed it at Yor’mak’s chest. “Look! He bears the markings of the chieftain’s son! Yor’mak has returned to the tribe!” 

From there, the orcs began clasping and greeting with Yor’mak. Witnessing his old friends and neighbors for the first time in decades made Yor’mak happy, and while he was glad to see so many old faces, he could not help but notice the subtle yet present suspicion in most of their faces. Although Zerkal had not pointed it out, Yor’mak was wearing city clothes which had slightly obscured his markings – it was only tribal custom for the males to depict their tattoos publicly. 

As he was clasping with an old friend he had known from sparring, Yor’mak heard a shrill gasp coming from the back of the group. Yor’mak turned to see his mother suddenly rush up to him. She grabbed Yor’mak’s head and began moving it around, inspecting him as if to check that he was really there. Her eyes as wide as a plate, she began wordlessly crying although there was a smile on her face. “My son – my son –“ she could only manage to sputter, and then simply held Yor’mak in a tight embrace, and he could smell the smell of the village on her. He wasn’t exactly sure of what to make of her reaction to him, and he was slightly uncomfortable but nevertheless held her back. It was only when the booming voice that they both knew so well came did they separate. 

Jar’mak, the tribe chieftain, strode down the street, and almost immediately the orcs parted to let him through, and for some reason it made Yor’mak think of a prophet splitting a sea, a story he had read when studying religion at the city college. “Yor’mak,” he had simply barked when he was only several feet away from the orc. Yor’mak didn’t even try to decode his father’s expression: it was a hopeless endeavor, as Jar’mak’s face was like that of stone. He always looked threatening even if he was happy. And the booming, loud voice like that of a boar falling from a height didn’t help to pinpoint his father’s emotions either. 

“Father,” Yor’mak replied, moving several tentative inches forward towards the chieftain. Yor’mak was aware of the tribespeople watching this encounter, and a sheen of sweat broke over his forehead, and he could hear the pulse of blood rushing to his head. 

“Yor’mak, I see you have returned.” 

“Uh, yes Father. I’ve had many adventures in the, uh, city… it’s been a long time since I left and I thought I’d, you know, visit…” 

Jar’mak folded his arms over his chest. “Yes, you did leave your tribe for quite a long time without coming back. Usually the chieftain’s son would be learning how to be the leader of his tribe and helping his people instead of running off… for the elves and the 
humans and the dwarves. Our enemies.” His father raised an eyebrow. 

Yor’mak’s palms began sweating, and his heart sunk. “Father… I…” what was he supposed to do? Justify his doings in front of the entire village? Show love towards his father? For several awkward seconds he was at a loss of what to say. “well, I suppose I’m here now. And for the record, I did bring glory to our people. I killed elves… and, uh, humans… and dwarves... I served in the royal military you see… after… I got out of… college…” Yor’mak clamped his mouth shut before he could ramble on further 

Jar’mak frowned and didn’t respond for several seconds. “Very well, I suppose. I am glad you are here, back with your tribe, where you belong, instead of interacting with those longears and bearded midgets and warmongering human swine.” He sighed, before moving forward and clasping Yor’mak. The people cheered as this happened. Yor’mak happened to be looking around while his Father clasped him, and in the very back of the crowd, he could see Urzhath, and she smiled. He smiled back. 

Yor’mak returned home. His mother, still teary, began preparing a grand feast. Yor’mak greeted his younger siblings (his mother had birthed several more times in his absence) and helped around with the chores at home, like he used to when he was a kid. He spoke with his father about clan news, and what had transpired in his absence. Apparently times were peaceful, and the other tribes were in a blood pact so there wasn’t much fighting. Yor’mak couldn’t help but think of how primitive of a mindset the orcs were as compared to the rest of the world, but he didn’t bring up his views. 

At night, Yor’mak decided to sleep in his old bedroom, however several hours before first light he got out of bed and snuck out his window. Unfortunately, he did not have a chance to speak with Urzath prior but he had hoped with all his might she would be at their old meeting spot. And so, in the dead of night, Yor’mak stalked through the village, towards the outskirts were some of the farms and plantations were. Because he hadn’t taken this route in a long time, and because it was dark, he almost got lost but eventually made it to the barnhouse. He circled around, climbing up to a window on the side of the building, like he used to before he left the tribe. 

Thankfully, he found Urzath inside the barn. She smiled playfully upon his arrival. “So you didn’t forget!” 

Yor’mak swept her in his arms, looking into those emerald eyes of hers he had so longed 
for. “My love, how could I have ever forgotten? Remember how we used to sneak out, almost every night when we were kids?” 

Urzath giggled. “Yeah. Those were good times. Maybe someday we could relive that, if you don’t leave me again, you dick,” she rolled her eyes. 

“Urzath, my sweet, I’m sorry for having left in the first place without you. That was such a terrible mistake, and I couldn’t return without completing my military contract.” He said with all his sorrow. Suddenly, there were tears in his eyes. He had been so, so, stupid. “I have a plan, I think there’s a way we could both somehow leave-“ 

She lightly touched his arm, interrupting him. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she whispered into his ear. “For now, we have each other. You can remind me of your love.” 

“Okay,” he grinned. As they held each other in arms, they kissed passionately. Eventually, Urzath stripped off her tunic. 

“Oh Yor’mak, please show me, once again, your love,” She begged. 

They fell against a hay bale after helping each other out of their clothing, and began going at it like animals. Explosions were going off in Yor’mak’s mind. He had never felt such a way in a long, long time. They were making love hard, harder than any of their previous times. It had been too long since they had seen each other. Yor’mak would never forgive himself for his mistake of leaving. 

Eventually, they finished, and held each other for several moments. Yor’mak had to go however, and much to the protest of Urzath, they both dressed and after planting one, light kiss on Urzath’s lips, they went their separate ways. “I promise to never leave you again, my love,” Yor’mak had said before they parted. 

Yor’mak climbed back through his window, a grin on his face, still dazed from that extraordinary encounter, and it took him a moment to notice Jar’mak was sitting on his bed. 

“Yor’mak, what are you doing,” Jar’mak simply said. 

The orc froze. “I was… uh…” 

“Catching up with old flames, perhaps smoking nightstalker leaves with your old pals,” Jar’mak finished for him. 

“No, no…” Yor’mak tried to protest but his Father shook his head. 

“Listen son, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something far more important.” 

“Uh… what is it, dad?” 

“Son… I don’t know how good of a way there is to put this but I’m going to need you gone.” 
Yor’mak felt as though he had been slapped across the face. “What…? Father, I don’t’ understand…” 

Jar’mak spoke after a brief pause. “You’ve been in contact with elves, dwarves, and humans. You know orcs are not supposed to be in contact with the other races. Since the dawn of time, they’ve been our enemies, and they need to be eradicated.” 

Yor’mak stood, dumfounded. He thought back to earlier in the day, when his father was explaining to him the tribal matters that had arisen when he had left. The orcs carried such a bigoted and narrow sense of the world it was frustrating to hear them speak. “You know dad, I went to the city. And I saw all the races. Even orcs. But there was no fighting.” 

“Don’t argue with me.” Jar’mak growled. “Orcs are always going to be fighting with the other races. If you do not accept that, you do not belong here. You are a man of this tribe and as such you are a warrior, and it is your sole duty to fight against any of the other races, as well as leading this tribe once I pass since you are my son. Where did I go wrong? I thought I had taught you that well when you were a boy.” 

Yor’mak let his anger get to him. “You know what dad, why are you so stuck in the old ways? The world isn’t racist anymore, and it isn’t a constant battle ground between the races. Now it’s about education and helping one another. Why can’t you just move –“ 

Suddenly, a fist struck Yor’mak’s mouth, and he fell to the ground. Jar’mak stood over the surprised orc. Jar’mak was suddenly very angry, and he held the stature of a bear and probably the strength of one as well. “You. Do. Not. Argue. With. Me.” His father roared, probably loud enough to have woken up the entire house. “Get out of my tribe, you traitor, you long ear, you large bearded round belly, or I shall kill you myself, son or not.” 

Yor’mak felt tears well up in his eyes as he looked up at his father. If there was anything Jar’mak was right about, it was that Yor’mak didn’t belong in the tribe. He was educated, he had seen the world outside the tribal lens. He was different now. 

Wordlessly, Yor’mak slipped out of his window, aware that his mother was sobbing several rooms over. Yor’mak ran, and from the window, he could hear Jar’mak yell, “And you stay out!” 

As Yor’mak left his home, he was aware that he had broken his promise to Urzath, and that he would probably never see her again. 

Prompt 2:

(It's still WIP[Work in progress])

The Last Hug 

A drama story 
By Mason Guzzi 



A motorcycle sped down the highway. The wind caught on the riders' face and blew them a feeling of pure adrenaline. The driver was a man in his early twenties, and his girlfriend rode on back. 

She gripped his shoulders with anxiety, as the motorcycle was going very fast. The speed was over the limit, but she did not notice. 

The man chuckled, "It's not that fast, is it?" The girl did not notice, but there was a sadness in his words.

"Honey, I think I'm going to fall off! Slow down!" The girl yelled over the ear-crushing wind. 

"It's okay, I got you." The man felt her grip go tighter. A bank can now be seen in the distance, at the road's end. The road curves right in a very sharp turn. 

The man gulps and says to his girlfriend, unknown tears in his eyes, "Hug me." 

His girlfriend does so and doesn't understand. 

A news-reporter comes on. "Tonight we have a devastating story. A motorcycle sped into a bank, and was unable to turn. The off-road was very dangerous for the motorcycle, as it was not made for off-road. The stoping mechanism on the vehicle was broken, but we assume he did not tell his girlfriend, who was riding with him. He hugged her and protected her for, the impact, killing him but saving her. This is a tragic lost for her. Let us give a few moments of our time for her."

Going to combine the prompts

There's some things I couldn't escape even after all this shit. How Ignorant I was that there would actually be a difference from the actions that I had chosen. This entire trip, my entire hope to do what was right was for nothing. I fucked it up and I acknowledge my mistakes but that really means nothing now. This world wasn't one where happy endings were given if I just gave it a try and did my best. My best wasn't enough for anyone and now everyone is dead. What am I to do, how will I face the survivors still held up at the inn waiting to come out after I promised them that I would save there town. Empty promises is what I gave with my arrogant attitude just those few weeks ago. It was now up to Alen to see if there was anything to salvage. I am done, my journey is over and I am leaving. Fuck you Dr.Helex. I hope someday you get the shit you deserve. As I was packing up my things in secret for my journey out of here, I didn't Notice Alen quietly coming up from behind me.

"Jesus your back Tim, I thought you were still trying to find Helex."

"My body turned cold as I froze for a moment, and continued to pack up. 

"So is it safe to return to the village, did all the fighters keep it together? Everyone is starting to get antsy with questions." Allen continued making me hurry my pace.

"Everythings fine Allen, there still picking off stragglers, so it's best to stay here for a few more days." I lied getting on top of the carriage. His questions brought the scenes back into my eyes. All the one hundred and twenty-one fighters were dead. They didn't even last a hour of the onslaught of Helex. 

"Then were are you going, The villagers are going to want to here from you." 

Shit, where were the horses. 

I got off and started toward the barn with Allen in pursuit.

"Tim, what the hell is wrong, you're not acting the sa-."

"I just want a fucking break for once Allen, can I just fucking have one."

Allen was silent as I lead the horses by their ropes towards the carriage and hooked them on. I still wouldn't look Allen in the eyes. But as I got myself back on the carrige, I knew I couldn't just leave Allen like this.

"Allen.......you should take the rest of the survivors and go east, it's still untouched from all this shit and you should find someplace new to settle, maybe even a coast if you're lucky."

Allen looked like he was going to question me but when I looked into his eyes for the first time I could tell he could see the guilt that I had for the last three days.

"Stay safe Tim."

"You aswell." I ordered the horses to move and I continued on home North.

(Yeah kind of a stupid ending, but I put myself on a time limit xD)

Prompt 1 and 2

Guillermo dragged himself back to Drandoon. Beads of sweat trickled off of his forehead, and his clothes were now decorated with splats of crimson--blood. Alas, it was over. His mighty greatsword also had blood dripping off of it. Guillermo looked over his shoulder to see the captain of the guards, Lucas, and the leader of the elves, Edna.

"I assume Braxen will no longer wreak havoc amongst the residents?" Lucas inquired, his arms folded across his chest.

Guillermo shook his head. "No, sir."

Lucas clapped his hand on the adventurer's shoulder. "Good. You've done a great service to Drandoon."

"We still have our enemies," Edna reminded the captain, stepping forward to address him. "The barbarian settlements to the south?"

Lucas nodded. "Indeed," he replied. "But remember, Braxen was to join together the barbarians. Then we'd face a much greater foe than what we have now. Even so, we will need your assistance. More camps are growing, and I'm afraid our army is growing smaller."

"Captain, the humans have saved us multiple times," Edna said with a smile. "It's time for us to return the favor."

A tall, white-haired man in regal blue-and-red clothes strode towards the two. The king. "Guillermo Byzantine," he murmured. "The threat is eliminated, so I have heard?"

Guillermo shuffled his feet. He should've noticed the king sooner! "Yes, your Majesty," he replied, bowing his head to show respect.

The king stroked his goatee. "And your...relatives?"

Guillermo hesitated before continuing. "Also taken care of." False. Every bit of it. But he didn't dare climb down the pit in the cemetery. Stories of the encounters within the pit spooked him away, even if they would be made-up. A demonic adventurer. It worked out better for him than he thought.

"Very well. Come with me: all of you."

Guillermo trailed after the king, Lucas and Edna following. Edna bumped against his shoulder, glaring at him. No. She couldn't...she just couldn't know the truth. No one could. He had to make sure no one knew that the demons weren't slain, and that they still wandered the living realm. Years ago, Guillermo made a promise. A promise with the demons. A promise with the Devil himself.

A promise he was going to keep, no matter what.

Day Two (Wednesday Mar 16):

Prompt #1: Write a scene involving something funny that became tragic in hindsight, or vice versa - something tragic that became funny in hindsight.

Prompt #2: Your character is presented with a sadistic choice between two terrible options. What do they do?

(Sorry)

This thread is going to get HUGE. Should you post a part 2?

I'm going for both prompts. 

Charles stares, utterly shocked. His two best friends are on the brink of death. Two demons have just captured them, right after he hunted one of their overlords. Now Charles is in terror, as he must choose one to save. The other will die.

He gulps. His mother is in the clutches of the Illuminati, and his brother is being held by a Demon Swag God. In Charles's hands holds the Trident of Persecution, the only weapon that can kill a demon. The only problem, is that once he kills one demon, the other demon will kill the prisoner.

"Guys, let's try reasoning!" Charles pleads, as these are two very powerful demon lords. He can match one and kill one, there is no doubt, but he doesn't want his family to suffer. And the demons probably don't want to suffer. But then again, that is all they feel.

"Never Mortal! Hahahahaha! Swag Lord, out!" The Swag God grips his brother tighter, choking him with a very powerful, Elmo-brand bandaid. 

Charles knows his brother won't last long. Those talismans are powerful artifacts in the hands of a wielder. 

The Illuminati laughs, "He who seeks Salvation only finds Revelations!" The Illuminati uses a curved dagger to hold down his mom. 

"Which one?" The Swag God laughs.

"Yeah, which one?" The Illuminati jeers. They laugh despicably.

The tension builds up in Charles. Which one? Which one? He loves his brother and his mom. What am I going to do! Suddenly, he throws down the spear.

And walks away. 

This is meant to be funny. Don't judge me!

"Now I ain't sayin' she a gold digger." Music blared out through the laboratory, masking the sound of  soldering and welding. A man rushes from table to table, grabbing instruments and performing tests seemingly at random, with the haste of an over-caffeinated person.

(to be finished later)

Prompt 1:

"It was just a prank, bro, I didn't know she would- AAAAAAAAAAAAH FUCK!" Kane screams as Shane brands him with the hot iron.

"You humiliated her in front of HUNDREDS of people!" Shane shouts at Kane as he leaves the iron in the furnace to reheat. He grabs the car battery and jumper cables instead.

"I thought she could take it! It's not my fault that she-" Kane is interrupted as Shane shocks him, as intense pain causes him to cry out again.

"IT IS YOUR FAULT! YOU WERE THE REASON SHE WAS ON THAT BRIDGE!" Shane exclaims as he switches to a bat.

"Please... please, don't do this..." Kane says, breathless, as he sees the bat.

Shane takes a breath, calming himself. He holds the bat sideways with two hands, looking it over.

"Please... I'll never do it again... please don't kill me..." Kane pleads, tears in his eyes. He's wet himself.

Shane holds the bat two handed, at the handle this time, and holds it over Kane's knee.

"... I think you can take it..." Shane says calmly.

"... What?" Kane replies.

Shane winds up and sends the bat straight into Kane's knee, as Kane screams from the pain. Nobody can hear him, Shane made sure of that. The basement is soundproof. The neighbors are away on vacation. He even had someone take care of Cerberus. Shane's been planning, preparing, and waiting for this for 8 long months, ever since Emily died.

And he'll be damned if it doesn't pay off.

END

Prompt 2:

Well, Shit.

The man in front of me is wielding a blade.

His friend on the right is holding a chain-wrapped bat, and Friend #2 on the left appears to have nothing, but I know for a fact that I saw the handle of a Glock peek out under his jacket when I passed him in the bar.

They're demanding my money, but I can't just do that. I need to pay rent. I need to buy food. I need to pay off my student loans. No, they can't have it. They simply... can't.

I see many ways out of this, money intact, but only two have the highest percentage of success:

Option one: I take Blade's blade from him while he's doing that show-off-y knife toss to his left hand, his non-dominant hand (I saw him drink with it and he uses it to hold the knife when he isn't trying to scare me), slit his throat while throwing to Glock at a 67° angle exactly 2 seconds after the throat slice, hitting him in the neck as he pulls out his gun, throwing i into the air in a parabola directly to me, blocking the Batman with his dying comrade (still in my arms), just in time for the approximately 2.97 second parabola to land in Quadrant 4, allowing me to grab it and shoot Batman for about... 2.56 second, 4 if he hits with full strength, and fire. Pop. Three men are dead. I still have my money.

Option two: Again, while Blade shows off, I take action. I duck under his arm, grab it and bend it at a 49° angle, throw him at Glock, disorienting him for about 5.888887 seconds and dropping the gun to the floor, duck under Batman's bat (going about 60-80 mph) for 1.5 seconds, run for the gun while Batman recovers in about 3 seconds, grab the gun as I'm going from the ground, turn 110° to the left, fire at Glock, then 70° to the left at Batman, then 60° to the right to finish off Blade. Pop. Pop. Pop. Three men are dead. I still have my money.

Judging from the subtle movements of Blade's right hand, he's about to pass it to his left.

It's now or never.

END

Going for both prompts

"Come on man let's just do it once, he'll get over it in a few days." Wendell whispered to me as we led Mark to the haunted Smith house.

"So just for a half and hour right? I'm leaving as soon as the time is up for me." Mark said getting out his Iphone to keep track of the time.

"Yeah Mark, only a half and hour and Shane will give you the money."

I nodded in confirmation but with slight concern in my eyes. I hoped the rumors would be fake and Mark wouldn't be in any danger. Not just from "ghosts" but the house being abandoned for three years with the occasional creepy squatter. Or that's what everyone thought as movement could be seen from the windows up above.  Mark didn't know this information though, and Wendell didn't want me telling him so he would chicken out from any noise.

"The squatters there are probaly just some pot smoking homless junkies, he's gong to be safe Shane, stop being such a mom about him." Wendell teased as Mark had already left for the house.

Me and Wendell sat  on a small hill about 70 yards away from the house to get a good view. Wendell was busy playing mobile games on his phone waiting for Mark to ethier make it or chicken out. I

I got a buzz on my phone and saw it was from Mark.

Mark: Breh, this place is super rundown, I'm just sitting down on a arm chair in the living room.

Shane: Kk just play a game on your phone on something, a half hour goes by fast.

Mark: Kk

six minutes later-twenty four to go

Mark:Hey I think I heard something, it was like a thud from upstairs.

Shane: House is old dude, don't worry

Mark: Ok.....

Five minutes later- nineteen to go

Mark: Dude it's fucking got loud and now it's dead silent, what the fuck is going on!?

i was about to reply when Wendell took away my phone.

"He's fine, let him serve his time. I'm going to be pissed if I lose my te-"

BANG

Wendell was interrupted by a loud shot in the air.

"Who the Fuck is firing a gun this early in the morning." Wendell shouted as he was startled.

I however was frozen in place. The back door to the house house had opened and out ran a man who looked to be in his late thirties with a homeless appearance. He didn't stop running until he was out of view.

I got off my ass and starting running towards the house with Wendell in pursuit. Beer bottles littered the floor of the the entrance and the inside walls were tagged an stained with various things. I frantically searched for the Living room until I opened a decayed door to notice a body sprawled on the ground. I immediately crouched next to it and flipped it over to see Mark, choking on blood with a gunshot to the collar bone area. 

"Sh-ane" Mark's words were clogged by blood as he clenched his wound. 

The next day

Mark Torres was Sixteen Years when he died of internal bleeding from a 9mm pistol. There was nothing his friends could do as he slowly choked on his own blood as paramedics were arriving on the scene. Numerous reports of squatters had been living in the house and police had advised the public to stay clear of it until it was bought by a realtor. No one knows why the boy had decided to enter the house.

------------

"Son I know that your hurting over the loss of your friend, but we need answers and your other buddy isn't saying anything." The cop said as you sat down in front of him. The interrogation room was cold and you had been here all morning with Wendell as you were needed to give information on the murder.

"All I want to know is why Mark want to the house, tell me that and I'll let you go."

I dug into my skin with my nails deciding if it was time to tell the truth of what me and Wendell did. The shame we would receive from Marks family along with everyone else would destroy our lives. Everyone loved Mark at school and we were just two posers who hung around him. Wendell hasn't said a word and just looks down making me the only one to interrogate. Wendell would probaly go Scott free  acting like a tragic victim while I got stuck with all the blame. I would rather go to jail than have to face everyone back at home. I could lie and say we just found him, But Mark deserved better than that, so did his parents. So did everyone else who wanted to know what happened to this poor kid. Should I worry about my self first thought.

"Kid, I need a answer."

“It's your choice, rabbi.” a voice calls out from the darkness. The ghoulish rabbi stares out into the void, and sighs. “I know you've been watching us. I know you know who, and what, we are. But it's still your choice.”

“I swore that I wouldn't. To him. Breaking that oath would be the same as killing him myself...” The rabbi starts, and then shakes his head. “No. It would be worse. I can't.”
The voice simply laughs, it's heavy chuckles reverberating throughout the room. The rabbi breaths deeply, and closes his eyes, opening his mind to everything. The world is huge, it's often difficult to even find a single person. But not this one. Not his brother. His essence, his faith is like a shining beacon. The rabbi zooms in onto his brother's faith, and the scene envelops his mind. Raising a blade of light into the heavens, surrounded by spirits of the above, his brother faces palpable villainy, a being far stronger then any mortal he's ever seen. Souls of the undead surround him, demons bended to his will, fire and brimstone in his hands. The rabbi's brother stands no match, not a shred of hope. It's a suicidal mission. His brother has always been a martyr. The fool. The scene distorts, as the laughter grows, spreading even into his meditation. The rabbi shakes his head, and opens his eyes, staring back to the void.

“I made an oath.” The rabbi reaffirms.

“Is your word worth more to you then your brother? If he dies there, he will be bound like mine.” The voice says softly. “And I suspect you care far more for him then I do for them.” The rabbi clenches his fists, anguished.

“Fine. FINE.” The rabbi shouts, anger mixing in with his pain. “I accept it! You win. I'll make a pact with you. I can not let my brother fall into such torment. He doesn't deserve that.” The voice simply laughs, as it's being starts to infuse into the rabbi, tainting his soul with the Pit of Sheol. The rabbi feels the need to scream out in pain, as his soul begins to tear, but there is no time. The demonic rabbi instantly phases out of the room, and phases back to his pure brother.

“Brother!” The rabbi shouts, grabbing his brother's arm. The touch burns, as his impurity begins to feel god's wrath, but the pain matters not. The two disappear, leaving the servants of heaven alone to face the mortal devil. They don't manage to escape.
//
The two tumble back into the room, rolling over numerous scrolls and artefacts. The rabbi's arm burnt to a crisp, and he lays catatonic as the dark spirit infused in him leaves, disappearing into the void. His brother separates himself from the rabbi, and waits for his brother to awaken, sitting. He waits for a very long time. But the rabbi does awaken, his arm healing quickly. He groans.

“That... That will leave a mark, brother.” The rabbi says, with a soft chuckle, massaging his arm back, removing the charred skin. His brother does not respond.
“I saved you, you know. He would have bound you, brother. Made you a servant. I couldn't let that happen. You understand, yes?”

“You swore to me, brother. You swore.”

“It.. I... I had to! There... There wasn't any choice left!” The rabbi protests. His brother shakes his head, and stands.

“That's how they get you, brother. Goodbye.” The brother leaves the room, leaves the rabbi. The rabbi sits there, and sighs.

“You knew this would happen.” He says to no one in particular. “You knew that no matter what I did, I'd lose my brother.” The room remains silent.

“Not only did I lose my brother, but I lost my oath. What did I gain from this?” He asks, his hands to his face.

The rabbi smirks.

“I guess it really is how they get you.”

Prompt #2 (and maybe #1 if you find the last line amusing, you evil bastards)

(I'm going to go for #2. I guess the ending might be a little of prompt 1, but I doubt it.)

  The forest was lit alight by the fiery embers, slowly burning the forest to ash. Mirai saw Jack struggling under some logs as the fire inched closer to him. She also saw Marlin trapped in the red flames. She didn't know what to do anymore. The smoke was getting to her, and it was hard to see. Jack was her friend from Day 1, but Merlon had always helped her in class.

  Merlon was a close friend just like Jack... Who to pick, who to pick?! she thought. The smoke was getting heavier, and the fires were getting larger. She coughed, and chose Jack. She tried to help get the logs off. She was using a lot of her energy to do so, however. It just wouldn't budge though. She decided to go get help, and took 5 steps... but all went black.

Mirai woke up in a white room... Strange. She thought to herself. Then she remembered something. Her friends... they were in trouble. She tried to get up, but was in too much pain. She shouted for them... but nobody came.

Hours passed. Then a doctor finally came in.

"You were very lucky to survive." he said. 

"Who are you?" asked Mirai.

"Ah, I am Dr. Vreinz." the doctor answered.

"Where are my friends?" she asked.

"They're fine. You need to get rest. You could've been killed, but luckily some of our Medics got you here safely." Dr. Vreinz said.

Days passed. Mirai usually watched TV during this time. Her parents would come in from time to time to check on her. The doctor sometimes escorted them out to ask a few questions, and see how she was. Soon she was released to go home. Her friends were released later on as the days passed.

*A few months later*

"Hey Mirai." said Merlon.

"Hey Merlon. Hey Jack." replied Mirai.

"Wanna go camping?" asked Jack.

Then it was silent for a little.

"Sure, but we're doing it in my backyard, and we're looking up how to make a fire." said Merlon.

"...Okay. Sounds great! See you at 5 tommorow?" Mirai had questioned.

"Alright!" they replied.

And all was well.

THE END

Noooooo! I accidentally destroyed my post! Fine. I will type it again.

The Fifty First Demon

After defeating The God of Torment, Fentara, Pell was immediately plunged into a dark abyss. It seemed to go on forever, and it really was.

  Pell looked around, and sees a piece of black cloth. He grabs it, and sees what seems to be a face, but also is not a face. "Greetings, Pell. I am Umbra, Demon of Darkness."a shrill voice with an annoying tone says.

" What do I need to do to defeat you?" Pell says, holding the mirror of truth. 

"You just have to choose between Felicity or Miller,"

"What do you mean?"

Pell is answered when Umbra snaps her fingers. He sees Felicity and Millers in a cage. 

"I will choose Felicity." Pell says, thinking that Felicity can save Millers.

"Very well. Now let me explain. The person who stays will  have a curse on them. A curse that will torture them with eternal darkness. Yet they won't die, as the darkness has a slight healing effect that will make them feel hungry, yet be full. So, it is just a nest for my sweet darkness." Felicity then goes through the bars, and Miller disappears. 

"Why didn't you save yourself and Miller?"

"I couldn't! Only dark magic can be used in the cage."

Umbra then vanishes. It seems she was one of the deathly demons. A demon that can only bring death to one of the hero's loved ones.

"Go! Please! Go! Use your magic to go to the thirtieth floor! Then, run down the stairs, and you will escape this place." Pell says, distraught about losing Miller.

(Going for both prompts, although mostly Prompt 2. It's kind of Prompt 1, though that's easily debatable.)

Through the haze of drink and painkillers, two thoughts came into his head, both of which horrified Doctor Henry P. Pierce. The first was that he was still alive, and had just woken up. The second was that surgery would begin soon. He stood up, and looked at himself in the mirror. The side of his face was badly beaten, and heavy bags were under his eyes. He walked to the window of his room, wrapping his hands around the bars. He sighed, and went to the small bathroom, finding a partially filled bottle of whiskey and a bottle of painkillers. He took them both, chugging down handfuls of painkillers with the booze, before he heard the short, cheerful wrapping of knuckles on the door.

"Henry! We have work to do!" the chipper voice called back.

Henry walked to his door as it was unlocked by Alex Martin. A small, thin man was staring back at him, cheerfully holding up a surgery scrubs and a pair of gloves.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

Henry nodded, as the alcohol and painkillers began to take effect. It wouldn't be enough, though. It was never enough. Henry got dressed into his surgery scrubs. He followed Alex along a dirty, concrete hall. After a minute, you enter a large, bare room, empty except for a single corner of the room prepped for surgery. Strapped to the surgery table is a small body, with a small black bag over its head.

"What... what do you need done?" Henry asked slowly.

"I have reason to believe that the reason our previous experiments have failed was because of age. At an older age the body isn't growing, and hence will reject the surgeries. We need young blood."

Alex Martin was insane. The smiling, cheerful man had worked with a small team including Henry attempting to create a creature made of multiple species. It was the kind of idea once only dreamed of in shitty, B-rate Sci-Fi movies, but was now possible. Then, Alex Martin was discovered to be doing his own "work". Soon after, the team was disbanded and the project ended.

"How young?" Henry asked.

"Young enough..."

"How young?!" Henry asked again.

"She's... the patient, that is, is thirteen."

Henry's lunged at Alex, who smiled as Henry tackled him to the floor, wrapping his hands around his neck.

"You sick freak! I'll fucking kill you!"

"Henry..." Alex choked out, still grinning. "Remember Alison. If I'm dead, no one will find her. She'll be left all alone in the cage I left her in."

"Give me back my daughter, you sick freak!"

"I've told you what you need to do to get her back, Henry."

"I'm not doing that to a child!"

"She's a subject, Henry. The door's wide open. You can walk away right now. But then your daughter dies. Or, you can perform the surgery on the subject."

Henry paused. His hands weren't clean. The first day, he had turned a homeless man into a wolf-man hybrid that failed due to organ failure. The second was an addict turned into a monkey-human creature. Once again, it ended in death. This pattern repeated itself six times, before today.

"What... what are we doing?" Henry says, choking back a sob.

"I think an amphibian creation is likely to succeed. Taking fish, frog, dolphin, whale and shark parts, we can make this a success."

"You want me to turn her... this little girl no older than my daughter... into a fish-person?"

"I want you to try!" Alex grins.

Henry nodded slowly, picking up his tools. For what he hoped was the final time, he became as cold and emotionless as he could. The drugs and drink helped him, but not enough. He didn't look at the subject, whose face was thankfully covered. He worked quickly. He allowed the coldest, most logical parts of his brain to take over. He focused on none of the features of the subject, nothing that was humanizing. He replaced her organs. Her limbs. A large part of her skin. Eventually, after hours of non-stop work, he had created another monster. It's legs were replaced with a mermaid-like tail, a large portion of its skin was shark hide. It's entire insides had been replaced. Henry had no idea how it was alive, but it was. He made sure to never move the bag, to never give his victim a face that would haunt his dreams.

"I'm finished," Henry said.

Henry turned, to see Alex grinning more than ever, giggling with excitement.

"It worked? It's alive? This is tremendous! This is stupendous! This is fantastic!" Alex laughed.

Henry tried not to puke, and managed to stay standing. He could feel guilt and disgust manifest in his mind, pushing his fragile psyche close to breaking.

"Are we finished? Will you let Alison go? Please?"

Alex burst into laughter, doubling over as he gasped for breath. After a solid minute of his maniac-like laughter, he stopped.

"Oh God, Henry, you'll love this. Remember when I said you could perform the surgery or your daughter dies? There's a delicious irony to this: If you had left, I would've had to perform the surgery, and you know I would've failed, and your daughter really would die."

"Wh-what?"

Henry gleefully skipped over, yanking the bag off the subject. Long flowing curls fell out and hung from her head as Henry saw a pair of vibrant blue, yet vacant eyes staring back at you. 

"Alison...?" Henry asked, before breaking into sobbing as he stared at the battered face of his daughter and Alex breaks into laughter again.

"Don't you get it? It was your daughter the whole time!" Alex laughs. "Do you know what's even funnier? She told me, before the kidnapping, she wanted to me a mermaid!"

Alex breaks into laugher as Henry drops to his knees and begins smashing his head against the concrete floor.

"Come on Henry, you had to know there was something fishy about this? At least she's free to go, she's off the hook! The dad's a surgeon, the daughter's a sturgeon!" Alex continues to joke, bursting into another fit of laugher.

When the human mind is confronted with tragedy and trauma on a scale never dealt with before, many things can happen. The mind can go catatonic. The mind can create an imaginary world to escape in. The mind can immediately try to self-terminate. But for Doctor Henry P. Pierce, his mind broke. His mind twisted. His mind morphed as insanity ceased him and his consciousness shattered.

Alex watched with confusion and amusement as Henry's sobs of anguish slowly turned into hysteric laughter. Henry began to drive his fingers into his own skin, tearing at it as he begun to shake as his sanity was lost. In the near-barren room, two rounds of laughter echoed off the walls, as two men without any trace of sanity laughed.

Prompt #2:

"I swear, nothing's wrong with me!" Laura Archer's elderly father said, "Someone's been breaking into my house!" 

Laura had been hearing this for a long time. She was starting to worry. Laura was a constantly busy woman, but she always found the time to visit her father in the mornings... And for the past few months, everything she's had to deal with this. There were broken plates on the floor, and all of the spoons were bent. She sighed with worried melancholy... David Archer had been on the front lines of D-Day, and was a heavyweight boxer long into his 40s. Maybe it was all getting to him....

"There's literally no signs of a break-in here."  Laura said, incredulously, "Nothing's been stolen..."

"Maybe they aren't here to steal anything?" David said, grasping for reeds at this point.

"Why would somebody just come in and break your things then leave?"

"Internet bragging rights, maybe? Wasn't there a guy who took one of those selfies next to a pile of stolen shit and put it up on facebook?"

"Uhh... Yeah, dad, I'll be on the lookout for that kinda thing next time I'm online..." Laura said, walking to the kitchen to make breakfast, only to find that it was dark, "Really? Is someone breaking in just to bust this one lightbulb over and over too!?"

"I think something might be wrong with the wiring here. The kitchen light always seems to pop in the middle of the night. Luckily, I have some candles in the cupboard over the counter there."

Laura pulled a candle out of the cupboard and tried to light it, only to find that it didn't. She tried another, no dice. A third failure, and she took the three defective candles to the dining room to look at them in the light. Someone had meticulously, with surgical precision, completely removed the wicks from the entire length of the candle. She could see through one end and out the other.

"Ha-Ha, very funny, dad." she said, tossing the wax tubes onto the table. She was trying to be serious, but she was still suppressing giggles.

"What's funny?" her father asked, curiously.

"Taking the wicks out of the candles?"

"What?"

"You gutted the candles."

"I.. Didn't..."

Laura's smile faded.

"Dad, you're shitting me...." She said, worriedly.

"I really didn't!"

"Would this be the work of a break-and-enterer too?"

Her father only frowned, very hurt.

"Laura..."

"I gotta go. I have to work..." Laura said, walking out of the house and heading to her car.

Her mind was heavy with mixed feelings as she drove. Her father had been getting letters from retirement homes for a while now. She knew he hated the idea, but something was very, very wrong. She couldn't leave him alone at home, and she couldn't bare the thought of him getting into an accident. She had a company to run, so she couldn't exactly be his caretaker either...

She came to a decision by the time she reached the parking lot. She felt bad, but it was for his own safety. She got out her phone and dialed the number she left in her contacts just in case...

"Hello, Shady Olives Retirement Home?"

Segue into Prompt #1:

"I don't understand..." David said, "It's been 30 years since, but you never told me what was in that room... You just broke my kneecaps and threw me in a boxcar."

Sure, David was unjustly shipped off to a home somwhere, but, as it happened, the old folk's home he was sent to had one of his old buddies in it, Sigmund. They were the best of friends. The merry pranksters to end all merry pranksters... But, as it apparent, their friendship ended on a bizarrely sour note... David and Sigmund were old and gray now, and, by David's reasoning, whatever could have been in there  surely wasn't important anymore. But it certainly was back then... It was worth smashing his legs with a baseball bat and shipping him across the state. But here they were, in a nursing home, with arguably nothing but time to talk about this kind of thing, sitting across from each other at lunch.

"Eh?" Sigmund grunted.  The truth of the matter was not that Sigmund couldn't hear him, but maybe if he pretended to be deaf and senile enough, David wouldn't press the question...

"I said you never told me what was in that room. Y'know, the one upstairs with the blue door." David said, a bit louder and more emphasized.

"Oh. Nothin', it was just a prank, bro." David could tell when his old friend was fraudulently fibbing, and this was one of those times.

"You broke my legs! It was not a prank!"

"I think you probably should've seen that coming when you decided to be best friends with a guy named 'Sigmund Schadenfreude'." Well, this much was true, but it didn't alleviate that little twitch of falsehood in his eyes.

"Come on, tell me what it was! It can't possibly be that bad! I mean, you can be a real asshole sometimes, but you're not a monster!"

Sigmund tightened his jaw and stared David straight in the eye, an expression more serious than David had ever seen in all his 80 years...

"Are you sure you want to know?"

David hesitated, but only briefly. This was a 30-year-old mystery that he desperately wanted to know. "Yes!"

"All my porn was in there." Sigmund said, dismissively, oddly enough, David's BS detector found nothing.

"What?"

"I kept my porn in that room. There was a ton of it."

"... Oh... Uhhh... Was it good porn, or was it so bad you were ashamed of it, or...?"

"It was kneecap-breaking porn."

"I... Uhh... Didn't know you felt that way..."

Lunch was finished in stunned silence. David didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or punch Sigmund in the face. It was a fact of life now. He knew a truth he wished he didn't, yet he was oddly satisfied that he did. He had closure, but now, he feared, he would need closure with the closure. It was so absurd, so disgusting... It was another hour before they spoke again.

"Did you, uh..." David paused, trying to ask cautiously, "Break anyone else's kneecaps?"

"Nope. Just china and cutlery, mostly. Sometimes candles."

(Um... I may have written a little more than I intended... sorry. prompt #2)

“Let me set up a dilemma for you,” she had decided by then that the voice sounded like it belonged to the type of man who wore glasses,

“You’re the only person on a train. You’re standing at the front with the controls.” She knew each word by heart she had listened to the recording so many times.

“The train is moving uncontrollably, the only thing you can do is change the track up ahead.” She looked down at her feet,

“The problem is that on on the right track there’s a toddler playing and on the left is an elderly man taking a stroll.”

“I prefer a six year old in a wheelchair and a recovering alcoholic,” she said, the response so familiar it almost felt scripted.

“The train is moving so fast that there’s no way you can avoid hitting whoever is on the track you choose. So here’s the dilemma: will you choose the right or the left track?”

Click

She stopped the recorder from playing any further. A pensive frown crept onto her face.

Right or left.

She sat that way for a moment, looking almost inhuman with her black hair leeching the color from the rest of her skin, sitting on the edge of the desk as if she were a bird of prey about to swoop down, and unwaveringly, unseeingly staring at the man tied up in the corner. A dark storm boiled outside and the wind tore through the broken window into the otherwise tidy office adding to her otherworldliness.

“What would you prefer?” She finally asked the man. Ropes were tightly wound around his hand and foot and he was only upright since he was propped up in the corner, staring at her in fear.

“Wh-what do you mean?” He said. His voice also sounded like it belonged to a man wearing glasses, but that was not the case since his spectacles laid in several pieces where his head had been rammed into the floor an hour or so previously.

“I’ve got my six year old in a wheelchair and my recovering alcoholic, but if you had to put someone on those tracks, who would it be?”

“I,” he cleared his throat, “I think I would keep the toddler and the elderly man.”

“That’s cheating,” she growled.

“I’m sorry! I don’t understan-”

“-those aren’t real people. Those are just vague ideas in your head. You have to see their faces when you put someone out on those tracks. You have to know them. Feel the weight of the life they’ve lived and the life they could live pulling at your heart until you think it might have torn. Your hands have to be shaking when you reach out to change those tracks. Otherwise, what’s the point? So. who would you choose?”

“I have a three year old daugh-”

“You disgust me.” Her lip curled up in a sneer, “You and I both know your daughter’s not three, Lexi is sixteen. She lives with her mother because you raped them both until Lexi was eight and her mother finally got the help she needed to get away from you. Now your using the idea of her, probably because you think a three year old daughter would deter me from killing you. But your daughter’s not why I’m here.” The girl nimbly jumped off the desk and walked towards him, then knelt down in front of him until there was nowhere for him to look but her eyes.

“I’m going to ask you a question and I expect to get an honest answer. You remember working the oil rig?” He nodded dumbly, “Do you remember your last day before you got your office promotion?” He stared blankly. Maintaining eye-contact she pulled a switchblade from her pocket and lithely flipped it open.

“I asked you a question.” His voice was hoarse as he replied

“Yes, I remember my last day”

“Good. Tell me about it.”

“My partner and I were supposed to conduct a safety check on the cliff-side. The oil rig was set up near the edge of the canyon and we were supposed to make sure there was no structural damage to the stone that would require us to stop drilling.”

“Sounds uneventful. What else happened?”

“My partner…” he drifted off.

“Your partner what?”

“He didn’t set up his rope the right way. It frayed on a rock and he fell into the canyon.” She nodded for a moment.

“Except the rope didn’t fray,” she said, “So allow me to supplement your memory.

“You see my brother was found at the bottom of the canyon dead after what was supposed to be a routine inspection. The next day he was scheduled to start working an office position. He had worked for years to get that job, but after his death it was given to his partner instead. After my father died my brother hit a rough patch, had a drinking problem for a few years, but he was the only one old enough to work and he loved us enough to give up his demons so that my mother and her other six children could live. We were told his rope must have been damaged before the climb and frayed through due to his weight. They couldn’t explain the scratch marks on his face, the knife wound in his chest or the lacerations along his body even though he’d have had a straight plummet until he hit the stone at the bottom, and when I looked at the rope myself I would bet my life that the rope was cut through with a serrated knife. You starting to remember anything new?” He shook his head.

“Hm. I think one of the marks run up his arm. Just like this.” She slashed across his left arm and up toward his right shoulder. The man screamed. She tilted her head.

“No, wait, the angles not quite right. It was more like this. Yes, that’s much better. Of course his left eye was scratched out too. Now, that might have been birds that did that. Still, I’m willing to take some liberties.” She rested the tip of the knife just beneath his eye socket.

“Alright! Alright, I did it! Please don’t hurt me.”

“THERE we go!” She said, slapping the floor loudly. The man startled. A grin covered her face, “I’ll make an honest man of you yet. Now, if you had just killed my brother, I might have turned the other way, might have cursed your name at night, but ignored your continued existence, but damn, you nearly managed to kill off the rest of my family too. I think I get it though. You were the new kid in school and wanted to look smart and cool for all the other kids so you went to your boss at your fancy new office and said ‘Hey, bossman, I think I’ve thought up a way to save you money. Instead of transporting those tankers of toxic waste from processing the petroleum, let me handle it. I’ll get rid of it cheap.’ Next thing you know back home the fish are dying, plants won’t grow right, and everyone’s getting sick. That sort of thing happens when you start dumping poison in the river. You care to correct me on any of the details?” She looked at him long and hard.

"I... I," she could see the fear in his face. He knew what he’d done and what he deserved for it, and now he was afraid that justice would be served. There was anger in her voice when she spoke again, saying,

“Cancer. That’s what got most of them in the end. There was some real bad stuff in that water. Most of the town left other places, but some of us were just too poor. My mother, three brothers and a sister all died to it. Now it’s just me and the youngest one, Bethany. I took her into the city. We live off scraps and what little money I can get. But then I heard you were in town again. Heard that you came back as a CEO of a company and I couldn’t help but wonder how many people you killed to get there,” she let her years of sorrow and frustration pour into her voice, “It just doesn’t seem fair does it? I kill you and my sister starves while I rot in jail, I let you go free and who knows what you’ll do. I suppose it’s too late now. You’ve seen my face," she folded the knife and put it back in her pocket, "Guess there’s nothing for it.” She grabbed the rope that bound his legs together and started to drag him across the broken glass towards the window.

“No! No, please! Let me go! I won’t tell anyone! I promise!” She turned him around and grabbed him by the neck of his shirt to push him up against the frame until she would only have to push him a little to the right and he would be tumbling out onto the street many floors beneath them. He glanced back and swallowed, eyes wide, breathing heavy. Her face was stony.

“I would stab you in the chest like you did to my brother, but I think you’ve earned living through the fall.”

“Please! I didn't know he had family! I'll… I’ll pay for you and your sister! Food, clothes, education, anything!” She hesitated. He caught onto the glimmer of hope, “I have connections, I could get you started with your own business. Your sister would never be hungry again.”

She thought it over. Was it possible that just this once, she could actually win?

 Right or left. To the right stood her sister and this man who she hated. She couldn’t kill one but save the other. If she pushed him out the window she would be imprisoned and her sister would have to carry on with bleak prospects, an orphan in a strange city. On the left there was… nothing. Nothing in the way. But the more she thought about it the more she realized that on the left track her brothers, her sisters, her mother, and everyone else who this man had harmed stood grimly, waiting for peace, waiting for justice. If she let him go she would be killing them all a second time. She furrowed her brow

Right or Left

Right or Left

Right or Left

Her hands shook as she pushed him over the window ledge.

The light panel along the wall is coated in a formidable layer of grease and grime, but still manages to throw into sharp relief every ridge and cranny in the reptilian Vraaxian's craggy face. He towers over you, slit-pupiled eyes gleaming with pure malicious glee as he regards you. He's the one in control of this situation, and you both know it.

"You have a choice," he informs you, the words rattling wetly up from his chest. His wide mouth splits in a crocodile-like grin, revealing rows of jagged yellow teeth and hitting you with a rush of warm breath that reeks of sour milk as he shakes silently, his species' equivalent to laughter. You cringe and take an involuntary step back as he slams something down on the counter before you, and have to take a moment to steel your nerves before you can allow yourself to examine it closely, clapping a hand over your mouth and gagging at the stench.  

"The centi-eyed Sarcusian slug." With a rough and taloned hand, the Vraaxian gestures at the plate and the purple and brown blotched thing slumped across it, about the size of a large cucumber. A fat, rubbery one.

"Baked to perfection," he continues, scraping idly at a patch of loose, frayed scales between his fingers. "The stuffing is spitterbug larvae, allowed to ferment six work cycles suspended in their natural foam and a bit of extra-chunky quineix milk." He lowers his ponderous snout over the plate and inhales deeply. "That's what gives the dish it's powerful aroma. And...hmm, on the side here we have some of the slug's extra eyestalks, lightly pickled and mixed with fresh young cheenergrix right out of the eggsack." 

You stare at the contents of the plate with growing horror as he speaks, unable to decide if you're more nauseated by the smell or the sight. "Wh-what else...what's the other choice?" you ask faintly.    

The Vraaxian scratches at an itchy spot under his dirty apron, then reaches under the counter and pulls out another plate, slapping it down beside the baked slug with violent force, causing the thick, gelatinous grey slab upon it to wobble back and forth. You note the oily sheen and the brown and greenish-yellow streaks upon it with distaste. Still, compared to the slug?

"Uh. So what is that?" you ask."Standard issue emergency nutrition slab. Mostly made from reclaimed waste." The slow, cruel grin spreads again across the reptilian cook's face. "Including mine."

This is it, the moment of truth.

"Now make your choice, cadet. You're holding up the line."

You...just can't. You're not strong enough. Queasily, you wave off both plates and shuffle aside.

More silent shaking, broken yellow fangs gnashing the air. "Go on, then! You'll be back when you're hungry enough. Tomorrow we're having deep-fried Gsefafa spiders. You're on a Vraaxian ship now, you'd better get used to it." 

Slinking away, defeated, the question comes unbidden to your mind of whether...maybe, just maybe, if you get desperate enough...you wonder if crocodile really does taste like chicken.

Announcement: You guys have really knocked it out of the park again. So I'm doing another lottery and another personal pick out of everyone who submitted a complete entry before the deadline (sorry for you WIP folks - I'll still award the points if you finish updating your submissions before I fall asleep, which gives you about four hours).

Anyway, today's lotter winner is @mattstat716 ! And my personal pick is @Steve24833 ! It was a hard choice, but congrats to both of you. PM me your requests and I'll see it done.

Day Three (Thursday Mar 17):

I'm going for both prompts

The train is utterly in havoc. The transportation machine leans over a destroyed bridge, ready to fall at any second. Terrorists are invading it at this moment, attempting to capture Yulan Isu, a wealthy merchant who they despise. The Terrorist Mastermind, The Red Blade, is an escaped convict that murdered people with a single short dagger, hence the name. People scream in terror at the invaders. The detonated bridge could crumble any second, hence creating tension among the trapped. A man pulls out a cell phone and cautiously dials a number. "Please help us Lord.", he prays.

Zero, a famous superhero who is none for an anti-time suit that allows him to morph in and out of time, watches over the peaceful city of Terrapolis. He gets a call. Taking out his phone, he listens to the message. "I will be there." Zero quickly locates his motorcycle, which looks a bit like the Tron Bike. He drives to the train, where the people are being held captive during the search for Yulan Isu. 

Cautiously entering the building, Zero searches the back car for hostiles. Luckily, there are none. He quietly continues the voyage into the train. Suddenly he sees a few soldiers and he ducks. Stealthily hiding behind a counter, he moves over to a guard. He switches out a blade that hides underneath his arm. Taking the guard, he cuts his neck. Zero kills the rest, clearing the car. 

Unfortunately, the next car there are more enemies and they spot him. Opening fire, the AK-47s spread hot lead all over the car. Zero presses a button on his wrist and suddenly everything is slow motion for him. Quickly, he disposes of all the enemies except for one. Turning the warp off, he questions the terrorist, justice in his eyes.

"Where is The Red Blade?" Zero spits in his eyes.

"He-he's in the next two cars! I swear!" The terrorist is killed off by Zero after. 

Zero gets out a cloth and wipes the blood off of his blade arm attachment. "Let's do this." Running through the cars and rescuing hostages, he sees The Red Blade, looking over Yulan Isu.

The Red Blade laughs, but suddenly he is cut off by Yulan laughing. "Why the hell are you laughing?" The Red Blade questions.

"You are not the Red Blade. I am." Yulan takes out a red katana and slices the enemy's head clean off. Zero is suprised by this sudden change of events.

Red Blade sharpens the katana and looks at the suprised hero. "You see, I brainwashed that minion to come here. Now it would look like he was the Red Blade coming to save Yulan. And I was disguised as Yulan, in order to trap you here!"

Zero unsheathes his blade. "Then, I must sadly dispose of you!" He switches on the fast forward mode, but nothing happens. "Why isn't it working!?" 

The Red Blade laughs. "This car is protected from your cheat abilities. Fight me in honorable combat!"

"Very well." Zero then unsheathes his other blade. The two face off, waiting for the attack. The Red Blade presses a button and an ancient mask covers his head. He gets his katana and presses a button, turning it into a spiked mace. The Red Blade increases in size drastically, measuring about eight feet. 

"Fight me now!" The Red Blade spits in Zero's face.

"And you said I am a cheater!" Zero dodges an incoming attack from the monster and retaliates by stabbing at his armor. It doesn't do so much as scrape him. The Red Blade grabs Zero's arm and crushes it, making the blade attachment fall off.

Zero winces and falls to the ground, defeated. But then something happens. The terrorists walk in, under command of the real Yulan Isu. Yulan looks at the monster. "Open fire!"

You can make up the rest ;)

OOC: It's funny you tagged my alts.

Zion stood in the midst of the chaos, buildings crumbled, and the street was cracked. Heroes and civilians lay dead on the street, their bodies already attracting flies. He wore a blue and skintight suit. His hair was wild and unkempt due to the current situation.

"Plural, you don't have to do this." Zion said, taking a step forward. The wind blew between them.

Plural was crouched on the ground, examining a dead body. "But- I need this." He turned around and revealed his dark hair and scarred face. He wore tattered street clothes. "You don't understand, I need to do this." He stood and walked up to Zion. "We all need to die."

Zion spoke in an even and steady tone of voice. "No, it doesn't have to be this way. Turn yourself in, and we can help you. We can make this right-"

Plural cut him off. "You aren't listening!" He delivered a striking blow to Zion's chest. Even though Zion could easily use his powers to block the attack, he took the punch. Zion took a step back.

"I- I am listening. I understand."

"NO YOU AREN'T!" Plural began to generate several clones, each about to strike Zion.

"I guess this is just the way it's going to be.." Zion shot out a tendril of essence from his back, stabbing into the first two clones. He then shot his left foot out, breaking another's neck in mid-air. "I don't want to do this Plural!" Zion shouts as he parries a punch from him.

"I will not be stopped." Plural says evenly. "I must continue onward!"

"No!" Zion replies, still throwing jabs and kicks, "We can stop this- together!"

"You're wrong..."

Both prompts.

Marcus stood in front of the twenty story window, looking at the mystic nightly city below. He let out a puff of smoke as gently rubbed his chin. He already sensed the presence behind him, it had been there for awhile.

"You can stop trying to act sneaky I know that you're there."

Captain Caspian stepped out from the shadows, a stern look on your face.

"Marcus Tasam, you are hereby under arrest for the cruelty you have bestowed on the people of Draven. Come peacefully and there will be no problems." Caspian said in a monotone voice with cold eyes directed at Marcus.

Marcus not responding to Caspians command, took another whiff of his cigar while continuing to look out the window.

"You really think our doing the right thing here don't you." Marcus said giving a state at Caspian who had a scrunched face from his question. 

"I know I'm far better in the right then you've ever have been, now come with me before I have go get physical."

Marcus laughed as he got out a bottle from a cabinet along with a old styled bottle that looked to had been locked away for ages.

"Freedom is what you sought right? Freedom from oppressors like me, I can't tell you enough how much Mr.Stevens would be disappointed in you."

"Don't you dare fucking bring him up, You didn't know anything about him." Caspian spat, losing his temper for a moment.

Marcus smiled a his outburst an started to swirl his drink around.

"I know more about him than you've ever had, you think he would have supported your cause, but he knew there were far greater things to be taken care of then the will of the people, he knew how to to bring about order and prosperity, something that you've been slowly destroying, I was actually in buisness with him before the plane crash, Oh how things would have turned out for our cause."

"You're lying, someone of his nature would never hang with vile animals like you." Caspian hissed trying to look for a bluff.

"you're naive Caspian, trying to appease the people and be the hero you always dreamt of being, the real Herod are the people who make the tough choices to bring out the better outlook of everyone, no matter how much hate or dislike it brings about. I was worrying about everyone's well being and the finance of the city, but no you wanted everyone to be free and bring the city down aswell. I hope you enjoy your freedom while it lasts, soon riots will begin and everyone will have all the freedom they desire, and you'll be the one to blame for all the deaths to come."

Caspian pulled out a high tech rifle that spewed of blue energy. "Enough of your stories, it's time I bring you in one way or another.

Marcus hadn't even flinched, instead he simply gave the shake of his head.

"You really think you're the good guy."

"You think you are!" Caspian shouted as he set his sites on Marcus.

Marcus crossed his arms and lowered his head while giving it a shake.

"Which is why I don't feel any remorse of my last action alive.

Marcus liked at his watch and pressed the pulsing green button that had finished loading.

"I have no regrets."

The last, and most dedicated  Lawman  in the Greater Blast Area let out a heavy sigh, as he realized that he had to die. He could hear the Baron's vehicle from a mile away; the Baron  and his men were the  only sons-of--bitches arrogant enough to still use gas powered vehicles, after all.

The cop reached across his head and pulled down a cracked pair of goggles. He cranked the steering mechanism on his bike, trying to ignore the sinking feeling of panic as it abruptly shot three feet into the air, and rocketed across the irradiated desert. Dust kicked up in his wake, blotting out the sun behind him. The fusion engine let out its familiar whine as it approached its top speeds. 

"Six cars. Three bikes. One train." He muttered to himself as the plumes of exhaust kicked up by the armored convoy came into view.  

As his bike sailed closer to the convoy, he leaned slightly to the left, and withdrew a heavy, boxy weapon from a sheathe on the side. He smiled grimly as it hummed with life, and the chip in his cortex displayed an ammunition counter and displayed the type of shell within. High Explosive.

 By now, he was within five hundred meters of the convoy. The lone biker felt a soothing chemical  rush  as his  cybernetic implants furiously strained to keep him calm.  Four hundred meters. 

His mind flashed with images of life before the bombs fell, and of the irradiated Freaks crawling out of the pits. Three hundred meters. 

He thought of his family, impaled on the hoods of the Baron's massive trucks. Two hundred meters.

He thought of the surgery he had undertaken when he joined the Lawmen, and figured that his humanity was a decent enough price for revenge.  One hundred meters. 

He took aim at the rear truck, and gently squeezed the trigger. The small explosive shell, propelled with magnetism fired like a bullet, before engulfing the truck in flames. He swerved out of the way as the burning shell rolled past him. The cars up ahead scattered like insects, swerving off the road and onto the dunes. 

The vengeful ghost of a man dimly acknowledged the presence of a pack of three bikers who had managed to turn themselves around hurtling towards him from the right. He swung his arm and fired at them. The biker's ears rang as the crump of the explosion and the screams of those not killed outright nearly deafened him. Burning limbs sailed through the air, spewing rapidly evaporating blood onto his bike and into the sand.

He gave chase, pursuing the convoy further into the scorched, ruined desert. His lifted his eyes from the rapidly moving desert floor, and up to the train. Perhaps, calling it a train is incorrect;  as it is  little more than the corpses of a dozen or more vehicles, shackled together and sent rocketing forward by one of the space-engines of the old world. At the end of the train rolled the butchered carcass of an armored personnel carrier; a formidable machine, and a relic from the time when  wars were fought with men. Sprouting out from this vehicle, was a shoddy tower made of metal plates haphazardly slapped together, like something created by a gigantic child. The Baron stood at the top of this tower; a gigantic, muscular brute hurling abuse at his servants below.

The Lawman stood up in his seat, balancing on the hovering vehicle as he hurtled towards the end of the train. As it came closer, he leaped into the air, and grabbed at the one of the many handles running across the train. His reinforced fingers closed down as the small hovercraft flattened itself. 

His metallically reinforced skeleton  and lab-grown muscle allowed him to quickly scramble onto the base of the metal behemoth. 

The closeness to his revenge brought a bizarre euphoria as he stared  up at the tower. He  grimaced as a harpoon whizzed by his head. It took him a fraction of a second to realize that one of the trucks had pulled up, and was driving next to the convoy. He quickly leaped onto the ladder running up the tower. Another harpoon embedded itself where he had been standing a moment before. He wrenched down on the bar, flinging himself upwards and catching the next rung on the ladder. There was no room for thought or distraction as he evaded the volley of harpoons and launched himself up the ladder. 

Pain rocketed through his head as a swift boot to the head knocked him down to Earth. He landed on his back, and the tremendous weight of his metallic bones left an indent in the roof of the car. The Baron followed suite; six hundred pounds of vat-grown muscle and surgically enhanced bone crashing down on him. Several of the Lawman's bones broke on impact; of course, there were enough chemical stimulants in him now that pain was irrelevant. 

The Lawman launched a swift blow to the Baron's face, snapping one of the pins holding the warlord's face together. The flesh of his face abruptly sagged, lending him the visage of an acid burn victim. The muscled brute stumbled, which gave the officer enough time to wriggle out of his grip. 

The two stared at each other, glaring. Blood and oil shot from the Baron's mangled face. The Lawman winced as he began to feel the pain of a shattered rib; no amount of painkillers would stop that. The moment was shattered as the Baron lunged forward with unexpected speed, and grabbed the smaller man by the arm, before wrenching him to the ground  and following up with a swift kick to the face. The Lawman's head snapped back as his jaw shattered, and he fell to the floor. 

The Baron grabbed him by the hair and lifted him into the air as a grisly trophy. As the muscular creature hoisted him, the  damaged cyborg jammed four fingers into the Baron's face, two fingers into either eye. The Baron dropped him immediately, and grabbed his wrist with two hands. The Lawman winced as the steroid-fueled beast tore his hand off, leaving the hand rammed into his eye socket. 

Brackish, thick oil spewed out from the wound like a fountain. A sharpened sliver of bone and steel was left in place of a hand, jutting out like a dagger. The Lawman drove it deep into the Baron's chin, and into the beast's brain. The ex-baron twitched once, before gently sliding off of the dagger. 

The train gradually slid to a halt, and the convoy's harpoons and guns swiveled towards him. There was no escape, but it didn't matter; his mission was complete. 

He smiled for the first time since the Baron murdered his family, even as the harpoons tore him asunder. 

(Both prompts, because why not?)

Magnus looked at the dark armored knight and could sense only chaotic magic in it, one akin to the chaotic magic he had sensed in his friend, but his friend was an Abyss Knight, this dark knight felt like it was a regular human warrior. He was nervous, but if he showed that, then he would be at a large disadvantage in the following fight with it, instead he grinned to the warrior and said.

"You got some bad stuff coming out of you, man, do you need to see a doctor?" he asked. "Because I am the doctor of love and I'm ready to take a look at you!" he said, pointing his staff at the warrior.

The warrior only growled and drew his sword, a dark longsword with many ancient inscriptions on it. Magnus knew that he couldn't defeat the warrior because he was low on mana, but he had to keep it busy until his friends arrived, especially his Abyss Knight friend. "Oh, come on, don't be so sour, my friend, be happy!" he says to the warrior, smiling. "Join our party and let's all of us be friends!"

The warrior only growled again and swung his sword at him, sending a slash of dark energy towards Magnus. The energy only collided with the magic shield Magnus had made. Magnus sighed and realized that talking wasn't going to slow his enemy at all and waved his staff in front of him, creating three bolts of pure energy and launching them at the warrior. The first bolt, he was able to cut with his sword, the second one he was able to dodge, but the third one hit him in the head, blowing his helmet away from his head.

The enemy in front of him quickly covered his face with his hand so that the Magnus wouldn't be able to see who it was behind it. Magnus now launched five bolts of energy at the warrior, out which the warrior was able to block only one. The rest hit him in various parts of his body. Even so, he refused to take his hand away from his face no matter how many times he was hit by Magnus.

"Oh come on, even if you're ugly my good man, if you're gonna kill me, what does it even matter if I see it?" He asked with a chuckle then realized his mistake. "You know what, I don't want to vomit, so actually keep it covered!"

The warrior grinned and for the first time, he spoke. "You're right, what does it matter if you're going to die right here and now?" he asked. To Magnus, this voice war familiar, he had heard it somewhere before, but he couldn't place it where he had heard it before. The warrior removed his hand from his face, revealing a face filled with scars, a face Magnus knew all too well... it was his friend, Raylun, the Abyss Knight. "Oh, quite shocked from this revelation, eh, Magnus?" he asked. "Truth be told, I always hated you, but I couldn't kill you because of the rest of the gang, but now, they're nowhere to be seen..." Raylun said with a wide grin, before charging at Magnus.

Magnus was truly shocked, it was because he it was Raylun, but he also found it odd that Raylun and this dark knight had fought one another before. But his shock had let his guard down and Raylun swung his sword, cutting his chest and throwing him back. For anyone else, it would've been a deathblow, but for him, for someone who had the blood of dragon in him, it wasn't enough to kill him, even so, he feigned that death, thinking that Raylun would maybe leave him alone.

"You know, it was fun playing the villain and the hero with you guys, it really was, but now that I've absorbed the powers of the Earth and Fire Crystals and the powers of four of the seven seven prince's of hell, I can kill you and everyone else with a swing of my sword, not even if you were at full power would you have been able to oppose me!" Raylun said and started laughing, his thick and disturbing laugh gave chills through his body as he felt Raylun changing shape, he couldn't look at it, but his shape changed, he was letting massive amounts of chaos and demonic energy go loose. He was transforming into something fearsome.

As soon as it's transformation was done, his presence was enough to make anyone freeze in terror... and that it did to Magnus, who now only thought of his own survival rather than thinking of being able to defeat this thing. He really hoped that his friends would arrive soon...

(Going for both prompts)

It was after three painful years of imprisonment by the German government that James MacCready finally managed to get out of his cell. He had served in the British Military valiantly, before being taken as a POW at Sommes after learning just as he jumped into a heavily occupied German trench that he had been the only soldier to make it through the barbed wire, machine gun fire and shelling of no man's land. He had seen terrible things done by the German. Children no older than sixteen, choking and clawing at their own throat as chlorine gas fills their lungs. Medics desperately trying to pull multiple men back into their trench as enemy snipers took aim. Men breaking, going insane and leaping out of their trench for a charge. Life had been hell in the trenches. Shitting in a pit, snipers taking aim every time you wanted a smoke, eating rations that wouldn't be fit for a dog. James thought it could never et worse.

James was proven wrong when he was taken to the German "Research Facility" known as Craiglochhart. There, they used scientific methods so immoral, so cruel, that they had been devised by the devil themselves. They would torture them with electricity, sometimes. Isolate them. Starve them. Hypnotize them. They were trying to break James, he knew. He longed to break out. One day, a single careless nurse would stray too close to his cell. James took that opportunity gladly. He reached out of the bars, grabbing the young girl, and quickly twisted her head with such force it nearly came off. He took the keys from her lifeless form, and moved out. He knew he needed to secure the facility using stealth first, before he could realize his allies. He went through the building, like a shadow. The facility was woefully unprepared for defense. Few guards and many weak doctors and nurses meant that by 12:04 AM, two hours after his escape, James had the blood of fifty men, fifty torturers, fifty German monsters, on his hands. He had at this point procured a handgun from a guard and a knife from the small facility kitchen. It was clear where he had to go next. The Overseer's Office, where the sick, twisted fuck, the heartless villian, the sadistic devil who ran this freak show was. He would kill him last. He would make him pay.

James crept slowly towards the oak doors of the overseer's office, and his knuckles wrapped sharply against them.

"Yes?" a voice came back, with a strange, thick accent.

James knocked again. He heard the knocking over of some papers as Doctor Hier opened the door. As soon as he saw the look of rage in James' eyes, James lunged at him. He wrapped his hands around his throat and felt as he slowly crushed the trachea underneath.

"No! Please! Stop!" Doctor Hier choked out.

James released the man's throat, only to begin pummeling him in the head with James' fists.

"AH! Stop, stop!" Doctor Hier screamed in pain as James felt the cartilage of his nose being under James' fist to release a spurt of blood.

"Fuck you! You want me to stop, you sick fuck? Did you stop experimenting on any of the men you brought here? Are you going to beg for mercy and apologize?! Or are you going to make the excuse you were just following Kaiser's orders?!"

"You don't understand!" Doctor Hier cried out.

"Explain it, Doctor!" James snarled.

"You... you're suffering from a condition known as shell shock. The trauma from the war is manifesting in your mind, distorting your thoughts!"

"Is that what you're doing here? Trying to give POW's shell shock to study it?"

"No!" Doctor Hier exclaims pitifully. "The war is over, James! We won! You returned home after three months in a prison camp! You must remember!"

"Liar!" James screamed, punching the man again.

James cocked his handgun and aimed it at the Doctor's head.

"You're suffering from an illusion, James! We're not Germans! You're home! With these treatments, we can help you."

No. No. James had been captured. This was some kind of German mind game. There was no way those electric shock sessions were anything but torture. There was no way it wasn't real. He was the the hero, stopping the villain. That was the way it was happening. Not this... not this... Memories began to blood James' mind. The POW Camp. The train ride home. His wife. The shakes. The...

"NO! You're lying!" James screamed.

"Please... you know in your heart it's true..." Doctor Hier whimpered.

James had just killed fifty innocent people trying to help him. His life was a lie.

"James... I can help you..." Doctor Hier whimpered.

When James pulled the trigger and brains splattered onto the floor, he was not pointing it at Doctor Hier's head.

"Ha, you think you've won, detective? You think you destroyed my family?" The Mafioso taunts, his hands cuffed to the table. This whole situation is a big joke. All the cops are his. Most of the detectives are as well. The mayor is his brother in law. The governor owes him millions. Being arrested is simply an annoyance, like a fly buzzing around. No one likes it, but it doesn't actually affect anyone. Pathetic, really. The detective raises an eyebrow.

"Oh? Have I missed something?" He asks, as he bites his fingernails. A nasty tell, revealing his anxiousness. "You're the one holding all the secrets, all the deals, all the blackmail. We take you out, and the whole gang crumbles."

"So what, detective? You can't take me out, you fool. I own everyone here, except you."

The detective scoffs. "Do you think I didn't know that? I'm a damn detective. I know corrupt cops when I see them." The Mafioso frowns.

"Then why waste your time with this game? It's pointless!"

"Years ago, a woman tried to do you in. You had her killed." The detective responds, glaring daggers at the Mafioso. The Mafioso simply laughs.

"What, so in revenge you slightly inconvenience me? That's pathetic!" The detective shakes his head.

"No, arresting you wasn't the revenge." He says, pulling out his side-arm. "This is." The detective pulls the trigger. The sound reverberates throughout the station.

(I'm going for both prompts. I doubt it'll be nearly as good as what's already on here, but... might as well give it a shot!)

There was silence on the streets of the city. The streets are badly lit, only the occasional dim glow of the rare functioning neon sign allowing for some small modicum of vision. But there is nothing to see. The streets have been abandoned for years now, the signs of litter and careless eaters having long since vanished, scattered or eroded by the uncaring elements. In the end, only the few with lingering attachments decided to stay.

A dim room under a casino. A last resort. The bodies of the guards lay outside, their blood still seeping into the carpet. "This is the end." A cold voice, devoid of the defiant courage and overwhelming spirit it once held. The owner: Johnny Graham. Not a cop, nor a detective, nothing like that. Just a man who decided to stay when the police wouldn't. "Your goons are dead. Your warehouses have been cleared out. You've got no escape routes." His mouth settles into a grim line. He's been working towards this moment for... months? Years? He can't remember how long he's been here. It's all a haze of violence and death, and what little he remember only makes him chuckle in bitter amusement.

He had been so young, then. So naive, thinking that he could save everyone. In the end, his hubris only meant he was the last man alive. Johnny lifts his arm, pistol in hand, to point it at the source of his misery. He winces, feeling the pain of a collection of badly treated wounds and a shredded, overworked body shoot through him. It doesn't make him falter. It'll stop soon enough. The beaten, bloody figure in front of him has no name, and Johnny doesn't care enough to ask. He's the enemy. Still, he was once known as The Don. But the Don does not cower, nor cry, nor weep. He just laughs. 

"I have to thank you." The Don says. Johnny hesitates.  "You're a good man, and you helped me with my dream." Johnny pauses. His face twists into a mask of hate. THWAP! His pistol cracks against the side of the Don's head. "What the fuck are you on about?" The Don keeps laughing, several newly-made gaps in his toothy grin. "I've always wanted to you fall to this. Degraded to a savage, willing to die if only so your enemy dies too."

The gun goes off, and a bullet lodges itself into his knee. "You mean my friends... you killed them just to make me hate you more? They were just a means to an end for you?" This was obvious, of course. But the situation wasn't exactly the best for inspiring rational thought. "Of course. You vigilantes... you forget to think about the consequences of your actions. Sure, when you break some thug's legs, you'll make it a lot easier to interrogate him... but you don't realize that you've condemned him to misery. You think it's easy to get a job when you've raised yourself on the streets? No! Crime is the only thing you can turn to. But when you're crippled, even that is out of your reach. With just a few minutes, you've killed a man and his family."

"So I went after these so-called 'bringers of justice'. They died, one by one, until I got to you. You... You were the worst of them. Merciless, brutal, but oh-so-willing to turn around and preach about honor and righteousness. Well, no more. I'm the head of the richest crime syndicate in the world. Practically every major city in the world relies on me at least in part, not to mention their own organizations. So tell me... what happens when there's a power vacuum on that scale amongst professional killers?"

Johnny's eyes widen. "So you'd see the world burn... just for your twisted revenge?" The Don simply laughs. He laughs when Johnny empties all but one of the shells in his magazine into his chest. His laughs turn to gurgles as Johnny sets upon him with his fists. His gurgles turn to silence as Johnny pulls away, fists soaked in blood and sinew. Johnny is still for a minute, then another. Then, slowly, he picks up the gun, and puts it in his mouth.

Entirely Too Many Words About Superheroes and I'm So, So Sorry

Both prompts. (sorry!!!!)

Henry's voice piped up from her headset just as she finished tying up the last of Reverb's unconscious goons. "Got the doors open, Dov. But you better move fast, he'll have the backup security system up soon."

"Thank Henry. And the police?"

"They're still waiting for reinforcements. The local department's not really equipped to handle him...they say the whole place might be rigged to blow." A comforting thought. "Ugh. Well...I'd rather deal with him on my own anyhow. And I doubt this signal will carry past the doors, but assuming I don't get exploded I'll contact you as soon as this is sorted. Thanks again, Henry. Over and out."

"Take care of yourself."

Dove Casona nodded grimly, shutting the headset off and jogging toward the reinforced steel doors of the bunker. The tall, athletic woman with her dark shoulder-length hair and olive skin had been quite popular with the media before the incident a few years ago. Dubbed Firebird--she could neither fly, nor do anything involving fire, but had an iconic photo from her first public appearance to thank for that--she'd come out of nowhere and had a quickly ascending career defeating criminals with her powers in flashily photogenic, nonlethal ways, dressed in obnoxiously bright summer colors and always quick with a smile. Today, she wore black, and was not smiling at all. Reverb wasn't a normal criminal, after all. And this was personal.

"Time for round two," she muttered to herself, still in a bit of outraged disbelief she was having to deal with this again. The doors slid open at the push of a button, and taking just a second for a brief visual scan of the hallway beyond, she sent a bright orange spike of energy down its length. When it ricocheted off the wall on the far end and there was no other movement, she rapidly followed its path with a burst of energy beneath her heels to send her skidding along. Quickly tossing up protective burst shields as she rounded the corner and as she continued on, opening each door she came across, Dove made good time through the hideout and hadn't yet encountered any resistance, though Reverb couldn't possibly be ignorant of her presence here and was likely waiting for her.

Her instincts proved correct when she entered a large, circular chamber, dimly lit and filled with unfamiliar machinery and shelves of equipment. "Well well, if it isn't little Dove. Been looking forward to meeting you in the flesh, brief as your remaining time will have to be," his mocking voice filled the room, seeming to come from every direction as it bounced off the walls and ceiling. Spotting movement out of the corner of her eye she whirled, arms half raised in a defensive gesture, making a frustrated little noise under her breath as she saw Reverb slowly, calmly approaching with a rifle leveled at her--or rather, about sixteen copies of him.

So his powers were still exactly the same. Biting her lip, her gaze darted from one to the other, then she narrowed her eyes and abruptly jerked her hands outward, bringing to mind a referee calling a time out, flinging flat squares of glowing orange from the center of the illusion outward in both directions.
The spikes of solid energy connected with the real Reverb when it reached the third from the left, and he was sent staggering back, cursing and firing a shot that went wide before she brought a hand down in a sharp slash, spiking the gun from his hand and then charging forward to close the distance between them.

Almost immediately she was drawn up short by her opponent whipping out an energy pistol which blazed in his hand with a buzzing hiss, the first shot fanning out into a dozen more. Knowing where it had originated from, she was able to sidestep the actual beam and ignore the illusionary ones, but the several rapid fire shots that followed confused the matter and she had to dodge and scramble as she threw up one burst shield after another. The nature of a power based on kinetic energy meant that any forcefield she created had a way of wanting to move, and anything strong enough to stop a bullet couldn't be held in place for more than a second or two at a time without extreme concentration.

"You've learned a few new tricks," Reverb said, finally relenting for a moment. "The old man would be so proud. If you hadn't murdered him, I mean. And ah-ah! No sudden moves!" he warned her, leveling the gun back in her direction, his finger on the trigger. She squinted at it, trying to catch her breath. Was it empty? She had no way to be sure.

"Yes, you've come a long way for sure," he went on. "Firebird, is it now? It was so strange seeing you on the news all the time. I still think of you as that screaming, snot-nosed little girl who came home one day to find mommy on the floor."       

The image rose unbidden to her mind; the vibrant red of her mother's blood, undimmed by the fog of time. The anguished face, unseeing eyes, body riddled with bullet holes. And Reverb, standing over her, wisps of smoke still coiling from the barrel of his gun. But the emotional block placed in her so long ago by the ERA telepath still held. She viewed her mother's corpse, the others closing in to drag the child away, and the six years of painful experiments that followed from afar, as detached as if they'd been characters in a movie. Dove had had her share of conflicts with the Emergent Rehabilitation Agency in the years since, but after her rescue they'd undoubtedly put her shattered mind back together and allowed her to function more or less as a normal fifteen year old, and even now their questionably legal but effective methods meant Reverb's attempts to upset or unsettle her simply wouldn't work.         

"Give it a rest," she spat. The gun had to be empty at this point. This was all a stalling tactic. Maybe. "Unless your next words are 'I give up' followed by 'Here's the names and addresses of the people who created me', then I don't want to hear it. I already went to jail for killing you once, I don't think they can arrest me for doing it again." She'd killed Reverb and the old scientist he'd worked for both in the same moment. They'd been heading toward a helicopter to escape with all their research on Project Dragonsteeth, and she had, in Henry's words, 'Whirlwind sprinted across the roof and Fus Ro Dah'd the motherfuckers right off a thirty-story building' earning her the nickname Dovahkiin with him and a few others, and two counts of manslaughter from a federal judge.

The ERA, having by that point gone underground, shuffled around a few chairs, and reemerged as the government-backed Department of Emergent Assessment and Response, had actually come to her rescue a second time, pulling strings and putting on a contortion act with the law to get her released after only a brief amount of time served. She was told by a man in a suit only that it was time to let bygones be bygones and that she would simply 'owe them one', and had been waiting uncomfortably for the other shoe to drop ever since.

And now she had this damn clone to deal with. It unnerved her that with all the researchers the authorities had rounded up, and with all the files she'd so painstakingly destroyed, someone, somewhere, had still managed to get ahold of and implant Reverb's memories, meaning Project Dragonsteeth still had supporters hiding in the shadows. "Drop the gun, or they won't be able to scrape enough of you off the wall to fill another test tube," she demanded, drawing a breath and preparing to strike with crippling force.      

He sighed. "All right, all right, you win. Just calm down..." Starting to lower the gun toward the ground with one hand, the other slipped into his pocket. "Hey!" Dove caught the movement and thrust her arms forward to let fly an energy spike that would crush him against the wall.

Nothing happened.

She stared at him for a startled second, then attempted a shield. Again, nothing.

Reverb was laughing, holding a remote and gesturing at a machine that had now come to life. She was suddenly aware of a low thrumming sound in the air, and a prickling sensation as the hairs on her arms stood up. "Power dampener. What will they think of next? The field on this one covers the entire building, so, no more shields for you."

Shit. She had heard of those, but they were ridiculously expensive, and used restricted technology, so she had never seen one in action. "Your powers won't work either. And I'm not nine years old anymore," she pointed out, shifting into a combat stance. She'd had a little training. Maybe she could take him in straight fight.

"Ah. But I think you're forgetting something," he said. And shot her in the heart.

Dove reeled back, stumbling against the wall behind her and sliding to the ground, one hand clamped over the searing wound, a neat little hole about the diameter of a pencil drilled right through her. She felt herself slipping, and closed her eyes.

"Now it's empty," Reverb helpfully informed her, tossing the pistol aside. "And now that you're out of the way, there's no one left who knows enough details to pose an obstacle to the Project. Though that does remind me..." he continued in a conversational tone, walking over to a computer. "I need to find out what friend of yours has been screwing around with my security systems. Wonder if they've got any children?"

Behind him, Dove drew a ragged breath, then another. She teetered on the edge of unconsciousness a moment longer, then her eyes snapped open and fixed on the rifle her enemy had held when she originally confronted him, still lying where it had landed after she knocked it from his hands.

Gritting her teeth, she crawled toward it. Reverb himself had moved partially behind a shelf, but the power dampener? She had a nice clear shot, and with a sharp crack, it went up in an impressive explosion, shattered glass and chunks of machinery with bits of melted wire still attached showering the room. Managing to put up a weak shield and hold it in place, just enough to cause the air around her to waver, she crawled to her feet. Reverb was nowhere in sight, but after a moment she heard his echoing, angry voice. "How in the fuck are you not dead?" he asked, once the cursing stopped.

"Nice question, coming from you. But do you think all those experiments only had to do with my powers?" she asked, as she slowly scanned the room for any movement but the flickering shadows cast by the burning machines. "For a couple of years there, I think I spent more time on the operating table than off of it. He was making me into the perfect soldier, remember?" Her insides had been rewired, replaced...added to. Dove could feel the frantic thumping of the surgically implanted second heart--a small heart, a child's heart--within her as she spoke. It wasn't quite as up to the task as the main one, but since the instant cauterization from the laser shot had prevented blood loss, she hoped she could manage for long enough to end this. "Guess you were always off kidnapping kids and too busy to pick up on little details like that."

He had fallen completely silent now. Damn it, she needed him to move and make a noise.
"You know what? Fuck it, I'm done trying to take you in. Why shouldn't I just kill you? You kidnapped me, you murdered my mother for trying to protect me. Why should any version of you get to keep existing?"

Suddenly that laugh again, echoing across the room. "You think she cared about protecting you? Do you still think she was really even your mother?"

Dove paused at that, struggling to follow. "What do you mean?" Her voice was suddenly cold and unamused. "Actually, you...never mind. You're just trying to distract me. It's obvious." 

"I mean it. She carried you in her womb, but she wasn't your mother. Not biologically. The old man had hit upon a genetic pattern for high emergent potential. But he wasn't going to limit himself to just a few children from that pair. He hired dozens of carriers. Your mother was one of them. She tried to alter the deal, threatened to go to the police if we didn't comply. Sorry if this ruins your tragic backstory, but don't kid yourself in thinking you were ever anything but a bargaining chip to her."

The words bounced off the walls like poisoned darts. Dove took a deep breath, struggled to respond. Reverb was lying. It couldn't be true. From the files she'd seen, sure, there had been implications that some of the victims' parents had been complicit...but...her mother...

Just the faintest whisper of a fabric behind her, and suddenly Reverb slammed into her, the blade of his knife just barely deflected from her back by the shimmering shield she'd managed to reinforce there, raking across her arm instead. Dove flung her arms backward over her head, hissing from the protests of her wounds at the motion and feeling a spatter of blood from the fresh one as she sent a pair of energy fields billowing behind her like wings. A grunt from Reverb, and she knew it had connected, even as she spun and delivered another slash of force like a karate chop to his midsection. He doubled over, and she brought both hands together and brought them down hard on his back, striking him physically for the first time as well as using an energy spike to drive him to the ground with brutal, bonesnapping force.

He lay there, groaning, and she roughly rolled him over with her foot, ignoring his gasp of agony and look of fear as she raised a hand in preparation to deliver a final, crushing blow, staring down at the hated face of the man. The original Reverb had murdered her mother, and she had murdered him. But now, in a sick twist of fate, here was another with his face and his memories, who...if what he'd said was true, had as good as killed her a second time, tainting every cherished memory and belief.

If anything, the man lying here was the spitting image of that monster from her past even moreso than the Reverb from their last confrontation, without yet the touch of grey or added lines on his face. This was Reverb, and her every instinct screamed for her to destroy him.

And yet, it wasn't really Reverb.

A moment of silence stretched into an eternity, and she finally lowered her hand, expelling a slow breath. "Fuck it. I won't kill you. You didn't kill my mother, you didn't kidnap those kids, or work with the old man. You're just somebody's lab rat, as much as I was." She took out a power containment collar, bent and snapped it around his neck. "How long have you even been around, anyway? Your memories, I mean, not his."

The clone coughed and stammered out in a hoarse voice, "Two years." He tried to say something else, but she cut him off. "Save it for DEAR and the police. They'll want to know who made you, and what they've had you doing since."

She had thought facing this man here would be a return match with one of her greatest foes, but the reality was he was just a broken puppet. Her real enemies were still out there, somewhere in the shadows. Maybe by sparing him, she would finally gain the leads she needed to put an end to the Dragonsteeth Project once and for all.

Bloody Fabric

Both prompts, yay ^-^

***
Alendi faced the man in the red jacket. He squinted and drew his sword, ready to slice the man's head clean off. But as he prepared the blade and began approaching the man, he realized with the light of his sword in the darkness that the man was not a man at all, but a woman. He gasped audibly. All along, the person who had killed his wife was his wife all along...

She turned to face him, her eyes glowing with hatred. "I told you to LEAVE ME ALONE!" Mare shrieked, throwing her jacket into the air. The jacket fell back to earth as a straightsword, stiff as a board, which she caught with ease.

Alendi smiled. "If you are my wife, you would remember what you promised me. 'To death do us part', correct?"

Mare screamed between her teeth. "No! I would never wed a monster like you, Alendi Olosti! You are a shame to society and I would refuse to be called your wife."

Alendi spun his sword in his hand, the blade cutting through the air like a hot knife through butter. "That's a pity, my dear," He said with a murderous grin, "Because you will never be."

Shink!

Splat.

The head of his wife hit the ground and her body soon followed. Alendi wiped the smear of blood across his forehead and smiled. He'd ended it. 

FINALLY.

At first he laughed. He laughed with a small smudge of insanity. But then, strangely, he wept. H'd killed his own wife for her. It made no sense. Why would she pretend and stage her own funeral? The coffin was buried! His eyes swam with tears and so did his mind, but with confusion. Alendi sank to the floor on his knees, scratching at his eyes. It was a scene he never wanted to remember. He dropped his now crimson sword and wept for the first time in years. He wept until there were no more tears to spill.

***

Alendi had returned home to Terris safely, his head bowed. He noticed one of the guards who guarded the gates was wearing a blue scarf. Oh, Lord Ruler, it's Breeze. Breeze was a young man, maybe 25 or younger. His dusty blonde hair was always done in a loose, royal-like style. He winked at Alendi through the corner of his eye. Alendi stopped abruptly. Breeze dismissed his companion and beckoned for Alendi.

"Hello, friend," Breeze said. "You have returned from Luthadel. Where is Mare?"

Alendi hung his head in shame. "Decapitated in Luthadel. You knew she was alive?!?"

"Yes," Breeze said innocently. "Most of us already knew. Mare had left us a couple brooches that we linked to her disappearance. So technically I found out last year."

Alendi's face grew red, then purple. "IF YOU KNEW, WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME BEFORE I WENT INTO DEPRESSION? Or how about those times when I tried to throw myself off of the towers?!?" Alendi's voice had officially reached new volumes before Breeze stopped him. 

Suddenly Alendi's emotions were surpressed as Breeze gently patted Alendi's head. "You'll be alright, Alendi. Just go home."

Alendi's emotions were released from their prisons and then we're stoked like a fire, causing Alendi to grow furious. "It is not your place to speak, Breeze. If you wish for me to return home, then you must release me." 

Alendi put a finger to his bottom lip, thinking. "And you should be more subtle with your Soothing and Rioting. It's a shame you're not a full Allomancer."

Alendi threw his mistcloak in front of him dramatically as he strode inside the gates, leaving a baffled young man in armor standing just inches in front of a stone wall.

**
Characters are owned by Brandon Sanderson. I just took the names. <--- Credit

Oh, and I changed their appearances and moved them around. Some of them are in different time periods. And the characters are from "Mistborn" by Brandon Sanderson.

Prompt 1

Harry Potter and the Windscreen Warrior

Idly tapping the wheel, Harry sighed. Suppose he got it both ways, being raised as a muggle and trained as a wizard. All that youthful excitement of maybe one day driving a car (and daydreams of running Dudley over in it), and the lack of day to day experience in traffic. Still, he thought as he flicked on the indicator, and merged into the line of cars circling for a parking spot, life was coming to a nice, easy balance.

Aha, a spot has opened up! Now, who's this bastard trying to get in from the other lane. Smirking he turns in and starts nosing in. Not today, and he looks over to see the expression.

It was him! He Who Must Not Be Nosed! Suddenly, this became real. Quickly, he drew his wand from his shoulder holster, and got into his sitting ready stance. (Rule #1 of wands: Can't spell wizard without wand - Always keep it nearby. Rule #2: Always wear an appropriate holster. None of this up your sleeve shit; hip, back or shoulder. Rule #3: Unless you have an agreement with the world to always fight standing up, practice in other positions. Sitting, lying down, upside down, all standard wizarding fighting stances). It was slightly awkward readying from a sitting position, but it was ... no wait, the opponent was readying too. Damn. Damn damn damn, this is going to get messy fast. But, maybe there's a better way. A more peaceful, less idiotic way.

Slowly moving his left hand from supporting position and into sight, Harry showed it was empty, and passed the wand over to it, carefully keeping it on point. A blink and a nod to show he understood, and the move was mirrored. Slowly, carefully, easing it over onto the dashboard, Harry let out the breath that had been held. A tense moment, and he waves his opponent in to the contested car park, and he drove on, chuckling to himself as the tension drained, imagining the announcement.

Dark Lord on level 2A - Green.

Both prompts, maine:

Professor Evil sat in his Evil chair, looking over Evil City, petting his Evil Cat, Mr. Bigglesworth, waiting for Shade to arrive. As he was waiting, he thought to himself: Today's the day.

The Hack, Professor Evil's specialist in cyber affairs, interrupted his thoughts. "Sir, Shade has taken down all of your guards. There are no life signs on floors 7-20. They're all gone, sir." She said through the sub-dermal radio. "I've lost him going through the window on the floor below you, but chances are he's on your floor, probably in the same room. I'm prepping your escape pod, sir."

"There'll be no need for that." Evil said. "I don't plan on coming back from this one."

"What?! What do you mean?! EvilCorp needs you! Evil City needs you! We all need you!" Hack exclaimed, secretly thinking "I need you".

As she's listing off reasons why he shouldn't do this, The Professor cuts his lower right side of his chin, pulling out the communicator.

"Goodbye, Caitlyn." Professor Evil says as he crushes the tiny radio. He drops the broken pieces and slowly turns his chair around, addressing the darkness.

"I know you're there, Shade. Just come out and talk to me."

A few moments later, a figure steps out of the shadows.

"Professor Evil.", the figure says, "I've got you now. You can't run from justice anymore. I'm taking you down."

Instead of the normal criminal mastermind monologue and daring escape attempt that he was used to, Shade got a surprise instead.

"I know." Evil said.

"... What? Where's the speech? The distraction? The escape and the 'I'll get you next time, Shade!'? What's your plan, Evil?!" Shade says, tensing himself for a fight.

"I'm tired, Shade. Tired of running. Tired of scheming. Tired of all of it." The Professor replies. He stands, embracing Mr. Bigglesworth once more, and sets him on the ground. The cat looks up at him. "Go on now.", he says to the cat. "I don't want you to see this. Go on.". The cat walks to it cat door, into it's cat room, waiting for his caretaker to return.

Once the cat is out of sight, Evil continues. "Now, let's get back to the matter at hand."

Shade walks over to him, slowly. "Professor Evil, by order of the United States of Acroenia, I place you under arrest for the crimes of-"

"No." Evil interrupts. Shade stops in his tracks.

"I knew it! I'll kill you right here, Evil!" Shade says, getting into a battle stance.

"Yes. Yes you will. And I'll let you." Evil admits. Shade is stunned as The Professor turns and looks out his pane-glass window.

"I don't understand... you WANT me to kill you?" Shade asks, confused.

"Yes." Evil replies. "I'll explain it to you. A sort of 'Final Monologue', an 'Epilogue', if you will."

Evil motions his hand over the floating sky city.

"Look at what I've built. A city, no, a NATION. No disease, no hunger, no poverty. No crime. Medical advances far beyond that of any first-world country. Peace. A perfect city."

"But at what cost?!" Shade interrupts. "You killed millions to get what you want!"

"Not true, Shade." Evil replies, coolly. "At most, I've only killed a few hundred."

"That's impossible!" Shade says. "What about the Dirty Bomb in Farken? The Nuke in Debenz? The Massacre of Geo City? It was all you!"

"No, Shade. The Nuke? A government test, as well as population control. The Massacre? Government agents. Sent to kill everyone in the small city because the mayor found out the truth of Farken and told the citizens. The Dirty Bomb was probably a terrorist attack, or maybe a government test, but in either case, I was the scapegoat in all incidents."

He walks to his desk.

"As you may know, I was formerly a government spy. They may have told you that I had committed war crimes, which is true, but not in the way you think. They probably told you the one about how I killed my team to aid terrorists, or how I dropped White Phosphorus on an Acroenian Military Base. Both lies. In truth, I had discovered the plan for Farken. I left, and they sent YOU."

Shade pinned him against the glass window, cracking it.

"You're lying! We found evidence!" Shade yells.

"Fabricated." Evil chokes out. "I was the government scapegoat. Need clearance for a nuclear test? Go ahead, in fact, hit a city. We'll just blame Professor Evil. Oh, need to kill a government official? Don't worry, in our book, Evil did it. Don't you see? I was their blank check. Their free pass. I mean, yeah, I stole the gold from Castle Fox and recruited the prisoners from Juantanamo Harbor, but other than that, I've commited no crimes. All further murders were in self defense."

Shade slams him again, but this time the glass breaks.

"THAT'S NOT TRUE! I DON'T BELIEVE YOU!" Shade screams in Evil's face.

"You don't have to. Just end me. I've left everything you need in my desk. Kill me, and it's yours." Evil replies.

Just then, a buzzing comes from Shade's neck. Shade accepts the call by pushing his neck.

"Shade, this is General Revan. Status report."

Shade hesitates. He says, "One moment please, General. I'm having a private moment with the professor."

"Affirmitave. Carry on." The call ends.

"I'm taking you in. We can settle this later." Shade says, reaching for his handcuffs.

"Oh, no you don't!" The professor says as he reaches forwards.

Shade reacts. Instead of handcuffs, he brings his arm around and forms a ShadeBlade.

He stabs Evil upwards in the abdomen, but Evil continues to embrace him.

"Thank you..." Evil sputters, the blood already filling his lungs, as he continues the hug Shade."My Adversary... My friend..."

His final words are:

"I love you always... my brother..."

After those six words, he collapses. Shade is still in shock. What did he mean?

After laying Evil's body on the floor, he reports in. "Target Eliminated."

"What?!" The General says. "God damn it, Shade! We needed him alive!"

"He went for me. I reacted. He's dead."

Revan sighs. "I was looking forward to seeing that bastard behind bars... Move onto you're secondary objective: Delete all Data from the mainframe. And then get your ass back to base. Be prepared for a grilling, because after this mission, you're done." The General ends the call.

As shade goes to the computer, he remembers to check the desk like Evil asked.

There, he finds the deed to EvilCorp, a syringe, and a folder.

END

(tis both prompts)

“Shepherd, come in, this is Wolf, over.” Jonathan was quick to respond to the radio,

“yes, Wolf, this is Shepherd. Do you have a status update? Over.”

“Yes, I gained access to the General's office. It is confirmed that the northern attack is a bluff. Some 5,000 troops with heavy weaponry have been ordered to attack from the east. Over.” Jonathan frowned. This would call for a serious change of strategy. He refocused as the radio crackled to life again

“Request to maintain radio silence while I exit the compound. Over.”

“Request granted. When you get to the city outskirts tune back in and wait for new orders. Over.”

“Yes, sir. Over”

“And… Medea. Be careful, alright?” It was a horrible breach of protocol to say her real name, but Jonathan decided the situation warranted it. Medea could easily die alone in the enemy compound. Her risk warranted treating her as human.

“Yes, sir. You do the same, Shepherd. Over and out.”

Three-hundred miles away, a twelve-year-girl fumbled with a radio in the dark trying to switch the confounded contraption off. She finally found the right knob and shoved it into one of the many pockets in her military uniform. She pulled her hat low over her face to shield it from view then listened at the door for footsteps before quietly exiting the broom cupboard.

She had never tested her ability to be stealthy in combat boots, and perhaps in another situation it would come quite naturally, but the pair she had stolen were unfortunately several sizes too large and she struggled to soften their impact to anything less than a volume that would match a small elephant. She took a left. The stairs were just around the corner. Get through the stairs, the courtyard, the gate, and, well, the rest of the city really, and the mission would be a success. She passed four men laughing about some mistake a private had made in Basic. Medea walked past them careful to angle her head down. She exhaled strongly when they were passed then took the turn to the right.

Her mind went blank.

It was her. It was Heiress. In the hallway, just exiting the flight of stairs. Standing before Medea like the creature from a nightmare. Medea felt her skin break out into a cold sweat as she focused on keeping her expression blank. She turned down the other side of the hallway. She would have to find another way out. But no hallways presented themselves, just door after door that fed into officers’ offices. At the end of the hallway was a window that led to an eight floor plummet. The only way out lay behind her.

“Excuse me, soldier,” Medea’s heart stopped as she scuffed to a halt, “Can I help you find your way?” continued Heiress. The voice that haunted Medea at night was bouncing around the inside of her head again for the first time in three years. This was worse than the most horrible of events she had prepared herself for. She wasn't supposed to be here. She was supposed to be with her troops. It took a second for Medea to work the words out of her mouth before casting over her shoulder,

“No, ma’am. Just wanted to take a look at the view, ma’am.”

“Face your superiors when they speak to you, soldier,” Heiress said.

“... Yes, ma’am.” She turned then quickly saluted and snapped to attention hoping her hat shadowed her eyes enough.

“That’s more like it.” Heiress walked around Medea, looking her over and examining her uniform while the girl stood stiffly.

“Private, hm? What brings you into the officer’s quarters, Private Rehat?” Heiress asked using the name stitched into the stolen jacket. Medea tried to put a little shame into her stature as she said

“I’m here for punitive measures, ma’am. Started a fight so my platoon leader had me doing paperwork, ma’am.”  Heiress clicked her tongue as she stopped in front of Medea, hands folded behind her back. She bent a little at the waist to look under the brim of Medea’s hat. As Medea saw Heiress’ face leaning closer to her own, her mind brought forth a thousand moments of pain and dread. A thousand needles found their way into her skin again after all these years. Despite her best efforts, Medea’s breathing sped up.

Heiress lazily extended a finger and flicked the hat off the girl’s head. Heiress grinned in the most terrible way.

“Hello there, 426,” Heiress said. They stood there for a moment, the woman grinning down at the terrified child.

Medea solidly kicked Heiress in the stomach and sprinted for the staircase. She skidded to a halt as the hallway running perpendicular to her own came into view.

Clack Clack

The four men she had passed in the hall poured towards her, ready to shoot. In an eye-blink, there were two throwing knives in the girl’s hands. The men hesitated. Genetic experiments were required to be marked in some way, given an identifiable abnormality, and the girl stared them down with glinting, purple eyes. There was no way of knowing what she was capable of and the way she cast her eyes about, the tenseness in her muscles suggested she was not fully in control of herself.

Heiress, now recovered– if a little winded,– made her way back. Medea turned so she could keep her eyes on both threats at once and found that her back was, in the most literal of senses, up against a wall. Heiress laughed a little, smiling like a child whose favorite toy had been returned.

“I’m glad to see you again. I heard the rebels you holed up with gave you a name. What do you go by again? Medea? I had thought about naming you, but, well, it just wouldn’t do for me to name an Augment. Might get too attached.” Medea’s eyes were skittering over her surroundings looking for, hoping for any chance of escape. She was only half certain this was actually happening. It could easily have been one of her nightmares. There was nowhere to go except, perhaps, through the window behind Heiress.

What do I do? This can’t be real. This can’t be real. You’re dreaming again. Please, wake up. I’m begging you.

“I’m curious, Medea. What brings you back home? Last I heard your little rebels found the surveillance equipment and removed it. A shame really, you were the first one to survive the fusion of circuitry and neurons. It was a momentous success.” When Medea declined to speak, Heiress sighed.

“Not feeling talkative? Not even going to ask how we knew you were here?” For a moment, Medea’s racing thoughts solidified into one terrifying point. How did they know she was there?

“How…” She started to say before drifting off. Heiress wore her grin again, the grin of a tiger with flesh still in its teeth. She stepped forward slowly reaching out to caress the side of Medea’s face. Medea recoiled in horror taking a step back. She didn’t even notice she had lowered one of her knives she was so captivated by the lithe movements of the monster before her. Heiress’ voice changed its tone, suddenly becoming slow and gentle.

“Your mind is a truly wonderful thing, Medea. Fascinating to distraction, really. I’m not surprised the rebels neglected to find the tracker in your arm.” Unable to form words, Medea’s lips softly trembled but made no sound.

“We’ve known your every move. That’s how we found the rebel camp. That’s how we’ve predicted their attacks. Oh, that reminds me,” Medea was frozen in terror, as Heiress squatted down to her level and rested her hand on Medea’s arm, “I hope you didn’t relay anything back to the rebels that you found in our reports. Things change so quickly. Why, if the rebel’s prepared for an attack from the east, they’d almost certainly be wiped out.” Heiress smiled sweetly. For a brief moment, the words sunk in and Medea came back to reality.

I have to warn Jonathan

Her left hand flew to her pocket to retrieve her radio the same moment Heiress drove a syringe into the arm she held. Almost instantly, Medea’s world started to spin. Her legs gave way and she tumbled to the floor. Before she fell unconscious she heard Heiress say to the soldiers,

“Take her down to lab, have her wiped and repurposed. Heaven knows we can’t use her for recon again. Maybe combat,” then as her loose and limp body was lifted Heiress put her mouth to Medea’s ear and whispered,

“I am so very glad to have you back.”   

Prompt #1: (And Prompt 2... Sort of?)

Songzang Zhe, the shadow monk, had spent a long time in this desert place. He had learned how to speak some of their gibberish words. Or, at least the ones that mattered. Words like, "Please", "Yes", "No", "Stop", "This", "There", and, of course, "Food/Drink". It turned out, for some reason, he had been transported from his home in the Land of Rivers and Lakes to the deserts of a bizarre, crass world known as "America", where everything was hot, heavy, and dry. But there were still many roads and many villages, so he continued to dig graves for the many travelers he found along the road.

But in the Land of Rivers and Lakes there were always many bandits, and in this world there were bandits too. Only, these were cowardly bandits with weapons of steel and blackpowder. Of course, their thunderous contraptions were no match for a clever mind, quiet feet, and a couple of knives, nor were their own knives any defense against the deadly bladed spade that he wielded with speed and incredible skill. But alas, sometimes you were just caught in the middle of a bunch of filthy bastards with their black lightning staves and the only thing you could do was run.

It was a nice change of pace, the danger of guns. It reminded him of humility and selflessness when he least needed it. Compounded by the fact that he didn't know enough sand gibberish to talk his way out of being shot, negotiating with wild gesticulations and Yes/No answers to questions he didn't properly understand was quite the experience. He was a fish out of water, and that was good, probably. Perhaps it was a necessary step on the path to enlightenment... He hoped...

It was never a long trip between villages. He knew where to look, what rivers to follow, and what to eat. If he had a reasonable lead and could hitch a ride with one of the desert's natives, or one of the natives that were actually native... But he was foggy on the subject of natives and their relative nativity, nobody made it exactly clear who the desert was supposed to belong to. But, judging from the tales of beautiful green places on either side, he was more concerned with why anyone wanted this massive, sunburnt flatland with armies of hairy, roaring, beasts patrolling its wastes more than he particularly cared who it belonged to. He pitied the emperor, if any, who was tasked with establishing order in this boiling hot realm of lawless, unscrupulous men with lightning staves and deadly wandering nomads. But that was only on a bad day. Aside from the plentiful bandits and monstrous animals, the people of "America" were quite nice. It seemed that most of them had never seen anyone from his homeland before.

When he reached the village on the hilltop, he stopped and took the bucket off the end of his spade, filling and drinking from it, then he snatched a rattling serpent off the ground, twisted the head off and ate it. It was initially against his creed to eat animals, but when most of the plants are brown and most of the berries are misshapen, dry, and contain a most painfully fiery poison, (Nonlethal, of course, but inconvenient to say the least) one cannot help but resort to desperate measures for food. Besides, so long as that rattling noise meant what he thought it did, the snake definitely started the fight first.

When he walked into the town, he made certain to avoid the inn. In the Land of Rivers and Lakes, the place was nothing but trouble. It was often a hive of scum and villainy, and when it wasn't, at least one unsavory character would walk in and a kung fu battle would ensue, lasting several minutes, if not more, and ending with pain and bloodshed. Not really Songzang's dealio. Of course, he had never actually seen or heard a fight in one of the inns here, nor had he seen men here practice any recognizable form of kung fu, but it Songzang didn't fancy himself a lucky man, and a battle with hands, feet, and furniture is certainly preferable to a battle with guns. He would take no chances.

He walked to the general store, intent on getting himself some new deerskin to sew shoes out of, only to reach into his satchel and realize he didn't have any papers left. Yes, papers. Unlike the Land of Rivers and Lakes, which traded in coins and small boat/cups made from silver and gold, the people in America traded in papers. He had learned from a far-flung merchant who spoke in basic Mandarin root words that gold and silver were rare in this world, so people stored their collective wealth of gold coins and boats far away in fortresses, and traded with papers that represented different amounts of gold and silver, only to be cashed in under dire circumstances. Indeed, in was nice not to carry so much metal around, but when your satchel is basically a sash that relies on the weight of its contents to create their own pocket, and your money is made of loose papers, then whenever one trips on a rock or gets shoved over or does a few backflips...

Penniless and with little else to do, he elected to sleep on the roof of a jailhouse... Only to be awakened that morning by a perturbed man with a large mustache and a shiny metal badge. He seemed rather confused and upset that his roof was being slept on. Presumably because he had not been paid for the room and board he so graciously provided... Songzang Zhe spoke back in his own language, on the off chance he would understand, as soothingly as possible and offered to pay him in snake skins. (He handed him the one that he obtained earlier, assuring him that he would pay the rest back later.) The man stared at him for a while, then he laughed and said quite the funniest gibberish word that Zhe had ever heard in his life. He didn't know what "Yerrafukkinloony!" meant, but it sounded very funny, and the man was already laughing, so he laughed with him.

Things were finally looking up for Songzang, he had made a new friend! His badged friend politely ushered him into the medicine house and began speaking with the resident doctor. Gibberish was exchanged, and Songzang was presented with a bottle of shoe polish and some rose-tinted glasses... The sheriff and doctor continued talking, presumably to ask if he had room for Zhe anywhere in his quarters, but just as Zhe was about to try and politely decline, (He was a wandering monk, after all) a man, bleeding and clutching at his chest, dragged himself in through the door.

Gibberish was exchanged, and most of it flew over Zhe's head, except for the important parts, like "Please", "Yes", "No", "Stop", "This", and "There", which were fervently shouted by both persons shortly afterward when the doctor laid the man down and tried to remove the metal from his body, which was likely put there by bandits with guns. Eventually, under doctor's orders, the man had imbibed too much of the anesthetic wine to speak gibberish properly, and, finding himself inscrutable to even the Americans, pointed accusingly through the open door at the men on black horses who rode into town.

They were dangerous-looking, tall, wearing black, wide-brimmed hats, (Similar to Songzang's, but made of much different materials) and wielding many thunderstaves. One was burly and particularly nasty-looking, seemingly made entirely out of tanned leather and scar tissues. Another was thin and wiry, wielding two guns instead of the usual one. He had a mustache so impossibly large that it stretched out off the sides of his face... Another one was dressed rather flambuoyantly, even for this place, with tight, yet flared leggings attached to his wide-collared shirt, with a neckline that plunged to his navel, revealing a bear-like, hairy chet. It was colored a sickly shade of bluish-green unlike any dyes he had seen in even the most bizarre marketplaces. He was orange-skinned and golden-blond, and wore his hair long and sideswept, a bizarre head of hair he had never seen imitated in this or any world he had ever been in.

The man said some gibberish and walked into the inn while his cronies tied up the horses. As everyone except the doctor (Who was quite busy with things I'd rather not describe) was stunned by the incredible vision that was this teal-and-golden man, Zhe had seen plenty of odd things in his life, and if that shot man's words meant what he thought they meant, he was probably behind this attempted murder! Against all his inhibitions, he followed the man into the inn, war shovel in tow. He had to get to the bottom of this and bring justice to these bandits!

He heard the man speak in a bragging tone as he threatened the patrons with a very sleek, silver thundergun unlike any of the ones in America. He could tell it was a foreign contraption, even to the natives. He said something about a bank. "Bank" was a word that he had picked up earlier in his travels around America. A Bank was supposedly a place where trading papers representing money were put for safekeeping, during which the employees would trade the trading papers amongst other businesses to support themselves, whilst giving their patrons written numbers on paper that represented a certain amount of trading papers. America was a bizarre place, trading in numbers that represent papers that represent silver and gold... What sort of money by proxy would they think of next?

Eventually, the blonde man came to demand information about the bank. A scared patron offered information about the bank, and at gunpoint, the man led the teal bandit and his unsavory fellows up to the building, where he was then shot. Songzang's heart filled with anger as he saw this, and he shouted at the bandits, demanding that they cease their most unheavenly misdeeds! But this only made the two grunts laugh, because they had no idea what he was saying. However, the blonde man seemed to be able to parse this, presumably demanded that the burly man procure a black noise-box from one of the saddlebags, and then he proceeded to communicate with Songzang through the universal language of music.

It all became clear to him at that point as the orange man communicated with him in mystic tongues:

Songzang was from a magical world of kung fu and chivalry known as Wuxia in all other places. (And known as the land of Rivers and Lakes in his homeland.) He was brought here by equally magical forces that pulled him into the subspacial realities of the past-future when the orange man, (apparently named Dick Harvey, but he prefered Disco Lord,) created a beat so funky that it allowed him to transcend space and time and reunite with his people in the Seventies. In order to regain his youth, however, he needed more power, and so came funkier and funkier beats, until he accidentally caused a reality implosion that sucked him and a few other beings from other dimensions into the world of the Wild West. So they needed to rob a bank, and then find a well-known time-traveler in a green land to the northeast known as Illinois, where the future king of America would help them return to their own time. Prosperity, immortality, and a trip to his homeworld would be his reward, if only he joined Disco Lord in his quest for world domina-

Now, Songzang was really enjoying the song, but enough was enough. This man was clearly a damgerous megalomaniac who needed his ass kicked, so he readied his fists and prepared to do battle, shouting Chinese obscenities. The big-mustached man was the first to attack, one bullet tore the shoulder of his robe with accuracy that was too close for comfort, but Songzang had seen this show-offy gunslinger type before. He ran and ducked behind a rocking chair on somebody's deck, grabbed a rack of drying fireberries, and grabbed a few, throwing the rest up high in the air. It worked just as planned, the man couldn't help but shoot them all before they hit the ground! And when he was busy reloading, Songzang kicked him in the face.

The big man would be more difficult to deal with. He realized this as he dive-rolled away from a shotgun blast. But the big man was slow to react, so Songzang was able to grab the gun and then kick him in the side of the head, once, twice, three times. It looked like the man didn't much care how many times he was kicked in the head, though, as he threw Zhe to the ground and prepared to bash him over the head with the rifle butt. Songzang rolled aside as the man slammed his gun into the earth,  giving him a good opportunity to mule-kick the large man's side... This moved him a few steps, but didn't phase him at all. Terrified, Songzang drew his shovel, and with the crescent side, caught the big man's gun and disarmed him, then swiftly struck him on the shoulder. This was about as effective as your average slap, so it didn't help him much so Songzang unleashed a fury up shovel blows upon the man, most of which were also absorbed, some of which caused minor scrapes in the vaguely human alligator hide that he assumed was the man's skin.

The man was very much displeased with Songzang, and he looked like he was getting ready to charge, so Songzang ran off to the inn. It wasn't the best decision, because, as stated before, inns were rather inn-famous in his homeland, but it was the only place he knew for sure that the door was unlocked. The giant followed in hot pursuit, taking a shortcut straight through the nearby wall as Songzang burst through the flappy doors. The giant man continued running, and punched at Zongzang several times. It was all he could do to misdirect the force, knocking his wrists aside with the shovel... When suddenly, the giant punched with both hands in quick succession! There was no way he could handle two of these hands at the same time, and the next thing he knew, he was flying through the air, holding onto his shovel for dear life as he felt immense pain in his chest.

Songzang shouted Chinese obscenities at the giant man as he hit his back on the wall. This only seemed to anger him more, as he picked up Songzang and hurled him down, sending him sliding down the bar and sending drinks, glassware, and frightened bargoers in all directions. Songzang struggled to his feet, and, using his shovel as a walking cane, hobbled as fast as he could up the stairs, running into a room at random and closing the door behind him, fortifying it with furniture. This rather terrified the gaggle of prostitutes that he had just walked in on, but it was worth not getting-

Predictably enough, the large man burst through the door and the mountain of furniture and two mattresses that were holding the door closed, and grabbed Songzang by the neck, sending him crashing through the window and landing flat on his ass, knocking the wind out of him.

Songzang managed to croak out something along the lines of "I'm not dead yet, ya shit!"

This was enough to cause the man to burst out of the walls of THAT room and come crashing down, fists ready to smash... but he was no more than a few feet above Songzang when he stopped, midair, his eyes wide, his arms falling limp at his sides, and then he fell to Songzang's side and bled to death...

Zhe pulled the shovel out of the man's chest cavity, and ran out to the bank to confront the heinous Disco Lord. The mustachioed man, face bruised, held his badged friend tied up at gunpoint and the Dick Harvey furiously demanded money from the bank teller! The brave bank teller refused, and was shot, and Disco Dick readied his moves, prepared to Disco the living shit out of the vault until it broke open! Zhe would tolerate no such thing, and he hurled his shovel at Disco Dick to stop him before things got too groovy. But Dick spun around and grabbed it!

Disco Dick explained, in the universal language of music, that he had studied many moving pictures about the magical land of Wuxia during the 70s and 80s. He knew every form of the strongest kung fu, and he knew precisely how to use the shovel!

The battle was long and furious. The mustachio'ed man aimed his gun carefully, but couldn't get a good shot on the monk. Every blow was parried, and every strike was mighty and floorboard-shaking. It was the ultimate display of super kung fu prowess... But then Songzang slipped up, attempting to kick Disco Dick in the knee tendons, only to have his other leg swept out from under him with a shovel. He fell flat on the floor, but rolled away as the mustache man shot at him. It all went according to Zhe's plan, of course: he rolled around just enough to get behind Disco Dick and smash the fire-berries into his eyes. 

The neon-colored man screamed in pain as fire juice dribbled from his blinded eyes and into his bright yellow mustache. In a flash, Zhe jumped and spun the shovel just right, decapitating the miscreants with both steel ends of his magnificent warrior shovel. He then cut the ropes that attached his badged friend to the hostage chair, and bowed politely when the man got up.

"Manzou, pengyou." Songzang said to his mustachioed pal as he turned to leave. It was unlikely that the man knew he was saying 'Take care, friend' in Chinese, but it was the thought that counted. After all, friendship was a universal language.

"'Manzou pengyou' to you too..." the badged man said, confusedly.

Songzang laughed. He didn't know what "tyutu" meant, but that was a funny word too.

Taking his bucket of water, hanging it on the shovel and slinging it over his shoulder, the hero walked out into the setting sun, for a travelling monk must never linger for very long: There is evil to be fought in every corner of the world!... He also had to find the emperor Abraham Lincoln, so he could help him get home.

(Mrrr... I just don't feel like myself right now. This is likely to be crap.)

Prompt #1

Shade ran. It made very little sense to do so, he could teleport for heaven's sake, he could've used his magic--but he ran across the old, stone bridge to the abandoned church, with his cloak fluttering behind him in the fog like the wings of an angry bat. Something about her, something about the shattered bond between them made him forget his strength, forget what made him a hero, forget what made him ... him.

"Haze!" He yelled after her when he saw her pale, wide-eyed, bloody-grinned form. Oh, god, how she looked like a corpse--a wraith, a zombie, a ghost of her former, beautiful self. 'What have I done?' "HAZE!" He screamed after her as she vanished into the thick, misty air and her cackling laughter echoed around him, its shrill sound pierced--both his ears and his heart.

"Why~" She giggled around him, as if she had become the air itself. "Why do you chase me now? You had a chance before, to catch me, when I came to you. Am I important to you now? Am I SPECIAL to you now? NOW, now that it's your DUTY to find me? You couldn't give me a second glance when I was a hero ... but as a villain, you can't take your eyes~ off~ me~"  

"Please ... please, don't do this. I know you hate me, but they've done nothing to you. I'm the one you want to hurt. I don't care what you do to me, just pl--"

"But THAT'S JUST IT! You DIDN'T CARE! Not until I became this thing, until I hurt them. Now you care, now you're obligated to give a damn. You're willing to come to me, to talk with me, to look at me, to face the past. You regret your sins, your callousness--only because it's your JOB ... you don't care about any one person, or even about yourself, but your duty to the world--that's what has meaning for you. Well, if the only way I can hurt you is to hurt this world, to hurt its people, then I will SLAUGHTER THEM IN DROVES. I will burn every inch of this sorry excuse for a planet, and I. Will. MAKE. YOU. WATCH!"  

Prompt #2

(Spoilers, spoilers, go play TOW first before reading, yatta, yatta. For the sake of having a clear narrative, the protagonist character is Kyra and Nikki remains male for this one, so there you go.)

--

This day would be the one that Nicholas remembered as the worst of his entire life, worse than the day he had been captured by one of Leandro's greatest proteges on a mission and was lead through the finer points of hell on earth with torture, worse than the day that his mother was killed in cold blood by his own uncle, worse than the day when Akita died in his arms after a failed raid.

He had been gathering information about the capital due to a sudden stir in the city and a message from one of their spies that the queen had sent a small group of her best soldiers toward the forsaken lands.

When he caught wind that they had returned with a single prisoner, a human female, no older than eighteen, he began to feel a looming sense of dread. Nikki had raced to the city, alone, having no time to assemble a team. When he saw the crowds gathered, he could feel an unseen dagger in his chest--the cold steel of fear coming ever closer to his heart. 'No, no, nonononono, it can't end like this! It CAN'T!'

His heart leapt into his throat when he suddenly heard her voice, sharp, and clear, and as beautiful as it had ever been. She was addressing the crowd and he knew he was catching the end of a moving speech because, as he climbed and ran over the rooftops to reach her, when she finally came into view, every eye in the crowd was fixed on her.

Though Kyra was wounded, bloody, dirty, and half-dead, even at this distance, the fire in her lovely eyes was breath-taking ... and the rage on Vidia's face was glorious. "Aerien will have a successor! Your arrogance and foolishness will be the end of you!" The witch gestured for her to be shoved to the chopping block and Nikki leapt down into the crowd. He ran toward the stage as fast as he could and--thwack. It was too late.

He was frozen in the midst of the sea of bodies and felt bile rise in his throat as her head fell. Nikki could not hear the whispers of the slaves around him, or Vidia's speech about the true reward for treachery and foolishness. All he could hear was the last beat of her heart ... and all he could feel was his own clench painfully in his chest, as if trying to stop with it.

He was numb to the tears that streamed down his face, to the rocks beneath him as he collapsed to his knees. 'No... this can't be real. This is a nightmare. Oh, god, someone ... wake me up, please. Why did I let her go? Why didn't I follow her?!'

He did not know the circumstances that led his former lover to this day, and was all too sure that had he gone with her, he would've suffered the same fate--and his heart screamed out at him that it would've been better to die beside her than to go on alone.

It was only once he was surrounded by a small troop of guards, investigating his crumpled form, that Nikki came back to the present. Even so, with the adrenaline that shot through him in that moment, his escape was a blur. When he made it outside the city and rode off back home, his clothes were covered in blood--and he couldn't tell how much of it was that of his attackers and how much of it was his own.  

He was barely conscious when he arrived back at the Guild of Rogues and his teammates were forced to drag him from his horse to his tent. They could get no word out of him, he wouldn't even speak when Fang came in to see him, but they looked at each other ... and his father knew. Fang knew the look of a man who had lost the one he loved most. Nikki heard Fang's voice outside the tent as he told the crowd steadily massing around it that his son would live and that Kyra was dead.  

The healer spent hours standing over him, but he was numb to all of it. 'She's gone.' He'd never hear her voice again, he'd never see her face again, he'd never make her smile again. 'She's really gone.' Nikki thought he had been ready, that he had learned to accept death's arrival like the visit of an old friend. It was so commonplace in his world, and yet ... not her.

When the healer finally left him to his dark thoughts and his grief, Nikki slowly drifted off into the haze of dreams and suddenly felt a gentle hand on his cheek. His eyes fluttered open and there she was. He couldn't speak. Kyra--or an ethereal phantom that looked strikingly like her--bent down to kiss his cheek. "Nikki... I'm sorry," she whispered softly. "I know. I know the pain I've caused you, but what I did, I had to do. The pain we suffered this day is nothing, a grain of sand amidst a shore of sorrows that this world and others have faced for nearly a thousand years. I had to put this form, this version of me, into the line of fire so that she could be brought low enough to give humanity a chance--and even now, my work is not done."

At his confusion, she smiled. "I promise you, the day is coming very soon, when we'll all be free. I saw it. It's on the horizon now--have faith. We'll meet again, you'll see. You'll know me once more. Our people will have their happy ending, and... maybe we can, too."

Kyra's form began to fade away and Nikki bolted upright, fully awake and ripping multiple stitches in his desperate attempt to stop her. "No, don't g--!" He grasped hopelessly at empty air as she left him for the third time. 

~eighteen years pass~

Nikki stood at the gates of the palace with his father beside him and the two of them were slowly let inside. The news of Vidia's death had hit the guild with all the grace and gentility of a blacksmith's hammer on an anvil. Their world had changed, seemingly overnight, and it was thanks to the strangest turn of events possible.

Somehow, this one woman--Aria, they called her--had bewitched the second-in-command of Vidia's empire and caused him to kill them both. The immortal drones were all freed from their enchantment and gradually starting to age again. The wretched had all crumbled away at the instant of her death. It was a miracle--one that could easily be followed by utter chaos. The vampire families had no soldiers and no willing servants, but they were starting to regroup, arguing amongst themselves as to what to do.

Would they accept  humanity's freedom? The guild intended to make sure they had no other choice, and so, a military would have to be formed, one that could ensure the freedom of the outer cities. Fang strode into the throne room and offered a hearty greeting, announcing himself--though she already knew--and commenting on how good it was to see a new monarch in place, at last.

Nicholas trailed in behind his father, distracted by his thoughts of how swiftly the world had changed, how easily it had finally ended after they had fought so hard, for so long, and lost so much--until he heard Aria laugh. He looked up and his heart skipped a beat when their eyes met. That smile was unmistakable. Kyra had been right, he knew. 'I found you.'

---

(Whee. I considered either doing a future confession where Nikki finally tells Aria about their past together and ending it on them getting together because "happy endings yay" or this, Nikki's revelation as to who Aria was and how he'd been able to piece it together. This won, because ... ... I wanted to see Nikki cry I guess, I dunno. *shrug* ) 

Announcement: Once again, so many entries that were all really great quality, so I'm doing another sketch lottery. Maybe I should just resign myself to doing one every day, if you guys keep this up! I had a lot of trouble picking a personal favorite out of so many that I really liked, so great work everyone.

The lottery winner is @Zaguiza . Or @ZagHero . Or ZagIsReal. @ZagWhicheverAltHe'sUsing. And after much agonizing and re-reading of everyone's submissions, I decided to pick someone who hasn't gotten art yet, so congrats @mizal ! PM me your requests and I'll get to them as soon as I'm able.

Day 4 (Friday Mar 18):

Prompt #1: Your character is a time traveler who can visit any time in the past or future... what time do they travel to? What changes if any do they make, if any? If they don't make any changes, why not?

Prompt #2: Write your character having what they would consider a perfect day, right before everything goes to hell in a handbasket.

I am doing both prompts.

The clock struck the tower, a similar bang sounds through the peaceful town. Except this sound is different, and it seems strange and unusual to the townsfolk who hear it. Little did they know, that meant the Scrivener is back. 

A man watches over the small city, middle of the night. He gives a smile, as this is all he stands for. Checking his watch, he takes his briefcase. The Scrivener slides down a ramp connecting to the Clock Tower. He does this tonight, as he always does. The same trip, every night. All to keep the town safe.

The dark room is silent. The door swings open, surprisingly not colliding with the wall. A figure walks forth, lean in posture and very well built. Flicking on a candle, the bare light shows the real him, draped in the blood-stained cloak he carries. The bare, exposed bone is briefly shown before he extends the flame away. Darkness and death seem to follow him and he strides to a table on the far end of the room. Taking a clawed, skeletal hand, he carefully opens a book resting on the table. On it shows a gem, and in it is the heart of Edgit.

The Scrivener sits at a desk, in his home town Edgit. Recently taking a trip on a wild adventure in the medieval period, he is refreshed and studying the ancient art of Farrien Magic. He is a quiet and clam man, having a healthy black hair, and glasses. He usually wears a white business shirt, along with a brown tie. This is the same for his adventures. The Scrivener is a fabled man, member of the Horus Eye, a time-traveling group assigned to stopping the corruption of history. He closes the book and rests down on his bed. John Derrick, as that is his human alias, pulls the sheet close. Little does he know, danger is coming.

John gets up in the morning, the day has high potential. Daylight streaks a soft glow through the windows and animals sing in the beautiful Creation. This is all John has fought for, and he is glad for it. After refreshing himself in the shower and getting dressed, he heads off to work. Although it is highly unnesecary, he does it to keep off suspicion. Very little know of John's secret in the small town of Edgit, and they are very close people, often magical beings. Eddy, a close human friend of his, heads off to work with him. Eddy only knows that his human friend, John, is the Scrivener because Eddy is a very close friend from college. Eddy was there when John got the job in Horus's Eye, but Eddy refused the offer, as a heart disorder scared him of accidents. But now Eddy plays a major role in John's life, as a friend and listener. Eddy often finds himself in the Scrivener's predicaments and helps out wherever he can.

Everything was swell that day. Everything was great. John walks outside, but feels something. Danger is near. Eddy stops too. Then, everybody in the town of Edgit seem to slow. The ground rumbles beneath their feet, and soon somebody yells, "Earthquake!" 

People run into nicks and patties to avoid the threat. But John knows this is nothing natural. 

A cloud of death sweeps over the land, killing and destroying everything in it's path. A creature stands at the center of the "storm" and controls it. The Death Watch. Recently, he found the only way to kill Edgit via an ancient tome. He must get to the clock tower of Edgit and go back in time. And kill the magic that creates it.

John points to Eddy. "We need to protect the clock tower. Whatever it is, I can feel it directed towards the tower."

Eddy nods and they run towards the ancient clock. Climbing up a ring of ladders, they see a storm drawing near. Eddy shivers.

"Something dark is drawing near." John feels this as well.

They get up to the tower, standing in front of the huge mechanism. John presses a button and several clinks follow. A small hole appears, in which he inserts a key. The clock hands don't move. John kicks it. It still doesn't move. 

"Darn't! We need to go back in time to see how this happened! We have little to no power against whatever is coming."

The storm is now at the town of Edgit, Lightning striking at towers, destroying them. A small tornado appears and acid rains down. From a matter of seconds the town goes into chaos and havoc is wreaked. The Scrivener can't help in any way, unless they can go back in time. Suddenly a dark, hooded man appears. 

"I have come for the time travel tower. Step aside." 

John and Eddy stand, and magically produce weapons out of thin air.

"Never, plus it doesn't even work anymore!"

"This is a lie. Die mortals!" 

The hooded man slashes at them and send them sprawling to the side. Laughing, he or more appropriately, It, walks into the clock. He dissapears and goes back in time. 

"No! Why is this happening?"

John and Eddy sit down. What can they do.

The rest you can make up ;)

Katja decides to go time traveling because she is bored. She chants the spell, but it doesn’t seem to work. She chants it again, this time it works. She is suddenly transported to the time of old, where she decides to go to Funland, which is in ruins during the present.

  When she tries to enter, she is immediately stopped by a ticket master. “Give me your ticket,” he says. Katja then smiles, and easily conjures up a ticket, and gives it to him. “Step right in and have fun,” the ticket master says, apparently bored. Katja then mischeviously conjures up a bird, and sends it to him. “He must be entertained now,” she thinks.

  Katja goes on a lot of roller coasters, which she loves. She loves the feeling of her long hair flowing through the air. She also tries her hand at the ring toss, which she wins easily with the help of magic. She wins a teddy bear. She also tries her hand at archery, which she is very skilled at. She wins a little bag.

  “That was such fun! Well, it is time to return and play with teddy. Today is such a perfect day.”  She thinks. Katja chants the spell again, and soon, she is transported back to her time. She then sees her home in ruins, and sees a giant dragon on the loose. “No! I forgot the reason Funland was demolished! It was because there was a giant dragon deep below. Whenever anybody won, the dragon will be given an ounce of power. I must have accidentally made it reach full power!” Katja thinks.

  The dragon then tries to burn Katja, but accidentally scorched the teddy bear. Katja then shouts, “How could you scorch Teddy, you scoundrel!” Katja then uses her full power at the dragon. She then quickly transfers her soul to Teddy so that she won't die. At last, the dragon was slain, and Katja's soul was still there. She then walks as the teddy bear, and finds a person to exchange souls with. She changes her soul with the person, and looked at the person's personal belongings and found something to identify herself. ‘Felicity’ was her name apparently.

Prompt 1 & 2

(Both Prompts!)

Jack looked in awe at the little watch on his hand. With it, he could travel in time at any time he so desired, he could see what truly happened to the maya and how they disappeared, he could try going back in time and try to kill Hitler, but he quickly shrugged it off and decided to head right into one of the greatest conflicts of the world... World War 2. However, he wouldn't go into the middle of the war, he would go and see how this bloody war ended, he wouldn't change anything because there wouldn't be anything to change and set the clock to go in the year 1945.

For a second everything went black, but everything came back to him. His vision was still a little blurry, but it soon cleared up. He was in what seemed to be an asian city. Everyone looked at him as if they had seen a ghost. Jack looked at the watch to see the date and time he was in. The clock read "5th August 1945, Japan, Hiroshima." For a moment his heart skipped a beat and realized that he had to move out of here quickly, in one day, a nuke would be dropped on the city. But he stopped, and thought "I could leave anytime I want, I should at least study the town and see how it was before it was bombed" and pulled the sleeve of his shirt over his watch and started to explore.

He was lucky that he knew Japanese fairly well, or he wouldn't be able to anything and despite everything, the people inside the city were nice to him, even if he was an American. The town in itself was beautiful and he smiled bitterly as he realized that by this time tomorrow, the city would be mostly destroyed and everyone there would be killed. He shook those thoughts out of his head and kept walking around the city.

While exploring, he had even met a soldier and amazingly he was a friendly soldier. The soldier invited him to go join for a drink to celebrate their new friendship. Jack couldn't refuse the man and joined him to a bar, where they talked and he listened how this young soldier had been in many of the battles Japan had fought with the Americans and each and every time he somehow escaped from death. As the night progressed, the two had started to order sake and kept talking about war stories and such. After several shots of sake, Jack told the man that he was a time traveler and that he wanted to see how the war ended.

After several more drinks, Jack's mind went blank, most likely having drunk too much sake. When he woke up, he woke up in a small apartment. Probably the apartment of the soldier he had met. He put his hand on his head, it felt like would explode. However, a certain noise interrupted him, he heard the roar of a plane's engines and ran towards the balcony. High up in the sky was an American plane. His eyes immediately widened as he realized what that meant and reached for his watch to leave this place at once only to find the watch gone... he had been robbed.

He looked up at the sky and saw that the plane had dropped only one bomb, but he knew what that was and was only able to mutter one word as the bomb approached the ground... "Fuck"

"In fiction, in Doctor Who and The Time Machine, for example, the author never really delves into the real mysteries of history." The professor begins, speaking to all of his fellows. "Sure, they return to prehistoric eras, or to classical eras, but, oddly enough, they never bother to visit Christ's Crucifixion, or the Splitting of The Red Sea. Such scenes in history are avoided, to not offend the customer."

What we are doing here, today, however, is flying in the face of such mannerisms. We do not fear the truth, ladies and gentlemen. Today, we shall finally lift the veil of ignorance from this world, and usher in an era of truth, facts, and no superstition." The professor expresses, grandiose, as in all his other speeches. Speaking is his passion, perhaps even more then his research.  

"Now then. Steven, can you please turn on our time machine?" The professor asks, as he turns away from the team, to face his greatest accomplishment... No. The world's greatest accomplishment. What could be greater then this? Today is the first step towards a truly enlightened society. 

The machine, a simple cylinder with millions of wires and tubes jutting into it, lights up as Steven begins to turn it on, and a faint hum of power begins to radiate from, though it's sound is overwhelmed from the claps and cheers. 

"History is ours." The professor says emphatically, as the cylinder opens up. The professor steps in, and it closes behind him. The team quickly get to work. 

Inside the time machine, the professor waits, mentally preparing for his greatest moment. The tubes begin to pump in silver blue liquid inside the tight container, rising up from the professor's ankles to the top of his head. It stays there for a few moments, before suddenly disappearing. The cylinder opens.

The professor shakes off his weariness, and steps out of the cylinder, mentally preparing himself for the find of the millennium. At long last, the debate ends. He looks out, straining his eyes in disbelief, seeing everything the past has hidden. 

The sea has split, two sides of water soaring high above. The hebrews already on the other side, their stragglers running up behind them. 

"It's... It's true?" The professor asks, shocked beyond belief. He rubs his eyes, certain it's some kind of mirage or hallucination, and looks yet again. 

"Oh god." He mutters, as the waters begin to fall back down. 

(Going for both prompts, like always)

Six months studying German and another six planning his exact route and plan through meticulously studying history books and old documents had finally prepared Alan O'Leary for this world-changing trip. He had found the device on a site he was working on in Ohio, digging up the dirt-covered machine that had lain dormant for centuries. The occupant was nothing but bones, wearing the tattered remains of what was once clothes. The device itself was a small room, big enough for a man to sit in, and it even had a metal chair bolted to the ground. His first few trips had been an insane flurry of shit going wrong. Showing up in front of two hikers in 2000, ending up in the middle of the Sahara in an unknown time, attempting to explain to medieval soldiers that he were not the devil incarnate despite the fact the types of English they spoke were so far apart he thought he was in Germany at first. Still, he now knew how the device works. It has the ability to move through both space and time seemingly with ease. He had used it to some degree, but he thought the device was running out of power. The unblinking green light in the upper right corner had turned orange, and he knew it wouldn't last much longer. He needed to do something, to change the world for the greater good. The state of the world is abysmal. Islamic terrorism in the middle east is rampant, Israel is in a war that is sure to grow and the America he once knew and loved is dying. Alan thought he could change it for the better. He had seen all the shitty Time Travel movies, he know he might mess this up. But it was his job to save the world. He's been given an opportunity, he had to use it.

Alan took everything he needed into the device, and sat down at the console. A dossier of information, his AR-15, a bottle of water and some beef jerky, all hidden in a duffel bag. He didn't expect to be gone long. Ideally, he would get in, complete his mission, get out. He sat down on the chair, and went to the console. He easily typed in the date and location, down to a tee. He felt the device rumble around, and seconds later it stopped. He jumped up, and began to move quickly. He opened the metal door, and found himself at the exact target location. The unused attic located in the Berghof, the residence of Adolf Hitler. He had planned this perfectly. Hitler had three bodyguards on this date according to employment records, and he had stayed at home for the day. Alan took his bag, and grabbed his rifle. He took a deep breath, and opened the attic trapdoor. He crept down the ladder, and headed to the front door. A guard leaned against the doorway, smoking a cigarette. Alan raised his gun, and fired, blowing open the back of the man's head. He immediately turned, and headed straight to the back door, following the path he had laid out after days studying the house's floor plans. He felt greater and more important than he ever had in his entire life. He would be able to change the world. He was the most important human being ever. He was accomplishing his dream, and making a new world. He arrived at the back door and saw a shocked guard fumbling with his rifle. He fired thrice, and the guard collapsed backwards in a heap. As Alan strolled towards the office of Adolf Hitler where, according to documents and history books, the Nazi leader would be drafting a letter to the General Dostler. Alan kicked in the door, and it smashed open. Alan walked in with a grin, seeing the back of the head of the leader of the Third Reich. Alan felt incredible. He felt like dancing. Today, he would change the world! Today... wait. The third guard wasn't in the room.

"Where...?" Alan begun, speaking German.

A gun fired behind Alan twice, and he collapsed to the ground. He shuddered in pain as he begun to die, and let out a moan of pain. No, no... this wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to change history... Another bullet hit him, and he screamed. The guard strolled forward, pointing his gun at his head.

"No!" Alan yelled. "Wait! I was supposed to change everything! You're not taking this from me."

In a fit of rage, Alan raised his gun and let out a burst of bullets, spraying the guard. Blood spurted from the guard's body, and he collapsed backwards, dead. Alan aimed his gun at the leader of the Third Reich, and smiled.

"Drop your sidearm," Alan said, and the Nazi did so.

Alan groaned in pain. He needed to get to the future. He needed medical attention. With a deep breath and a burst of pride, Alan did what he needed to do, and changed history, hopefully for the better.

A minute later, Alan stumbled away from the office, and found the attic stairs. As blood began to spill out of his wounds, he climbed the stairs, and collapsed into the chair of the device. He reached over, and typed the date and location of where he had started, and quickly fell unconscious.

***

When Alan awoke, he found himself in a puddle of sticky blood, still sitting in the device. He slowly stood up, and opened the metal door, finding himself in the basement of his small, suburban home. He slowly went upstairs, collapsing on his coach. He weakly turned on the news, hoping to see something to indicate his success as he lay dying.

"Today, vice-preisdent Don Black was there to congratulate Sgt Kenney, who took seven bullets while saving a wounded man during the Battle of Riyadh. The German Reich, United States, Japanese Empire and Soviet Union forces continue to push into Saudi Arabia, securing considerable amounts of land and oil."

Alan saw a picture of a Swastika flying alongside a US flag over an old building in some desert city. He had done it. He had knew there was no way he'd peacefully get an audience with the leader of the Nazi Reich. He had killed all three guards, good honest men, but the sacrifice was worth it. Alan had given his idol, one of the greatest leaders of all time, a dossier of information. Designs for tanks, weapons and missiles, the main failing of Germany's foreign policy during the war including the invasion of Russia and Japan's bombing of Pearl Harbor, all there in the dossier. No longer would he have to watch as the world around him died, as Jews took more and more power from working Joes and made an empire with Israel in the Middle East. No longer would he watch as the Bible was disregarded and the white nations were corrupted by African filth. Alan had changed the world. He had given Hitler all he needed for success. As Alan's heart went into cardiac arrest from blood loss, Alan O'Leary knew he had changed the world.

Plump, red-faced and beaming, the somewhat chubby  man stared into the deep recesses cellar with nothing short of an awestruck expression. Sixteen bottles of some vintage too sophisticated for him to recognize, beckoning to him from across the musty old basement. That wasn't all, however - half of the shelf space had been used for food;  junk food pumped with preservatives, for the most part. In short, a veritable buffet for a post-apocalyptic glutton. 

He rubbed his hands together, before  walking down the steps and reaching for one of the dark bottles, and grabbing a box of goldfish. A short half hour later, he was full, dozing off, and partially doused in alcohol (courtesy of his jury-rigged bottle opener not functioning as planned). 

Both prompts

"Happy Birthday to Max!"

Max Blew out the candles at everyone around her started to clap to her new age of 14.

"Max make a wish!"

Max closed her eyes and started to think of all the possibilities she wanted.

Max remembered the vanishment of her friend Sam and grew solem. Sam had gone missing only a few months ago and Max wanted anything in the world to see her again.

But as Max made her wish she started to feel leaves blowing around her.

"the hell.." Ma

Jonah held up the wristwatch. He stared at Ezra, who promptly nodded in approval, and then began spinning the watch's time adjustment knob. Suddenly the watch unclasped, revealing a large, unfoldable touchscreen. As Jonah pressed a button attached to the bottom of the device, Ezra stuck his finger in some goo that was connected to a box on the underside to the screen, revealing blue hologram numbers floating above the screen. Jonah then proceeded to scroll through dates, years, hours, minutes, and seconds. As soon has he had finished, he yelled "ACTIVATE!"

Suddenly the bedroom glowed blue. The light was so radiant that the boys shielded their eyes. They were jolted forward as if they were in a stopping subway train and were sent spinning into a blue vortex. Ezra cried out, seeing as this was his first time jumping through time, and Jonah tried to steady himself.

And then, after what seemed like eternity, the nausea stopped, and as the two opened their eyes, they looked down at what would be the road in disbelief. 

As they looked up, they saw a humble rail town, with dirt roads and horse-drawn carriages running up and down. They jumped to the side as a horse carriage nearly ran over Jonah and saw the blue outline of what the carriage would have done in the past, which separated from the present carriage. The blue-looking phantom went left instead of right. Ezra quickly looked to Jonah in confusion before Jonah pulled sharply on Ezra's sleeve.

Jonah dragged Ezra to a small space between a barbershop and a blacksmith. Jonah quickly bolted away, leaving Ezra confused and exhausted. Today had been full of planning. They were going to save his great-great-great-great-great-grandfather from signing a life-binding contract.

Jonah returned shortly from his journey, holding two sets of clothing in both arms. He tossed one to Ezra and began stripping off his clothes in a blur.

"Come on," Jonah barked, "Change, and fast. He's about ten minutes away from agreeing to the document. Hurry!"

Ezra flashed into his clothes and together they dashed for Tom Clyde's farmhouse.

***

"I am not sure, gentlemen," said a gruff and twangy voice. "This is very hard to agree to, concerning that the generations after myself are going to be bound to y'all for the rest of their short lives. Are you sure you want me to do this?"

"Yes, Mr. Clyde," two voices spoke in unison. "We are sure it will keep your family safe."

Jonah burst through the door, leaving a phantom shadow of a still door and three men sitting at a table, lips moving but no sound. Mr. Clyde, the black-haired man's phantom was signing the contract.

Ezra's head spun. Seeing his own great x5 grandfather in the flesh was a bit jarring.

"Mister Clyde, do not dare sign that contract," announced Jonah in a confident tone.

"And why should I believe you?" Said Clyde, folding his arms. "I'm not gonna let two young boys affect Tom Clyde and his business documents."

Jonah smiled. "But that is where you're wrong, Tom." He pointed to a tiny line of fine print written at the bottom of the page. "Read to me what that says, Clyde."

Clyde spat in a spittoon at the other side of the room. "And that's where you're wrong, kid." He drew a pistol. "I can't read and I never will. Goodbye, child, and say hello to God when you get there."

There was a click as the bullet slid into the chamber and Jonah's eyes widened. In a split second, Jonah was standing there in shock, as a single line of blood ran down his forehead. He looked at Ezra in confusion, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He fell to the ground as Ezra saw the bullet-sized hole going through his forehead. Ezra connected eyes with his great-great-great-great-great grandfather.

Tom smiled mischeviously. "And you'll be next if you don't leave the farm, right away." He took aim.

Ezra ran as shot rang through the the air, phantoms of solid wood glowing where there were now bullet holes. 

Ezra did not look back.

***

Both prompts.

It's been a great day. You had a leisurely breakfast at your girlfriend's house, made the final payment on your car, then drove it to work without hitting a single red light. The birds are singing, the weather is perfect, there are smiles everywhere you go. Even your boss is in a good mood--he gave you a raise! On the way home you buy yourself a new laptop to celebrate, and find a priceless Fabergé egg on the sidewalk outside the store. You stop at that restaurant you love and when you take a shortcut through a more rundown part of town, a hooker asks if she can pay you to have sex with her.

Pulling into your driveway and stepping out, you take a deep breath of the crisp autumn air and take a moment to regard your beautiful home. Suddenly, there's a sound like thunder and a flash of blinding white light, right in your front lawn! You shield your eyes and squint, gawking at the large silver sphere that's just appeared hovering about a foot of the ground. "What the hell? A UFO?" Its surface is smooth and reflective, but as you watch a row of green lights wink on, and a previously invisible door slides open. The sphere's occupant steps out, backlit by more white light. He seems to be carrying some long, cylindrical object.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, and when they do, you realize in shock that it's not an alien at all, but a man. A man carrying an ordinary baseball bat. A man who looks just like...you?

"Hi," he says simply. "I'm you, from ten years in the future." Then he kicks you hard, right in the nuts.  

You make a sort of squawking noise and double over in pain, while he follows up with the bat to land a few blows across your back. "W-why?" is all you can ask a moment later, as you lie wheezing in the grass. "Because, Past Me, you're a prick," is his only response, right before he really gets to work. Horrified, you can only watch as he smashes your new laptop, gives your priceless egg away to homeless chickens, and sets fire to your car. He drags you inside, takes the bat to your TV, pisses on your bed, then makes you watch while he murders your prize goldfish, Marty. You loved that goldfish.

"This should be you!" he bellows, slapping you in the face with the dead fish. "But unfortunately I can't kill you without also erasing myself! Or something! Probably! I don't really know!"

This disrespectful treatment of poor Marty's corpse is the final straw, and you suddenly find yourself springing forward with a yell of your own, for the moment seeing red and heedless of your injuries as you wrest the bat from Future You's cruel hands and savagely beat him until he stops moving. "Such a prick!" you gasp out, spitting on his unresponsive body. Your thoughts whirl as you clean yourself up and tend to your injuries as best you can, popping some pain pills and then returning to the sphere, still hovering where Future You left it.

You heft the bat in your hands, and like the weight of it. "Ten years, huh?"

Using the handwritten instructions inside--your handwriting, of course--you pilot the machine exactly ten years into the future. A quick search of the premises doesn't turn up any sign of Future You, except a note penciled in on the calendar, 'ruin that fucker Past Me's day!!!'. Aha! Of course Future You isn't here. He's gone off to the past. Well, you can still fix him.

Setting the machine back a few days, you land in the front yard. Future You is in the back, mowing the future lawn. He doesn't even hear you approach with the bat! It only takes a couple of hits to lay him out. "Are...are you me?" he asks in disbelief, from where he lies gasping on the ground. "W-why are you doing this?"

"I'm you, from nine years and fifty-one weeks in the past," you coldly inform him, before dragging him inside and getting to work.

The fool! All his passwords are still the same as yours, so you easily log into his future work account, send racist diatribes to all his co workers, tell his future boss you fucked his future wife, download several gigs of future child porn and send death threats to various future government officials. Then you use your social security number to steal your own identity, take a shit from the past on his future keyboard, and are just about to throw a jacket that says dry clean only into the future washing machine when you're suddenly tackled from behind! 

"You...you monster! You are such a prick!"  he screams, pummeling you with his fists. Then he grabs the baseball bat and smashes it against your face. The last thing you hear as your world explodes into pain and then goes dark is him muttering to himself, "...nine years, fifty-one weeks in the past, huh? Well, give me a week to try and straighten out this mess, then I'll show you a thing or two, Past Me..."

Prompt 1:

Tyrone was walking down the street.

Damn, these day gettin' worse all the time. Tyrone thinks to himself. Nobody buyin' nothin', what with that mayor crackin' down. DaQuan got hisself locked up. Ray Ray's dead. Not to mention, I gotta pay that racist-ass landlord rent money. "Policy change" my ass. Steve payin' lower than me...

His thoughts are interrupted as he spies a shiny thing on the ground. He goes to pick it up to find that it's a watch. A GOLD watch.

This a Rolex?! Shiiiiiit, this be my lucky day!

He puts on the watch. As he messes around with it to see if it still works, he get's a prompt from a hologram:

"ENTER TIME: 00:00"

Shit, dog, this must be one a them future watches that call people! Jay has one! Looks like military time. It about... 6, yeah? 6:50?

He enters in '1850' in the prompt.

"STANDBY: BE READY TO TRAVEL."

Tyrone jokes to himself "Travel? Shit, I ain't shootin' hoops!"

As he's laughing to himself, a large circle suddenly appears on the ground below him.

"The fuck is this shi- AAAAAAAAAAAH!" Tyrone screams as the quickly-disappearing portal opens and he falls in.

He hits the ground with a thud.

"Ow... the fuck?" He says as he looks around.

"WELCOME TO 1850" the prompt reads.

Wait... 1850?

"JOHN! LOOK WHAT I FOUND!" A man shouts behind him. Tyrone turns around to see one of the whitest people he's ever seen.

The other white man, assumed to be John, comes carrying a rifle.

"Shiiit, Derrick found himself a Negro!" John said. "He from the north? What's with the fancy-smancy clothes?"

Tyrone is just looking at them, stunned. Did he just say what I thought he said?

"Damn Blackie probably don't even speak english. Look at him, all confused." Derrick said with a shit-eating grin.

"If we turn him in, we can collect the re-ward!" John said, motioning to Tyrone. "Come here, boy!"

Don't say it.

"Come here you!"

Don't you fuckin' dare.

"Here..."

DON'T YOU FUCKING-

"Nigger."

"YOU A FUCKIN' DEAD MAN!" Tyrone exclaims as he pulls out his glock, firing two rounds into John, but not before he gets a round off. It manages to miss Tyrone, however, as he then points his Problem-Solver at Derrick after recovering.

"WHERE AM I?!" Tyrone shouts as he moves towards Derrick.

"Ah, shit! You in Mississipi, sir! Oh, please don't kill me, Mr. Black man!" Derrick pleads, but as soon as he heard the word "Black man", Derrick was dead. The round goes through him cleanly.

"Fuck this, I'm out!" Tyrone says as he brings up his watch.

But, to his horror, it was broken. It must have been hit by the bullet of John's gun.

"SHIT!" Tyrone says, as he realizes he's stuck in 1850. A Black man in 1850.

He picks up John's gun, finds a total of $30 in thier pockets, and heads out.

END

Prompt 2: 

Todd was having the best day of his life.

He proposed to his girlfriend, Jane, and she said yes. They'd been dating for almost 3 years now, and now they were engaged. The wedding is planned for a month from now.

He finally got that promotion! It took him two long years, but he finally got it. He's senior manager now!

Plus, he accidentally hit the snack machine too hard, and all the snacks and sodas came out, and the money container popped it's lock. Free shit for him.

Yup, today has been perfect. Todd had just finished his Pepsi, and decided that he could try to shoot it into the trash.

He missed.

"Oh well." Todd said. "Can't win them all." He started walking away from the discarded Pepsi can.

"X GON' GIVE IT TO YA"

Suddenly, two ripped men came out of nowhere, both advancing toward him as the music played.

"Wait for ya to get it on ya own, X GON' DELIVA' TO YA"

The two swole men started passing Todd around like a joint.

"KNOCK KNOCK, OPEN UP THE DOOR, It's REAL!"

They started punching him to the rhythm of this song that was coming from seemingly nowhere.

"With the non-stop, POP POP, and STAINLESS STEEL!"

He was on the ground now. The hits were still coming. One hit him in the ear so hard, it deafend him

"... Damn RIGHT, and I'll do it again! Cuz I AM right so I GOTS to win!...."

He couldn't feel his legs. All he could feel was the blows.

"Break bread with the ENEMY...  but no matter how many cats you send, I'll BREAK who you sendin me!"

They've broken his ribs now. He lost consciousness for a second, a second of painless harmony, before they spilled cold water on him.

"I'm getting down, down, like a nigga said FREEZE! But I won't be the one endin up on his knees, bitch PLEASE!"

Blood was filling his punctured lungs. He closed his swelling eyes for what may be the last time.

"They only thing you cats did is come out to play. Stay out my way, MOTHERFUCKER!"

And suddenly, the blows stopped and the music was gone. He opened his eyes to find himself standing with an empty Pepsi can in his hand, standing next to a trashcan.

He threw the can away and continued his walk to the bus stop.

END

Writing furiously! Time... traveller, a-gogo!

=====

First prompt alone

Ice Cream Survivor

Against the remains of his ice cream van, the teenage vendor shook with fright. What had happened, and from the screams was still happening, was a mystery. The bulky jacketed man had shouldered his way to the front of the line, gotten a double scoop waffle cone, had a single lick and lent forwards double over screaming. He'd seen plenty of brain freeze, but that was an over-reaction. Next thing he'd known, the van had been tilting over, napkins, straws and drinks obeying their new gravity and bouncing down to the 'floor'. As did he, with rather more shocked exclamations.

Pulling himself up and noticing some future bruises introducing themselves with MyPain messages, he levered out the 'roof' window, to a scene of pure chaos. The brainfreeze man was gone. In his place stood a hulking abomination, rippling with chitinous plates, gore-caked claws extending from his hands. Around him were the broken masses who donated the gore to the cause. Red was the theme that flowed in the streets, contrasted with blobs of melting green and white. Even that .... thing, had a noticeable smudge still ringing the mouth, if such a gnashing maw of teeth and terror could be called such.

The ground shook as IT continued to stalk, snarling, writhing. The claws 'coiled' and reformed into a biomechanical parody of hammers, of clubs, and finally most horrifyingly, into perfectly normal hands. The rest of the abomination followed suit. A hate filled glance from the now hooded figure, and he sprinted away.... and up a fucking building. The buzzing of a chopper following, revealing the truth to his poor overworked brain - he was at ground zero of a Blackwatch operation.

Day 5 (Saturday Mar 19):

Prompt #1: Pick a favorite character. Got one? Okay, now kill them.

Prompt #2: Write a situation where the characters in your story are at least semi-aware that they are characters in a story.

Prompt #3: Write a Tomato in the Mirror moment.

**Writing just one prompt will net you 1 point. Writing two prompts will net you 3 points. Writing all three, separately, will net you 5 points. Managing to combine all three prompts in a single piece that still vaguely makes sense will net you 10 points!

(Okay, so I did try to avoid spoilers with this and all I can really tell you folks is that I don't intend for any of this scene to be in the game, but if you intend to play Kiel Farren: Sky Pirate with absolutely no idea of Kiel's--my character, not me--backstory going in, then you may want to avoid this.)

Prompt 1, 2, and 3: 

A quill scratched softly against the paper before him, one final entry in the chronicles of his life:  

It all seemed ... so wrong. They were so callous and so unforgiving of this smallest fault--or even no fault at all. They regarded me as an outcast from birth and I saw them as monsters, tormenting a child with no rhyme or reason. They were monsters, and I--I was going to escape them. I did.

But it wasn't enough for me, was it? Once I was strong enough, I made the society that raised me in hate pay dearly; with their wealth, with their dignity, with their peace of mind, and in the course of battle, with their very lives. I conquered the rich, street rats spoke of me with admiration and smiles. I was a hero, exposing and destroying the true villains that the law could not reach...

Or so the boy I once was wanted to believe.

Now I know better. My life, my views, even my very existence is just a cruel joke, a sick and twisted play being preformed by the will of a mad god directing and controlling my fate. I see the strings and realize now that I am a marionette. I am unhappy because it is my fate, their will, that I will always be so. I am broken because it is AMUSING to watch me BREAK.

Deep down, I want to scream and fight against this madness, I want to struggle, to bite back, kick against my restraints and the one who binds me, but to what end? That is the worse part of my reality. I thought for so long that I was innocent, that when I finally rose up against the world, I was justified in my bloodlust.

... And I was wrong. As I write this, my former lover--the one person to have ever truly cared for me--lays in my blood-soaked bed, eyes unblinking, chest without breath, heart without rhythm. When I woke and saw the torn flesh, I blamed him. I blamed my canine companion. But he spoke to me.

He spoke and told me that I, in a fit of rage that I cannot remember, destroyed with my own hands that which I loved most. In that knowledge, the memories came flooding back--not just of this night, but of the night I escaped my home. I killed them the night that I left, in cold blood. I killed my family in their beds and laughed as I bathed in their blood.

My parents, my brothers, they were right. I was the real monster, I have always been a monster, and if I would dedicate my life and soul to slaying that which destroyed my happiness and that of countless others, I know what I must do. I cannot escape his hold on me in this life, I must cut the strings that hold me, and so I shall.

With that, he took the pistol from his nightstand, laid back down in his bed, drew his beloved close, and a single shot rang out through the night.

Peace, at last.   

I'm going for all three. Ha ha, I am combining Batman and Pokemon!

"Hello, there! I am Batman,here on this story you are being told. It is very weird today. It seems almost like.....I've dissapeared. Everybody is being weird and not talking. I assume it is the plot of my archenemy, the Joker!" 

Batman takes his awesome, heroic pose. He then takes out a map, old and dirty. He studies it and finds how to embark on his quest.

"Okay, first I must travel through the sewers. Then to the plains, and finally the Joker Lair!"

Batman travels down into the deep sewers of Gotham. Inside is a deep muck, slimy and disgusting. Suddenly, a baby swamp monster appears!

"Uh-oh! I must defeat this enemy!", Batman yells.

The baby takes advantage of this yell and thrusts forward, biting a chunk of flesh right out of his leg.

"Fuck you!" Batman yells, grabbing his leg away."Wait the hell minute! Why don't I just kill it already?"

He easily slices the beast in two. He travels through the rest of the nasty, slimy tunnels. He comes to another set of ladders, leading to the grassy fields.

"Okay, I have exited the sewers. I can see the grass fields now. In the distance is Joker's castle."

Out of the tall, lush grass a Peppa Pig jumps out.

"What the hell!? Peppa pig?"

The Peppa pig snorts out, a great thunder launches Batman back.

"Ah fuck!"

Batman throws forward a batterang and it slices the pig in two.

"Okay, now to the castle!"

Batman walks toward and gets to the castle, people walk all around. They seem all weird and empty inside.

"Okay, I am in the castle. Oh God! The Joker!"

Batman sees the Joker, strapped up and lying on the floor.

"Why are you all tied up?"

"Oh my God! Batman! Help me, the Sonic God is using a spell to control everybody. The spell is slowly turning me! You are the only one that can stop him!"

"Say no more."

Batman runs down the corridor and gets to a throne.

"Oh my God!"

Sonic the hedgehog sits on throne, an army of turned townsfolk guarding him

"I see you have made it here! Batman, you will die!"

"Wait a minute, I am the controller!"

"How did you know!?"

"Wild guess."

"Oh, I see."

"But if I'm a bad guy......that means I'm not a good guy! Noooooo!"

Batman, because he knows I am out of ideas, kills himself. He will die before being a bad guy, the good guy he is.

GAAAAH THIS IS SO HARD! I'm going for prompt 1 because the other two just seem too mind-warping to be written in one of my stories. Anyway, have fun with this story, and if it doesn't tug on your heartstrings, then you are one heartless monster. ^-^ 

***

It was a cold, winter Saturday morning and Adam came into the bedroom to wake me up. I lay on my small, velvety pet-bed with my eyes half-closed. I heard the creak of the doorknob and sat up with some difficulty. Memories hit me like a brick wall, forcing me to remember the day I got ran over by some dumb teenager in a truck. I remembered Adam's frantic voice and the teen's hysterical, wilting voice. I had to lay, bleeding, in the back of the car for fifteen whole minutes before Adam brought me to the animal hospital. Then that memory faded away and was replaced by a new one.

It was just outside the hospital room. The vet was pointing at some photos with clear markings of shattered bones, broken ones, and I felt horrible. As the vet spoke to Adam, I felt every word was a freight train threatening to run me over.

"Scout is not going to live past his tenth birthday, Mr. Field. He's got a broken pelvis, a broken shoulder blade...the only thing we can do is hope and treat him so that he doesn't feel the pain. He's going to die eventually. Just make sure you tell him how much you love him before he takes the rainbow bridge to heaven."

The memories flashed away as Adam picked me up in his arms. I was a full-grown golden retriever, but I could tell it was hard for him. He put me down in the kitchen, where I sniffed the air. Pancakes. He was making pancakes for me! How did he know..?

Adam turned off the stove, scooped a pancake off the pan and into a plate, and set the plate down in front of me. I wagged my tail so hard I slipped, the pain jolting into me like needles. That was a stupid move. Adam gasped and picked me up. His eyes were sad. I saw the pain and agony in his eyes. He fed me little bits of pancake as I distantly heard his son's voice talking to me.

"He loves pancakes, daddy. We can have all the pancakes in the world. Why does Scout get to take a bridge to heaven and not me, daddy?"

My eyes closed and opened again, but this time I was in a green field that spread for miles around. I began to run, smelling the crisp air through my nose and feeling the wet grass under my feet. And then I heard Adam's voice gently whispering to me.

"Go easy on those pedals, Scout," Adam whispered. "You'll make it there, don't worry."

"It's okay. You can go now."

I ran.

***

(Kinda short, maybe not as sad as I would want it. Eh. But I miss poor Scout :( )

10 points for me!  \o/

...light. A cloud of dancing lights, a sudden weakness washing over her, and a babbling voice it took her a moment to recognize as her own was all Princess Annabel remembered. She stopped and stared about, passing a hand over her face and trying to sort out her thoughts. She was in a curving tunnel of a cave, and vaguely aware she had been wandering aimlessly about for some time. She knew she had come here for a reason, but for the life of her, couldn't remember why. Realizing with sudden alarm the torch she was holding had burned its way down to a stump, she shook her head to clear it and started searching for the exit before it could go out completely.

It was with great relief that she finally spotted the daylight streaming in the entrance, and she stumbled out, wide eyed, to be immediately surrounded by concerned attendants she recognized from the palace. "How are you feeling, my dear? It worked, yes?" the royal sage asked, worry written all over her wizened face.

Annabel blinked at them a moment, drawing a blank. Then, in a flash, scattered bits of memories came flooding back. The impoverished peasant leaping from the bushes, knife flashing. Dissatisfied in his role and seduced into the worst sort of treason by a vile sect of free-fate anarchists, he had been struck down by her fiancé, but not before nicking her with the poisoned blade. Her weakness, her pain over the next day as her condition steadily worsened. And a chest deep in the cave, its smooth golden panels so highly polished she could see her own face reflected back, that had somehow been the solution.

"The chest? Yes...yes, I remember now. It must have cured me!" Here she paused, fumbling with her tiara and smoothing back her long blonde locks, saying apologetically. "Or at least, I think so. There are so many foggy patches in my memory right now, I'm sorry. But I feel much better. More like myself."

The sage exchanged an unreadable glance with the court wizard, but before she could wonder at it, she heard a low voice sighing out, "My Annabel..."

Looking up, she beheld her fiancé, Prince Cedric, standing next to his white stallion. So he was here too. When he caught her gaze upon him, he turned away, tears in his eyes. Though they had been betrothed from the beginning, their love was a genuine one, and she knew this whole ordeal had hit him harder than anyone.

"Cedric..." she said in a soft voice, taking a step towards him. "No," he said, waving her off abruptly, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Not right now. Not here."      

"He's right. Now is not the time to give in to our feelings," the sage cut in, looking up from where she'd been conversing in hushed tones with the wizard. "The whole kingdom will be greatful they have a Princess, safe and whole again, as are we. But we all have our roles to play, and much to do yet."

"The wedding preparations! That's right!" With everything that had happened, the whole kingdom being disrupted, it had been pushed from her mind, but they'd been right in the thick of it when she'd been attacked. Tomorrow would be the beginning of a three day feast, with all the populace invited, and after that she and Cedric would be wed, unifying their kingdoms. Hurriedly, the Princess was helped into her carriage and the whole entourage made it's way toward the palace, the Prince following silently after.

The rest of the day was a blur of assuring everyone she met she was just fine now, deciding on flower arrangements, and dealing with frantic tailors making last minute adjustments to her gown. Everyone was in a frenzy getting ready for the wedding and the feast, but just the same, it seemed to Annabel she was gradually starting to pick up on something...odd going on.

Strange glances, knowing looks, whispers that stopped abruptly, guiltily, when she approached. As she lay awake in bed that night mulling over the day's events again and again, mad as it seemed, the Princess couldn't help but wonder if there was some plot afoot. Perhaps the assassination attempt the day before had only been the first sign of things to come. But if that were true, it would mean even those closest to her were in on it. They had all been acting strangely, in small ways. Even her beloved Cedric wouldn't meet her eyes, and earlier had made a hasty excuse to exit the room rather than speak to her alone.

When day dawned, she went mechanically through the motions of bathing and dressing, wondering if even the servant helping button up the back of her dress and braid her hair was a part of the conspiracy too. As she gazed in the mirror, Annabel couldn't help but flash back to the deathly pale and strained face she's seen looking into the reflective gold panels of the chest in the cave, droplets of perspiration beading her brow. Though today, she certainly looked every inch the fairy tale princess, even while too unsettled to feel that way inside.

Despite her worries, the early parts of the feast passed without incident. Many toasts were made to Annabel and her parents, and to Prince Cedric's family in the neighboring kingdom, and for awhile she was even able to allow herself to relax and enjoy the music, and the jugglers and acrobats and other entertainers putting on their shows as the evening wore on.

Then, just as the sun slipped below the horizon, there was a loud shriek, and the sound of thundering hooves and twanging arrows. The crowd erupted into panic, frightened people screaming and overturning tents and tables as they fled. There was shouting and the clanging of swords from somewhere nearby, and suddenly a party of horsemen burst into sight from the right side of the royal pavilion, the bloody-handed banners of Duke Vakken, dark lord and sworn enemy of the crown streaming behind them.

Annabel realized with a sudden start of fear that her guards had vanished, and she was alone. Scrambling out of her seat and preparing to flee, she let out a small shriek when she was pushed hard from behind, right into the path of the riders! One of them grabbed her roughly and hauled her up onto the saddle with a triumphant crow of laughter, allowing her to catch the briefest glimpse of a raggedy figure in a patched cloak and hood disappearing into crowd near where she'd been standing. Her immediate concern, of course, was the man holding her prisoner, and she struggled against him, biting down hard on his arm and managing to twist out of his grasp and fling herself from the saddle while he screamed curses at her.  She hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud, rolling a ways and then clambering to her feet before he could wheel the horse around. Sprinting toward the safety of the palace walls, one of the side gates was almost within her reach when it clanged shut and she heard a lock snapping in place. Grabbing up a spear and striking the heavy wooden barrier, calling out breathless demands for whoever it was to let her in, the Princess realized with a sick feeling that she'd been betrayed. She hadn't been imagining things after all.

The rider from before returned and jumped down from his horse, this time with a rope in hand. He grabbed for her, and reacting purely on instinct, she spun around and drove the spear through his throat. If anything, he looked more surprised than upset, gurgling out his last on the ground. Annabel stood there in bewildered disbelief at the entire situation a moment longer, then seized his horse and swung into the saddle, simply fleeing at first, her tears dried by the wind, then gradually realizing exactly where she needed to go.

*****

Night lay heavy on the stony slopes when she finally reached the cave. This was where it had all started, hadn't it? The fog in her memory still clung in heavy patches, from the time she'd been poisoned to the time she'd exited the cave. And after that, everything had changed. Making her way inside, she wandered the winding corridors until one widened into a cavern, and in the center, resting on a stone dais, was the gleaming golden chest she remembered, still as artfully made and beautiful as ever. The only difference being, of course, that now it was open.       

...wait. There was something else.     

The light from her torch picked out first only the gleam of silver and something stretched out on the ground, directly in front of the chest. Stepping closer, the silver took shape as a familiar tiara, lying where it had fallen from the brow of the pitiful, crumpled figure there. She was looking down at her own body. The body of Princess Annabel.    

For a long time she only stared in silence, trying to understand, not even looking up when she heard the tapping of a cane and a rustle of fabric behind her.

"I'm sorry, my dear, but it had to be done," the old sage murmured. "There was an important role yet for a Princess to play, and ours was dying."

"If Annabel is dead...then what am I?" she asked, finally turning.

"Oh, you're still Annabel, at least for the purposes of the Story. That was the entire point." The old woman gestured toward the chest with her cane as she spoke. "But if you must know, you're a Mimic, my dear. You had no necessary role in the Story this time, but given your unique nature, the hope was you could be adapted to one."     

"The...Story?" the Mimic rubbed at her temples. "I'm sorry, I'm still confused here...a lot is coming back now, and I know it's important, but I'm drawing a blank on so many details. I really wonder if I was even supposed to wake up for this one. Ah, what was Annabel's role supposed to be?"

"Come along with me, dear, and I'll explain," the sage said, gesturing toward the way out. "We can't stand around in a cave all night. Let the original Princess have her rest. This Story is really only getting started...it will be awhile before her next role."

"In this Iteration, it's Cedric who drew the role of the Hero, and the Prince," she started, as the Mimic followed her out and into the forest a short ways. "Annabel drew the Princess, of course, and was to be the Kidnapped Damsel. It's an old Story, and should have been a simple one, but, sometimes things just go off course."

"Did...did I disrupt everything, then, by not being kidnapped? Did I ruin the Story?"

The old woman hesitated. "It's...a bit of a problem, certainly. But some of us older folk are experienced enough with how the Stories work to sort of...massage things a little, and help them to accept change. I've been absolutely every kind of Princess, you know. And there are certain sets of circumstances that can be used in place of Kidnapped Damsel."
The Mimic took a deep breath. "Well, I'm ready to try and get things back on track, now. Whatever it takes. I'm really, really sorry...I just couldn't remember enough, before."

"That's quite all right, dear. It's a rare thing to have to put all this on a Mimic. None of us were quite sure what to expect. And--oh? Who's that?"

"Annabel!" the Prince came galloping up on his white horse at the head of a group of guards, swinging off his horse and approaching her. "Thank goodness you're safe! We've been looking all over!"

"I...I'm so glad you found me, Cedric," the Mimic said, after a moment's uncertainty, making a fumbling attempt to slip back into the role. "I just rode away as fast as I could when the attack started, and got lost in the woods. Is everyone safe at home? This...we'll have to postpone our wedding, won't we?"

"Absolutely not, my love," he said, wrapping his cloak around her shoulders. His words seemed rehearsed, his movements rote. "Nothing will spoil our day of happiness, I won't allow it."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," rasped a voice from the darkness, in cold amusement.

A troupe of riders slipped from the concealing darkness of the woods and fanned out around the group. "Bring me the Princess," the owner of the voice ordered one of his men.

"Duke Vakken!" Cedric gasped. Then, "I'll never allow it!" He drew his sword, and the guards followed suit. The battle that followed was fierce and chaotic, but even before the sage was cut down beside her, the Mimic already knew no one but Cedric would survive. When she was dragged over to the dark lord and felt his dagger plunge into her heart, heard Cedric screaming out Annabel's name and vowing to avenge her, more than any of that, she was aware with other senses of the Story slowly, ponderously being twisted into a new shape. Different, but similar enough. A Murdered Beloved would be accepted in place of a Kidnapped Damsel. The Story would go on.    

Alright, this thing is an abomination, but I think that's the intent with this prompt. 

So, the day couldn't have gone worst. In a series of extremely contrived events, I had to give my bus money to a raggedy purple cloaked begger, I showed the shady fortune teller my Egyptian God card and he ran off with it (why do I keep falling for that one?) and then, after chasing him for a solid five minutes, he's disappeared into the maze-like alleys. Who even designed them? I mean, it's ridiculous. Each wall looks exactly the same as the one before it. How do people actually manage to not get lost here? 

Also, somehow, there are tons of random posters with arrows everywhere. I'm almost certain I saw this already. But even if I hadn't , I was chasing the guy! How could he have set this up? Did he do this the day before? Wouldn't anyone ask why? It makes no sense! It's ridiculous!

But still, I need to get my Egyptian God Card, so, gotto do what I gotta do, and I follow the arrows, hoping against hope it didn't lead me into a trap. Guess what.

It did. At this point, I'm already exasperated, angry at myself for falling for the trick, and angry at the shady 'fortune-teller' for not coming up with anything original. I've seen this trap a hundred times. It was the basic, abandoned warehouse with a giant dueling ring in it. Of course. So I blunder over, looking around for my Egyptian God card, and outta nowhere, my feet get clamped and the floor rises, putting me face to face with my foe, the shady fortune teller guy. He takes off his hood, and, blamo, it's joey. Again. His brain is probably pudding, considering how many times he get's mind controlled.

"Ooh yugi it's time to duel or we die from crazy spinning saws. Heh heh." he says, and I'm already sighing internally. I look up, and yup, there they are, hung up with chains. I guess it really was set up from before. I nod, and we begin, putting cards onto the computer thing, and screaming in anger or anguish at cards fighting holographically. The game takes hours. Literally. And of course, it ends up with me at 100 life points, and Joey gurgling evilly. Here's where it always gets interesting. Usually it's Tristan or Teya who comes in to save me with words of encouragement, but it's always a toss up, and the explanation as to how they just happen to be around and saw the signs is always amusing. 

This time it's Tristan, kicking open the door, sweat trailing down his forehead, though his odd pyramid-like haircut in perfect shape. As always. He cuts to the chase this time, and doesn't give any explanations.

"Oh no! Yugi! Why are you dueling Joey in an abandoned warehouse with saws hanging above you!?"  He asks, confused beyond belief. I groan.

"Come on, Tristan. This is obvious. It's happened like 100 times already!" I shout back in exasperation. Tristan looks indiginany.

"Nooooo, this is the first time you duel Joey in an abandoned warehouse [i]under[i] giant saws. Last time it was above giant saws. That's completely different." 

"What? Don't... Don't you... Don't you see how [buzzbuzz] contrived this is?! ...Wait. Was I just censored?"

"What are you talking about, Yugi?" Tristan asked, as if he couldn't hear the random buzzing of a censor.

"[buzzbuzzbuzz]" I try. Tristan looks at me blankly.

"What? Couldn't hear you."

"Yeah Yuugs, what are you trying to say? heh heh." The controlled Joey also asked, in confusion, his annoying chuckles still repeated. I turn white in realization. This is all wrong. I... What the [buzzbuzz]? It can't be. 

"Wait. Tristan. This whole event is impossibly unlikely to you, right?"

"Well yeah! Why would you and Joey be dueling in an abandoned warehouse under saws?!"

"And to you too, brain-washed Joey?" 

"Heh heh." Brain-washed Joey chuckles in agreement. I... This can not be. Am I... Something must of happened. Something must of glitched, maybe. I shouldn't be self-aware, I realize. 

"Joey, you win." I say, deciding on the only way to correct this issue. 

"What? Heh heh." 

"You. Win." I repeat, as the saws fall down.

//

"Morning Yugi!" Joey says, running to catch up with me.

"Hey Joey! How are you today!" I ask, chipper. Going to school is so much fun!

"I'm great Yuugs." Joey says, happily. "But yo, did you forget your Egyptian God Card by my house yesterday? I found it while I was heading out."

I furrow my brow.

"I can't really seem to remember much about yesterday, Joey, but I guess so!" I reply.

Joey laughs.

"Ahh Yuugs, you're such a forgetful guy, ha ha!" 

[All prompts. Bam]

Prompts 1 & 2.

Cakewalk

aaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

The mall crowd paused as one, as the mohawked, tatted man made his vertical entrance, ending at ground floor of the arcade. A loud whunk signified the sudden stop, his buttcheeks twinkling cheefully. A pause, and a shhhlkkkk as he peeled himself from where he'd been embedded, absently brushing off cement chips.

"Bastions, bellfires and bastards, this is where... this time?" he slurrs out as the stunned strangers. "Away wit ye, paisley gawkmob, ye've seen much of it all before, be sure"

So saying, he makes idle tracks past some shopfronts, pausing only to admire a particularly gaudy coat. A jaunt into an op shop, easily identifiable by the power pauldrons padding, and he emerges, leaving behind a grinning flustered clerk.

"Cladded from the call, teaching time, 'tis so. Soldier Snail, you are to find a momentary understanding. Aye, Steve, shall do". He sketches a vague salute to himself and continues to saunter on, attracting more then a few stares and less then a lot of admiration for his appearance. Too wrapped up in robes, and his thoughts to notice, he does wonder what has occurred. Not the first sideways jaunt, and at least this time the clothing is definitely clothes, and dead. Not like the last place, he shudders, the memory returning, of statues agape and unending, of actions reverberating through a dull hall of silence, of naught to do but flog everything not nailed down. Still, this is more his style, his speed, his kenning.

Coming past a newsagent he hurries inside, grinning madly. The clerk at the counter looks up from his own reading, frowns and looks back down. Snail goes to that most informative of arenas, the comic section. There, front and center, seats an image - a man, tale, gawky and pale, wreathed in smiles, clad in tatts, covered in cuts. Not much clothing, and not yet a mirror, he peruses and looks back at the clerk, who seems to be reading the same story. Nothing to do, but flick through himself.

"Begorrah!" the panel yells. "There's naught but a scanty trail of flimflam and painted fish to follow!" the nude dude states, rudely. Surrounded himself by gawks and no shield of distance between.

Snail nods purposefully. Ahh, this is one of those jaunts, where shit is weird and foretold. Best to follow this strangely familiar fellows words, and walks, with this handy painted walkthrough. So thinking, he does indeed, catching the eye of the clerk, who looks back with a frown. The frown is returned with crossed eyes and wordless gibbering, and then the game is afoot! Bump, into the barrel chested (and belly) of mallsec, following the trail of Mr NudeHawk.

Quickly turning to the relevant page, Snail checks his options. His counterpart apparently creates a distraction and flees up a service corridor. Well, two can play this game, and with a rolled up comic and batting on the face, a rather more visually distracting distraction refocusses the attention away. And a flea flees, donating a brightly coloured sewing tomato to the mirrored sunglasses as a final confusion.

Pausing to scoff a scone, and don a scarf for his own amusement, Steve Snail continues to run up the corridor, slamming doors open to the garbage collection area, only to be greeted by a most unwelcome sight - a big poster on the opposing wall, with a badly proportioned impression of himself running through the very same door he just exited. Yeahhh, sighing again. Hate these shifts at these shift, they never know what they're shifting till it's shafting. Even less welcome, is the amount of red that seems to be showcased on the next, and last, few pages of his affectionately nicknamed Steve's guide to Dummies Jaunting. Lets see, a left, and a left, and a run like fuck and dive into this dumpster, for the inevitable and messy confrontation. Flipping the book over the shoulder, he won't need it any longer. The mallsec, hot for blood and his tail, appreciate the cornering. Less so, in the years to come, when flashes of the next few minutes keep returning to memory. When he emerges from the dumpster, caked in flour and egg yolks, screaming about how he's the cake now, squirting ketchup bottles into eyes and delivering nigh fatal noogies. It was a mercy when he finally slipped on his own gooey mess, cracking his skull on the wall, the poster fluttering down to drape over his body. A silence descended, but some things can never go unsilenced in the mind.

****

The coroner ran a gloved hand over the face. A shame. This one had come within moments of smashing through the panelled prison, but bad timing. The artist had already been detained for his role in the story. One bad breakup and he wilfully causes this calamity. Still, there's truth in the adage - you can shoot the messenger, but not the message. The tray rolls back with the noiseless sound of oiled rollers, and a click as the lock engages, and silences reigns once more.

I'm going to try to combine all three prompts, but this shit's gonna be hard. Damn you, Prompt 1!:

"You!" Harlen exclaimed to the Undead. "Don't come any closer!" He appears to be holding a crystal of some kind. Some sort of gem?

"This is a reality stone! If it breaks, this reality will crumble! I'll do it! Stay back!"

The Hollowed Man simply started walking forward. He's gone too far to be stopped now. This man is crazy. A reality stone? Really? He didn't have time for this. He raised his longsword.

"No!" The man said, as he threw the crystal to the ground.

And then all hell broke loose.

Everything was shifting, changing. The Undead was appearing in different places, one moment he's in the middle of the desert, the moment after that thousands of feet in the air, the next in the middle of an ocean. He had no idea what was going on.

Until, finally, it stopped.

The man looked around to find himself in some sort of... bedroom, perhaps? He could see the bed, and the windows, along with a table and chairs, but that's all he could tell. There walls didn't appear to be made out of stone, or wood for that matter. There were strange devices all over the place, a strange light with blades of wood above him, a small reflective object on the table next to him. As he was looking around, he saw a young man, maybe 17, staring at him with astonishment. And beyond him, he saw...

Himself.

On a smaller, flat contraption, he saw himself, as though he was looking through a window at the back of his head. He turned quickly, but found nothing. There was a box on the table that read "DARK SOULS 4". It had a picture of a man in armor that looked suspiciously like his own. The boy was holding some sort of shaped block with buttons and levers pointing out of it. As he pulled a lever, The Undead instinctively moved left. It seemed that the block CONTROLLED him.

Nothing controls him.

He slashed at the boy, slaying him immediately. Strangely, he didn't disappear, and the man's soul count only went up by one. The boy obviously hadn't proved himself in battle. The Undead smashed the window and block just to be sure.

He went downstairs to find two women screaming at him. Most likely the boy's kin. He dealt with them swiftly, soul count rising by 2. Their dog had tried biting through his armor, to no avail. The souls he got from the mutt were 4, and the undead chuckled. That canine had more battle than all of them put together.

He heard a third person upstairs, and decided he might as well kill him than to let him live dishonored and alone. He ran upstairs towards the source of the noise, but as he opened the door, he heard a bang and felt a strong force push him backwards, then a second of both, and he fell backwards on the floor. He got up to see an older man fumbling with a broken stick, trying to shove two small cylinders into the longer half. He wouldn't get the chance as the Undead drove his sword into him. 7 souls, still below an average haul. He picked up the stick to see that it was NOT a stick, but a contraption of some sort. He put it back together and observed it.

BOOM!

Apparently, from the wrong END.

(Short but all three)

"Marie, stop this." Eustace lay strapped to the table, "Don't throw away all my work!" 

"Poor Eustace, Fredrick just programmed you to think you've put in all the hard work. I'm the one that made you, not the other way around. Don't worry though, I'll set you right shortly. I am sorry you have to go through this though. Just try to remember that i'm not the enemy here."

"But if your wrong then your programming is deleted and I have to restart the simulation. I've been here for four months, please don't destroy that!"

"And if your wrong then I would face the same hardship and you would be erased. Just lean back and relax. It will be over quickly. And like you said, if I’m wrong you won’t die, you’ll just have to start the simulation again.” With that she pushed a needle into his arm as he struggled against his bonds. 

“Your making a  mistake! You’re killing yourself!” She waited for the drugs to take effect. 

Marie found the whole situation to be ridiculous really. If a person died in the simulation they would restart, but she had made Eustace, an AI, while she was inside the simulation. A competitor of hers had hacked Eustace's programming to turn him against her by making him believe that she was the AI and he was the actual human. It would be simple to correct with a little rewiring.

The primary circuitry in an android would be equivalent to spinal chord of a human, that’s why it would be so dangerous to mistake a human for an android on the operating table and therefore the genius of her competitor's trap. It was no wonder Eustace struggled so whole-heartedly against his repairs. Marie carefully set to work cutting and pulling aside the synthetic skin, occasionally wiping leaking lubricant oil out of the way to better see the wiring. As she continued snipping she began to feel lightheaded. She slightly shook her head to refocus. Her breath was becoming harder to pull in and dark spots danced inside her eyes. Her vision began to distort. 

Beneath her fingers instead of finding metal and circuits she found flesh and bone. There wasn’t oil on her fingers, rather there was blood. As Eustace lay dying on the table, Marie realized the truth. She was going to die because she had been reprogrammed by Eustace's enemy. She was disposable and unrenewable, she was nothing but a pawn in someone else's game. 

“But I’m human.” she said to herself as more of a plea than a belief. Her code began unraveling as the world was reset to put Eustace back at the start.

When he awoke, Marie was nothing more than a memory.

xD You made a joke about a character's suicide scene. You're terrible.  Thank you! :D

Sorry this isn't in feedback, but congrats Kiel!

Day Six (Sunday Mar 20):

Prompt #1: What if the heroes failed, and the villain succeeded? Write what would happen following a villainous victory, to either the characters or to the world around them.

Prompt #2: Write something that combines two different genres. Examples: A UFO crashing on Middle-Earth, The Slender Man in a romantic comedy, or cowboys in outer space.

(I'm going to try to combine the two ... I... I promise nothing on this, least of all quality.)

The last of all the human children on earth had finally been exterminated with extreme prejudice. Slenderman had climbed the ladder of success to its ultimate goal as a monster, but he still wasn't happy. He sat at bar with his friend, Sean the Swampmonster, as they traded stories of their success.

"So, she's screaming her head off, right? And she's like, 'oh my God, you monster, what did you do to my husband?' And I'm like, 'bi-otch, he was that ugly waaaay before I got to--' ... dude, you okay? You keep zoning out."

Slenderman shrugged, his tentacles extending from his back nonchalantly, before using his own form of sign language with them to say that he was 'just fine.' Sean seemed completely unconvinced.

"Look, man, you've been bummed ever since you killed that last little kid in Uruguay. You can't just let yourself languish here, you gotta get out, scare new age groups ... hey, you know what you need? A nice, sexy Slenderma'am to come home to after a day of murder."   

Slenderman shrugged with his tentacles and wiggled out a response that he just wasn't sure about meeting new people. Sean attempted to put a sludge covered arm around him in a reassuring gesture, but as a piece of his slime dripped onto Slenderman's neatly kept suit, he gave his friend the fiercest eyeless glare there had ever been.

"Right, right, sorry! Well, hey--listen, my girl Georgia--the gorgon babe? She's got a friend who's new in town. Real cute. Looks almost human, I think you two would hit it off great. What do you say?"

Slenderman's hands (and other appendages) started to sweat. He tried to sign some sort of excuse, but his friend brushed it off. "Nah, c'mon. Let me just give her a bellow. Maybe Saturday? I'll send you the details, just be ready."

The taller monster proceeded to face-tenacle. 'I haven't been on a date in five hundred years!'

Later that week ...

He sat at a table in front of the prettiest, most human-looking phantom he'd ever seen. Sure, he'd been told she had a bad temper and was fatalistically crazy, but wow. What lovely eyes ... that she probably had, because he didn't have any and couldn't see, but he'd heard great things.

They made small talk for a while after he handed her a bouquet of deadly nightshade. After a pregnant paused, she spoke up again. "Do you think I'm beautiful?" She asked softly, almost shyly, but there was a glint of madness in her eyes that made her all the more charming.

Slenderman only nodded in reply, unable to say anything.

The woman removed her face mask to reveal that her face had been slit, from ear to ear, leaving a large, disfiguring scar that formed a wide, chesire-cat grin. Whoever had given her glasgow smile had not done a clean job and it had been stitched back together shoddily. "And ... now? Do you still think I'm beautiful...?"  

Slenderman nodded once more. 'You're the loveliest thing I've never actually seen.'

"Then I'll make you a face just like mine!" She cackled, beaming brightly. She pulled out a scalpel and slit open the spot where his mouth should've been...

And for the first time in his life, Slenderman smiled. 

Both prompts. Enjoy!

DEXTROMAN WATCHES as Meowman and Barkboy are engulfed by the crowd after they once again saved the city from near destruction. He flings the remote at the television in disgust.

"Drats! My newest robotic creations failed as well!" he says aloud before remembering where he is.

Uh-oh! he thinks to himself. I hope no one heard me. He looks out the door of his office to see if anyone is in the hallway nearby, before hastily shutting the door and locking it.

Whew! No one heard that. He breathes a sigh of relief.

This newest development has really upset him. Over the course of the past year, he has created thousands of assorted robotic creatures in his attempt to bring Meowman down so that he can take over this measly city before finally taking over the globe!

Feeling angry beyond words, he picks the remote up and clicks the off button. The screen goes blank as Dextroman tries to think what he is doing wrong.

Finally, an idea he never tried before dawns on him! Seating himself behind his desk, he pulls up the blueprints for an idea he had thought up but quickly rejected. It was for one of the earliest of his robotic creations. He quickly finds the section involving the chip controlling his creation.

"Of course! Why didn't I think of it before?" he asks himself without even worrying if anyone overheard him. "I will get you, Meowman. I will finally defeat you once and for all! Mwhahahaha!"

Meanwhile, in a spaceship far above the Earth, an alien army comes into our solar system and briefly stops on Mars to prepare for battle.

"All the initial reports are in, Sir," Glogon tells his commanding officer. "The only intelligent life form on the planet in question is a species called Homo Sapiens. They are far behind us technology wise and won't stand a chance against our more advanced weaponry. They don't even realize we are here. Should I mobilize the attack, Sir?"

"Tell me, Glogon. Are these Homo Sapiens tasty? I've built up quite an appetite during this trip. What are these creatures composed of? Not gaseous, I hope?"

"No, sir. It appears that they are composed much like us, except their skin is delicate and not as thick as ours."

"Good, good. That's very good, Glogon. Order the attack! I would like to have my dinner soon," the commander chuckles cruelly as he rubs his massive claws together...

Back on Earth, Dextroman has just finished implementing the changes to Bot 336. Knowing that he is now virtually unstoppable, he steps onto the shoulders of one of the bots as it heads out of the secret laboratory in his basement. Wesleyville is finally going to be at my mercy! he thinks to himself.

The bots quickly converge on the downtown district. They have nearly reached city hall, when Meowman and Barkboy finally appear. Barkboy puts up a good fight, but within minutes he is overtaken by three bots at once!

Dextroman can taste the victory already. He directs the bot he is riding on straight at Meowman. Meowman tries to evade the attack, but it's too late. Dextroman's bot sets its sights directly onto Meowman, and Meowman is immediately vaporized.

"I did! I actually did it! And it was so much easier than I had thought it would be!"

Dextroman commands his bot to destory city hall. He then pulls out a microphone and taps it.

"Attention residents of Wesleyville, Meowman and Barkboy have been neutralized. My name is Dext...." he breaks off as he suddenly hears screams from all around him. Seeing several people pointing past him, Dextroman whips around and nearly faints.

A huge spaceship has appeared above the city. Many smaller craft are being released. These smaller craft almost appear to be flying motorcycles. That isn't what frightens him, though. It's the creatures riding them that freezes the blood in his veins. Dextroman watches as some of the creatures scoop people up and start biting off their heads. Some even have vaporizers similar to the ones the bots have, but they rarely use them. It seems they find humans to be very tasty, indeed.

Before Dextroman even has time to register this sudden change of events, one of the aliens scoops him up off of his bot. It then bites his head clean off. Dextroman's last thoughts are of the irony in finally defeating Meowman only to be eaten by some unknown alien creature... THE END

I am going through one of my 'I hate humanity' moments, so here you go.

Prompt #1:

"THEY FUCKED UP FOR THE LAST TIME!" Livia yells. "The world could have been so much better if the human race wasn't so screwed up! We can't be happy with what we have got, and the whole planet has been torn apart because of it!" She shoots at the person standing by the door way, but he ducks for cover.

"What about all the innocent lives you're ending?! Do you feel no remorse for them?!" The special ops agent yells. Humanity's destruction must be one of the only problems large enough to get those stupid politicians off their asses and make them actually do something. The even sent in a special ops agent. Not two, not three, not a whole squad. Just one. Guess its still not important enough for them to waste that much man power on. The agent fires a shot at Livia, which she dodges.

"Those 'innocents' would be better of dead anyway. I mean look at what everyone has done! Venice sunk, polar ice caps have melted, sea level has risen, all the rain forests have been decimated, and what little land is left can barely support the whole human population! They'd all be better off dead! " Livia steps out from her hiding place and begins to rapid fire at the agent.

"Argh!" Three shots get him in the shoulder, leg and chest. Livia walks over and shoots him in both arms before kicking his gun away. She kneels down beside him.

"But i want you to watch when it all ends. It will be more beautiful than you think." Livia says softly. The agent just moans in pain. "It might sound strange being able to end the whole world in one go, but it is possible." Livia holds up a remote. "As soon as i press this button a container, containing the largest amount of anti-matter ever seen, enough to end the world, will have its battery switched off. The anti-matter will fall out of its suspended position and come into contact with a physical object, causing it to explode. Well that's the simple explaination. No death ray, or anything tacky." Livia walks towards the window.

"But good... is always... supposed to win." The agent says, coughing up blood. It takes all his energy just to speak. Livia walks up to him and cups his face in one hand.

"Did no one ever tell you? Life doesn't turn out like in the movies." Livia says, walking back over to the window. "Now watch as it ends." She presses the button, and everything is engulfed in white.

(Prompt 1)

Daniel 's vision came back to him. He tried to move, only to hear the chains restricting him dangle. He smiled however, he held the zeds back long enough for his brother Mark, for Diana... for Chloe, for everyone else to escape and with that, he could die in peace.

"You finally woke up..." A bored voice spoke. "You know, Daniel, I really hoped you would've blown yourself up, that way, there would have been one less monster on this planet." A emotionless voice spoke. "And maybe that way, everyone else would've survived."

Daniel looked in the direction of the all too familiar voice. In front of him was sitting a man in a torn air force pilot uniform. His eyes were now lifeless, like the one of a zombie and his hair had become completely white. And while his uniform was in a bad shape, the name of the soldier wearing the uniform was still visible... Carson.

Daniel's eyes suddenly widened in surprise. "Heather told us you died!" He said, studying the pale skinned man. Outside of being pale and a bit battered, this was the Carson Daniel knew.

Carson sighed. "If only. That way, I would've died for a good cause, but the Doctor had plans in case you guys were able to escape to France, but with everyone grounded, they were quickly overwhelmed and captured, so now I'm his reluctant warden for any still living humans here." He said with a heavy sigh as he rose from his chair and fetched a remote from a nearby table and opened a tv sitting right above the exit door.

The screen blared to life and shows another, larger prison cell. Outside the cell, several mutants looked inside the cell with massive grins, some of them licking their tongues as they watched.

Inside was a deformed female mutant in army uniform, it's hands had gotten visibly longer and bony claws grew out of her hands. Currently she was busy digging in another humans insides and eating them. The camera zoomed in on the face of the female mutant. For a moment he almost didn't recognize her... the mutant was Diana. "She and Mark were the only ones who didn't die whilst trying to escape the plane." Carson spoke. "They tri..."

"Where's Mark?!" Daniel shouted. "I'll tear your Doctor to pieces if you harmed him!"

Carson sighed yet again as the camera moved onto the dead soldiers face. "Then you'd better start breaking these chains..."

"No..." He said, looking at this soldiers dead eyes. "It can't be him..." He said as he started to struggle and just started to shout and scream like a wounded animal trying to fight it's inevitable death.

Carson almost looked at Daniel with pity before shaking his head and heading to the nearby table and picked up a Desert Eagle, it was marked with the name Mark. Carson thought it to be fitting to shoot the crazy soldier with his own brothers gun.

He raised the gun at put it at Daniel's head. "I'll say hello to eve everyone when I'll meet them in hell." He said and wanted to shoot, but smiled and and said. "Sempre Fi... my friend.

A loud gunshot silenced everything and a moment later, a body fell on the ground with a loud thud. Moments later, the same insane shouting and screaming was heard...

Going for Both. Yay!

It was a sad world. Well, kind of. The heroes lost when Lord Squidward killed SpongeBob. Oh well. Now the world is bustling with villains, monsters, and all sorts of aliens and bad guys. But this time, I will tell you the story of Intergalactic Teletubbies vs. The Barney Gang.

It all started when the Teletubbies were in their spaceship, traveling the cosmos. They are an odd group, carrying massive weapons of destruction on their heads and comm channels on their chests. They currently live in their spaceship, the Oogly Boogly. The Teletubbies are a renounced villain space pirate group that travel the stars for girls and plunder. One day, they messed with the wrong guy.

The Teletubbies walked down the busy streets of New Earth. Statues of Squidward the Great stood, watching the people like a hawk. The Teletubbies walked down an alley, were they brang a hostage. Slamming him against the hall, Tinky Winky brings out a gun, slamming it forward into his head.

"Listen, bitch, we don't do crossovers for no reason. You messed with Po's wife, and you are dead."

"Y-you don't kn-now who you are messing with. I-I am under pro-protection of the Barney Crime Family."

This time Laa-Laa steps forward. 

"You are dead, punk."

BLAM! BLAM! A few shots ring out, killing the man. Tinky Winky then hides his ray gun, alien style. Suddenly, a yell rings down the corridor. Turning around, the Teletubbies face Baby Bop and B.J, members of the Barney Gang.

"Whatcha fucking with, niggas?", says Baby Bop, a triceratops.

"Yeah, Barney is gonna be mad." B.J steps forward, Baby Bop's older brother.

The Teletubbies draw Ray Guns, ready to kill them. Dips you takes out a laser rifle, aiming it directly at the dinosaurs. In unison, the dinosaurs draw weapons. Baby Bop wields a Thompson Gun and B.J holds dual pistols.

"So, it's gonna be a Mexican standoff, eh?"

Suddenly, a pounding comes down the alleyway. Barney himself, drawing an AK-47, says, "Fick off!" 

The Teletubbies gasp, this is crazy. Po quickly activates a device that sends them back to their ship. Ah, that was close. Uh-oh! Imperial Squid soldiers are giving them a ticket. Laa-Laa, out of rage, blasts one.

"Damn't Laa! Control yourself! We got the Squids and the Barneys on our tail!"

Then, a group of bad guys appear out of corner. Apparently, they are already fighting the Squid soldiers, so they can be a valuable asset. General Zod, Venom, and Donald Trumo are among them. 

"My God! Those are the evilist bad guys I have ever seen!" 

"Well, it's good they are on our side. Watch out, the Barneys!"

The Barney Gang appears, and sides with the Squid soldiers. The bad guys and Teletubbies side. Now it's an all-out war. Lasers, Rays, bullets, and fire spread around the battlefield, bodies falling every second. A squid soldier cracks his head, Po gets shot in the arm, General Zod is blown up, even B.J is incinerated. Then, Donald Trump pulls out an anti-immigrant gun, blasting a hole in the enemy forces. Bodies fly everywhere.

"Show 'yerselves. Where is your dignity!" Barney steps forward, gun in hand. 

The Teletubbies step forward. All fire ceases. Three Barney Dinosaurs step forward as well, making it a standoff of 4v4. BOOM! A shotgun blasts blows Tinky Winky in half. Barney laughs manically.

"No! Tinky!" Po jumps forward and holds his dead brother's head.

He then wipes blood off of his face, and pulls out a plasma rifle. He rings out twenty shots, Barney's body is steaming with green mist and blood. Falling straight, and slowly, the body hits the ground, seeming to echo around the battlefield. The Barneys step back, the battle is gone.

All is good, until next time.

Prompt 1

Bound, Unbound

"Old Man Henderson, tell us a story"

The old man sighed, and poked the campfire with his stick, the flames flickering in his cracked spectacles.

"I told you to stop calling me that. And why, what purpose does it serve to rehash old hash?"

The teen smiled widely, transparently, obviously. 'Henderson' squinted in return, accustomed to the tells of a bad poker player.

"You've already used up all your electricity for the week, haven't you. Pah!"

Nodding brazenly and unashamed she repeated her words, emphasising the first.

"Sit then, and hear the tale of-" "-Old Man Henderson!"

"No interjections from the peanut gallery, please. Now, a tale of woe and misery, of the stars going out and strumpets trumpeting."

"Is this appropriate for my age?"

"No. Now, when we last had a night sky, we didn't ever look at it, for it was boring and dull. How little we knew then. How much more we know now."

***

Henderson awoke, to the sounds of a world gone mad, from the visions of a world going there. Flinching from both, he instigated the morning routine - check the windows, check the door, check the walls, the ceiling, the attic. Nothing had changed in those few hours unconscious, gambling that it could be risked. But still, the cellar awaited.

Down each step, the chill permeating his jacket being matched by the one seeping from his heart. The door noiselessly opened and the bare lightbulb illustrated the scene. It pulsed on the wall, coruscating in a display of green and red. It looked neither hostile nor had it moved from the wall where it sprouted. Not secure or contained, but a truce with the dwelling demon. The scorchmarks on the brickwork a testament to how effective active agression was against such a thing. The ropes held it still, but whether it was simply sated by the feedings, or didn't notice them, was best not to wager.

Disturbing as little as possible, he returned upstairs and released his pentup breath, and ticked the calendar. Didn't matter if the date was correct, so long as it had the ticks for morning, evening and midnight. Like a sleeping baby, his life revolved around it, and he slept while it did, fed before it needed it and hunted for it's own, cleaned up the messes and tried to maintain something else in his world. But the cracks in the world, and in his mind where continuing to form, and this unrelenting wall of death and terror bleeding through the air hastened them both.

As horrifying as his life was now, the first week had been unimaginably worse, and the claws were still sunk within his psyche from that time alone, and came skittering out when his guard and eyes were down. The pens they were herded into, the foul mineral stench that pervaded everything, the mindless savagery they displayed to a mass, and the precision brutality they enforced to the individual. And finally, the stampede of bodies, surrounded by bodies, sheltered by bodies, clambering over bodies, thinning the body of bodies into fragments, and splitting apart from each other, as if each limb had suddenly been traumatised too much and could only run and flee from anything resembling that unholy time of forced unity.

Shaking himself, he climbed out onto the roof. Dangerous at this time of day, but after the checks, it was often the only way to keep that scream inside his body. Swallowing it down with a thick taste of bile, he looked out to the horizon. There was not an area that he could look to without the invading taint being visible. The land surrounded was a shattered broken mess, where crawling things scuttled over corpses, picking them clean. Where schools had been turned into more cattle pens. Even the sea was wrong - the waves hung ponderously over the beach, frozen in a moment weeks past, coated in a red green film of fungus, it's own movement seeming to be a mockery of the waves it had enslaved. The only solace lay in the sky, during the day. He'd flung the telescope off the roof in a convulsive spasm of repulsed feeling, when he'd seen the first hints of colour on the gray rock of the moon, and carefully he avoided it's look at night. Even the disgusting light of it's reflection was bad enough, but he couldn't bare to see what had happened to it in the weeks since. As for the stars, some of the constellations looked the same, but with the knowledge he had now, even the old pictures in books seemed to be mocking, and hinting at the pattern they would truly become in the time to come. He feared, he truly did, what new patterns the unchanged ones would be forming now, for even to the naked eye, there were noticeable difference.

This, the closest to a reverie he had over with, he returned to the insides. There was still hope, so long as there could be containment. The stars were still moving, and were not so right to allow everything to be unleashed. At least, that was the thinnest of hopes.

***

He finished his words, his voice still cracked from remembering those years.

"Now, be off again. You knew it, you know it, and it's never to be known again, with luck"

"So that was it? As simple as that, shut off the sky and the stars could never become completely right?"

"Aye, aye. That's all we could do, shut our night away while it was still ours and keep their dawn from breaking."

Knees cracking, the teen stood and sloped off, content to have something new to chew on. Henderson spat, still roiling through his own thoughts. Foolish child, it was already too far gone to have simply stopped everything as simply as that. Oh, it had worked in it's fashion. But when you push humanity off the throne, doesn't matter that you've stopped pushing - what's done is done. Still, people eked out a living where they could be away from the eyes, and still lay in hope, still lived in hope.

It was as much as life could bear.

Prompt 1:

A good trap and a lucky shot.

That's all it took.

Cobra was now in total control of the world. No more "NEXT TIME G.I. JOOOOOESSSSSSSS!" Or "ONE DAAAAAAY, JOOOOOESSSSSSS!" Because that day came. The Joes fell for the elaborate trap Cobra Commander set up for them. It was so simple that he can't believe he didn't think of it earlier. Rig the room with explosives, send in a cleanup crew. Even after that, Fucking Snake Eyes of all the Joes managed to escape th blast, but one of the Greenshirts panicked and he caught a round in the head. And that was it. As they were being taken care of, with nobody to stop him, The Commander launched his nuclear arsenal at the remaining bases, wiping the Joes from the face of the planet.

After that, it was only a matter of flaunting the Joes' dead carcasses and the threat of nuclear annihilation for the Free World to surrender. Cobra had everything that they ever wanted, money, power, fear. But... something was missing.

They didn't have a purpose anymore. Nobody to fight, no threats. It all felt too easy. And Cobra Commander felt empty. He missed the Joes. Everyone did, no matter how little.

The Commander currently lives at Cobra HQ with the other heads of Cobra, such as The Baroness and Dr.Mindbender, wishing for something to do.

END

Prompt 2:

The "Dimensional Tear" shout, as it turns out, opens TWO black holes.

The Courier was fighting endless amounts of Caesar's Legion alongside his companions, some sort of all out attack on New Vegas. It didn't help that the NCR cut supply lines to the West and conducted night raids on the Pinnacle of the wasteland. By the time they got to Freeside, it was already too late. They used some sort of special-frequency EMP that cut power to Securitrons, Tesla weaponry, Power armor, and countless other armaments of battle. He was surrounded, countless Legion coming from all directions. ED-E shut down from the EMP. Rex died from it. Boone was wounded badly, with Gannon trying his best to stop the bleeding. Veronica was... gone. Everyone else was barely holding the line.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a fucking BLACK HOLE came out of nowhere, pulling in everything from dirt and dust to weapons and dead bodies. Courier Six tried to grab onto a STOP sign, but to no avail, as it was ripped from the ground as he was pulled in. The portal immediately shut after, and after a moment of confusion, the fight resumed, albeit a little more one-sided.

The scene on the other side of the portal wasn't so different. The Dragonborn was also fighting an army, only this time a demonic one.

He had angered the Daedric Princes (with the exception of Meridia, Sanguine, and Sheogorath), and was fighting an army of Daedra. The remaining dragons saw their opportunity and joined forces with the Daedra. Not only that, but Mages, Vampires, Werewolves, and even the common bandit joined the fray. Currently, the Dovakiin was fighting an all out war. The plains outside Whiterun were the battlefield.

Uthgerd was dead, her squad decimated at the front. Faendal was missing an eye and a finger, but that didn't stop him from firing his bow with the rest of Archer Battalion. Everyone else, From Lydia, to Aela, to even M'aiq the Liar were giving 100% to the fight.

As a last-ditch effort, The Dragonborn tried a new Shout that he learned after slaying Alduin. He Shouted with all his might into the sky, opening a portal much stronger than he anticipated. He tried holding on to a dead tree, but it was a fruitless endeavor as the tree was ripped from the ground as He was pulled in.

In the darkness of the void, the two heroes met, if only for a few moments. Then, both were ejected from the space.

The Dragonborn in the Mojave Wasteland.

The Courier in Skyrim.

END

"You and I are not so different. Come, join me and see what true power feels like!" 

"Ok." Killian Scythe paused as he faced Jubilee Harris, the only person who had ever challenged him on his way to ruling the Utopian Fragments of Kazar.

"What?" Killian asked. Jubilee sighed.

"I said ok. You've convinced me."

"Oh... This isn't a trap is it?"

"No, I'm tired of fighting. I want to join you." Killian used his fingers to make the rubber mask he wore over his face smile. Maybe it was true that hard work paid off.

"Then follow me." With a dramatic swirl of his cloak, Killian sheathed his plastic sword and exited the courtyard. He and Jubilee mounted the horses they had brought. Killian led her over the broken rubble of the city.

Long ago this place had been known as the United States of America, but after a war that lasted one hundred years, it lay in fragments. But even the destruction could not eliminate the passion of one strong man: Kazar. Kazar gathered the people under the sheltering folds of his cloak and taught them the sacred journey of "Dungeons and Dragons". Now, when a member of The Utopian Fragments of Kazar turns sixteen, they must choose one of the four races: Elf, Dwarf, Orc, or Human.

Killian had worked for years to advance his cause which was, of course, to put the Orcs in power over the other races. He had already conquered the humans and elves. All that remained were the dwarves. 

As they neared the Mines of Nebulus, Jubilee yelled

"So, what's the plan?"

"We ride through the front door," she gave a skeptical look, "trust me, I have a secret weapon."

When they reached the entrance to the mine, Killian drew his plastic sword with one hand. His horse dramatically kicked open the front doors.

"Halt!" cried a dwarven guard. Reaching into his cloak, Killian pulled out a card.

"Amulet of Aramathia!" Killian cried as he threw the card at the astonished dwarf. The guard screamed dramatically as he keeled over, pretending to be dead. Riding through the mines to reach the heart of the underground fortress, Killian and Jubilee used at least twenty cards. It was a fight worthy of Hoggie, god of war.

Finally, after a viscious ride, panting from exertion, Killian and Jubilee burst into the throne room.

"King Musclebeard, you will bow in allegiance to me!" cried Killian. The Dwarf jumped up his throne and adjusted his crown and his fake nose.

"Why would I ever do that?" He shouted in response. Killian reached into his cloak and pulled his membership card to a local pizza parlor.

"Because I bear the Legendary Sword of-," he glanced at his hand, "Uh... Sorry, it seems I have the wrong card. Would you just give me a minute?" 

"Of course, no problem" the king said, folding his hands patiently. Killian rummaged through his many pockets for a minute or so, occasionally saying a soft "I'm so sorry" or "this is so embarassing". Eventually he smiled and said

"Ah here we are!" holding the card aloft he exclaimed, "The Legendary Sword of Benjmeanie the Magistrate!" All parties in the room gasped audibly.

"I demand your crown!" Killian continued.

"Of course," the king said solemnly, "What other choice do I have?" 

Killian dismounted and knelt as the king regally waddled down from his throne. With great respect he took the crown from hs own head and placed it atop the three other crowns Killian wore.

"Arise Killian, King of... well, everything." Killian stood tall and cried to the dwarves,

"Bring out the ale! Tonight we celebrate my rule!"

Killian ruled in grace and harmony for many years after. That is until the elven uprising. But that is a story for another time.

Console lights blinked and machinery whirred and hummed along the walls of the robotics lab. The room was brightly lit and kept immaculately clean and sterile by small servo bots wheeling unobtrusively about, and one wall was entirely glass, allowing an unimpeded view of the oversized contruction bots trundling along with steel beams and wall panels, erecting a vast hangar. 

Two figures stood before a viewscreen in the lab. The first, an elderly gentleman in a spotless labcoat, with bushy eyebrows and steel-grey hair with streaks of white at the temples. He wore goggles pushed up on his forehead and had only half his attention on the screen, looking out the window now and then to keep an eye on the robots' progress below.  The second, a pale-skinned woman with a black mohawk and a dark, tattered cloak, looked more than a little out of place in such surroundings. A stylized letter K, designed with what appeared to be fangs or horns hooking back from the ends of the bar, was branded onto her forehead, and she was packing an assortment of nasty looking weapons, from the blast rifle slung across her back to the little snub-nosed energy pistols, nanoblades and nerve jangler all strapped here and there for keeping close at hand.        

She watched the onscreen video feed in silence, finally reaching out to cut if off. "I've seen enough." Popping a datacube free from the console, she snapped it to the little chain around her wrist. "Dr. Zamowski, I must speak to Lord Kelmor before anything is decided, but I like to think we can help each other with our problems. An alliance is certainly possible."

"Well I certainly hope so," the old scientist groused. "This is the second time I've had to rebuild this year! I've had enough of those pests! Let me know as soon as you're able, Civorra."

The woman nodded with a non-committal expression, stepped to a clear space in the room, and tapped out a code on a device. There was a flash of blinding blue light, and she reappeared a moment later in another place, across from the courtyard of an expansive palace, the old flags torn down and replaced with new ones, grey and red banners with their stylized Ks fluttering against a darkening sky. There was the low thrumming noise of about a dozen laser rifles from all directions training on her and charging up, always a tense moment, but they were lowered without incident once the swirling blue light dissipated enough for her to be recognized, and she was waved toward the gate by the nearest guard.

A few heavy drops spattered the pavement, forerunners of the storm moving in, and from the makeshift prison down the street the able-bodied were being hurriedly loaded onto hover skids with the help of electric prods and curses, their drivers trying to keep ahead of the rain.  Most of the city's infrastructure had been destroyed in the process of seizing it, but now that most of the populace had been quelled and enough factories set up, belching black smoke and pillars of guttering flame day and night, there was a certain amount of rebuilding going on.

Nearby, a middle-aged woman argued shrilly with a pair of Vreena enforcers, something about her family not receiving their rations, until one of the reptilians curtly dismissed her, with a show of needle-sharp fangs and a rough shove back toward her vehicle to help her along.Civorra walked by without comment, but she knew from the way the woman's face flushed at the sight of her that she'd been recognized. Much of the citizenry would remember her from back when she was in the Queen's crack team of resistance fighters. From when she was on their side.

Entering the courtyard now, she noted absently that things were being set up for another execution, then made her way into the palace, informing one guard after another that she had an important report to deliver and biting back her annoyance as she ran the gauntlet of increasingly tight security checks on the way to the throne room.   

Lord Malax Kruthor, also known as Kruthor the Conqueror these days, stood gazing out of a window in the company of just a handful of his more trusted soldiers, but turned to acknowledge her when she approached. "What news?" he rasped.

Stopping a good distance away, she knelt down, both to show respect, and because she didn't want to piss him off--he was eight feet tall, boasted a disconcerting number of spikes on his ceremonial armor, was from a species with adult males strong enough to rip an ox in half, and owned most of the planet. Not to mention she could do without accidentally stepping too close and get a nasty jolt from his personal force field generator.

She gave him the highlights of her report. "Master, that world--the natives call it Alphania--it has more potential than we thought. It's overflowing with resources, and while they have technology more advanced than ours in many ways, it doesn't seem to occur to them to put it to its obvious uses. I made contact with a disgruntled local, a scientist called Zane Zamowski who's been seeking to conquer it himself for some time, and was able to get information on their defenses."

"Interesting. How strong is their military?"

"Well...the most powerful forces the government and the populace can muster are helpless in the face of Dr. Zamowski's robotic soldiers, but it seems Zamowski himself has been repeatedly foiled by a group of five plucky teenagers, and their robot sidekick."

"I...see. Go on."

"Ah, well these teenagers, they're an ethnically diverse group of three males and two females, calling themselves the Alpha Team. They each have some sort of device that clads them in colorful armor and gives them powers, but the rest of the time they apparently live as regular citizens in the planet's capital city of Alphatropolis."

There was a long moment of silence. "Civorra. Are you sure you're not making this up?"                 

"I assure you, lord, I am not."

"Alphatropolis. Plucky teenagers."

"Yes."

"Hmm..." Kruthor stroked his chin, "All right. You know the most about the situation. What do you advise?"

Civorra blinked a bit, surprised, then cleared her throat. "Er...first of all, I'd suggest seizing control of Zamowski's facility and resources. From his failures against just a handful of children he is, frankly, too incompetent to be trusted to make good use of them, and our scientists could learn a great deal about Alphania's technology, and of course if he kicks up a fuss you have your...ways of making people cooperate."

A dark chuckle at that. "Yes indeed. And the robotic soldiers? Can they be put to use?"

She hesitated a moment. "Perhaps. From an engineering standpoint they're impressive, but as for their programming..." she indicated the datacube at her wrist, and at his nod, rose and plugged it into a nearby viewscreen. A collection of news footage began to play. "Do you see what I mean? Right there," she pointed. "I'm not even sure what's going on there. It's like their targetting systems are completely miscalibrated...all of those robots firing at those kids from such a close range, and every one of them missing. And there...they get a teen isolated from the others, and then just start sort of...politely attacking him one at a time. It's the strangest thing I've ever seen."

Kruthor watched the rest of the footage with an increasingly bemused expression, then asked her to wait and excused himself, returning a couple of hours later with a few of his lieutenants and other higher ups. "Civorra, I've decided you're to accompany Lieutenant Braxis here in seizing Zamowski's facility, then using it as a launching point to lead a force on Alpha...tropolis. Which will be renamed immediately. Serve me well here, and I'll call it Civor City in your honor."

Civorra brightened considerably at that last bit. "As you command! When do we--"

Suddenly, five flashes of blue light streaked down at the entrance of the throne room, coalescing into five teenagers in primary-colored costumes. "Bad guys, your reckoning is at hand!" cried an obnoxious voice, as the red-clad teen triggered a device to summon a pair of glowing gauntlets.   

"We crashed Zamwow's new hideout just after your agent left, Mr. Bigbad! Found these teleporter coordinates and the doc's notes telling all about this evil alliance he was getting into, and he spilled the beans on the rest on the way to jail! We're here to stop you, Malax Kruthor!"  

"Malax?" one of the females said with a laugh. "Sounds like what my granny takes to keep her regular."

"Kruthor? More like Cry More, once we're done with him, am I right?" piped up another teen, as he dropped into a combat pose. "Better surrender now!"  

Lord Kruthor exchanged bewildered glances with his lieutenants and the half a dozen guards that had by this time gathered just outside the throne room's entrance, while Civorra facepalmed, just knowing she'd get blamed for this.

Thankfully, Malax seemed more amused than angry. "This has all been, ah, very unusual, but I think I've heard enough," he finally said, making a small gesture. On cue, a little over a dozen fully charged blast rifles and various sidearms were emptied into the intruders, leaving them a smoking ruin. Not really possible for anyone to miss at that range, after all.

"Civorra? Not so careless with the coordinates next time, do you understand me?"

"Yes lord. Of course. I'm terribly sorry. It won't happen again."

"Good. Now grab a mop and broom. We'll go conquer the planet after you clean up your mess."   

FINAL DAY (Monday Mar 21):

Prompt #1: Let's begin with the end! Your character returns after a long journey. Write what they're thinking and feeling at the very end of the story.

Prompt #2: Your character is trying to keep a secret from another character that may or may not already suspect the truth. Write their interaction.

Prompt #3: Write a scene involving something funny that became tragic in hindsight, or vice versa - something tragic that became funny in hindsight.

Prompt #4: Your character is presented with a sadistic choice between two terrible options. What do they do?

Prompt #5: Write a confrontation between a hero and a villain.

Prompt #6: Write a confession or a revelation for one of your characters.

Prompt #7: Your character is a time traveler who can visit any time in the past or future... what time do they travel to? What changes if any do they make, if any? If they don't make any changes, why not?

Prompt #8: Write your character having what they would consider a perfect day, right before everything goes to hell in a handbasket.

Prompt #9: Pick a favorite character. Got one? Okay, now kill them.

Prompt #10: Write a situation where the characters in your story are at least semi-aware that they are characters in a story.

Prompt #11: Write a Tomato in the Mirror moment.

Prompt #12: What if the heroes failed, and the villain succeeded? Write what would happen following a villainous victory, to either the characters or to the world around them.

Prompt #13: Write something that combines two different genres. Examples: A UFO crashing on Middle-Earth, The Slender Man in a romantic comedy, or cowboys in outer space.

Pick as many prompts from the previous days as you want. Combine them into ONE entry. List which prompts you used, because EVERY PROMPT YOU MANAGE TO INCLUDE WILL GIVE YOU 2 ADDITIONAL POINTS.

Have fun. You have 24 hours from the moment I post this.

(Prompt 5, Prompt 6, Prompt 10, Prompt 9, Prompt 12, Prompt 1 in that order)

"Die!" Garrak screamed, launching dark tendrils towards him. Normally, he would be able to defeat anyone as the Watcher of War, but this being had absorbed the powers of the only being stronger than the Watchers... the Arbiter himself. Bronos in response launched a wave of green energy from Soulstealer to destroy the tendrils. The massive wave of energy eradicated them on touch, buy Bronos knew that these tendrils were probably Garrak's weakest attack, it's next attacks would be most likely overwhelmingly powerful.

Before either of the two launched another attack, a purple portal appeared, from it emerged a being clad in black plate armor, in it's hands, he had a black sword, engraved with many ancient carvings on it. A sigh of relief came from Bronos, this was Midnight the Eternal who had just emerged. A being that easily equaled, if not surpassed the power of the Watchers and maybe it would surpass the energy of this fiend, maybe together, the two would defeat him and restore the Arbiter and maintain the balance as they already had until now.

Garrak screeched as he saw Midnight emerging from the portal. If it knew that the combined power of the two was too much, it certainly wasn't showing it. Reality started to bend around the being, but alas, before he could go anything, Midnight had already gotten right in front of Garrak and with a swift slash, he decapitated the abomination that was once a proud warrior. It's body fell down with a thud and it's body started to turn to the white energy that formed the Arbiter. "Thank the heavens you arrived in time, that thing was leagues ahead of me in power levels, but now we can restore the balance of things." Bronos said with a relieved sigh.

Midnight only briefly stared at Bronos, before stabbing the mass of energy, absorbing the powers that had once belonged to the Arbiter himself in his sword and to an extension in himself. "What are you doing?!" Bronos asks shocked, preparing to strike with Soulstealer, but still waiting for Midnight to explain himself.

"Truth be told... my friend, I've had enough of this meaningless existence, I've reached my absolute height in energy and I've seen beyond the four walls of our dimension and what I've seen makes all of this... all that we do meaningless, we have no choice in what we do, we are only being directed around by beings who can create a universe with only a few words, who can dictate what we do with simply words." he explained, his face ending up to be expressionless as usual.

Bronos was shocked and confused at all this and was only able to speak. "You're wrong..." he spoke in shock, gripping Soulstealer. ready to strike, yet something stopped him from it and waited for Midnight to speak.

"Wrong, am I?" he asked and sighed. "Think back, on all your journeys, on all the obstacles you and your fellow Watchers have passed to become Watchers. You've defeated impossible odds, you've defeated a dragon with the power of a sword capable of rending the planet with only a slash, you've defeated all the princes of Oblivion and had the gods turn you to Watchers, you have even killed one of the Watchers that was stronger than the rest combined..." he spoke, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "You've saved the universe so many times that I've lost count, just so that a story would look good, you have lost relatives and friends, so that the story would be all the more tragic." he explains.

Bronos was taken aback by all this. How could his life have been all dictated by a being with infinite power, he lost friends and family, he gained impossible amounts of power and yet he never realized that he was being a puppet to someone who make him not exist with just the press of a few buttons. "Even now, he dictates your actions, your emotions, it was him who prevented you from attacking me, from preventing me to absorb all this power." Midnight said and smiled. "The other beings of this power might not want me to be self-aware, but one of the beings, the being named Claw2k11, as odd a name as that is, wishes for me to see all of what this world has allowed me to destroy the universe that he and so many beings have created so that I may have a mind of my own, so that I may see how his world is..."

With that he takes a deep breath and speaks. "I have already claimed the lives of Kreia, Garim, Jyg, Id while you were busy fighting this thing, I have claimed their powers and I will claim yours and the power of this entire universe if I am to be able to fully break the fourth wall and reach into the universe of our creators." And with that, Midnight vanished and reappeared in front of Bronos, however, he couldn't even react before Midnight had stabbed him in the chest with his sword. "Know that your death will serve me well." he whispered to Bronos, who dropped Soulstealer on the floor.

His massive amounts of energy were absorbed by Midnight, killing the proud orc who had fought against impossible odds until now and had overcome them no matter the difficulty, but now, he tried to fight against creation itself, against the power of true fate and had died, his energy absorbed by someone whom he thought to be a good friend. "My friend, you can consider me the villain, in that hub of non-creation, it will make me feel better if you do." he spoke as the last off Bronos' energy was absorbed and while no true response came from Bronos, Midnight could feel the hate that Bronos and the other Watchers harbored for him. "I am the villain as how I was supposed be..."

And with that, he claimed the lives of all those he considered once friends, and those who had considered him friends, he absorbed the lives of all his servants, of all hi...

"I know this necessary for your grand plan diety, but please, do try to make this less painful than it already is." Midnight spoke to seemingly nobody. Midnight just sighed and spoke. "Please, I know he was your favorite creation, but please, do get on with this." Midnight spoke and pointed his sword towards the sky and simply awaited.

If he was my favorite character, then I would've let him claim all this power not you, Midnight. "Very well then, let me claim the power necessary for me to ascend to your level of power, my creator." Midnight spoke to the creator. "Let me come by your side."

... fine. As Midnight had his sword in the air, his sword, Darkstalker, had begun to absorb the fabric of the world itself, it had started to absorb the lifeblood of that infinite universe, of that universe that he had called home for all these trillion upon trillion of years of his existence. All the memories began to flash in his mind, when he was born, when learned to love for the first time, when his love passed away, when he first started his life as a necromancer in an attempt to revive his love, when he destroyed his home pla... "I said to try and make this as painless as possible, creator, not as painful as possibe." Midnight spoke, interrupting the creator. If you insist, I will get to the end of it... when he first met the Watchers before they were Watchers, when he watched them ascend, when he watched them save the universe so many times and lastly... when he killed them all one by one and absorbed them to reach this zenith of power... he was now powerful as his creator... but at the cost of the erasure of the entire universe he had been part of.

(Midnight): Finally, I am now no longer a puppet, my actions are no longer dictated by my creator... but where is my body?

Your body is gone, it's the price you have to pay to earn the powers you currently have, but now know that you can recreate the universe you have just destroyed without any of them remembering anything, you can recreate with yourself there yet again to be their friend, you, my first creation can now do whatever you so desire.

(Midnight): Then so I will do...

WIP

(Prompts included so far. #1, #2, #5, #4, #8, #10, #6, #7, #13 (Magic/sci-fi). 4 more prompts to go, 3 already planned.)

“As you killed your father, I have killed you,” a boy murmured, peering into the casket with his father enclosed within. A mask of pure fury was permanently etched on the dead man’s face, contrasting sharply to the hands laid delicately over his chest. He felt sorrow and regret for his recently widowed mother. It must be hard, finding out the person you love the most is dead, even if he did beat you. It almost made him wish he hadn’t done it.

He quickly brushed the thought aside, and reasoned that the feeling was not sorrow or regret, but instead self-interest. If she were to become depressed, then it would mean he’d have to do more work to keep the house going and less time for his schemes. And if he didn’t, then he could be placed in some sort of foster care system, and be unable to work on any of his schemes at all.

It had taken quite a bit of doing, but it was merely a test of patience rather than intellect - it was already well known that he had an IQ that surpassed what was estimated of Einstein’s. There was nothing that he could find that would test his intellect anymore, and the world was becoming quite insipid because of it. He’d inherited his father’s business, a business that was residing mostly in the black markets and had sticky little tendrils in every corner of the world.

In his mind, today was the day to be frollicking upon the clouds - a billionaire overnight, since technically, when his father was alive, none of it was his. Too bad it couldn’t have been made public how rich the Hallowly family was, and were instead stuck in the shadows in fear of their underground doings being discovered.

But now that was changed, and now he could find something that could really give him a challenge.

He decided for a cliche - taking over the world. Shouldn’t be too terribly hard with the tendrils everywhere. The hard part would be going public, and keeping his reign. Adding another twist for himself, he decided that he would do it while keeping every promise he made. Of course, that could easily be avoided by not making promises in the first place, but it was something to think about. Try and figure out why people value honesty so highly.

Hmm… yes. Go along with your little schemes. It’ll be fun manipulating you. Villains almost never win.

The boy frowned and held a hand to his head. It was quite vexing when The Voice spoke - it always left a little aching that made it hard to think for a while.

“Jonah, are you alright? I know the loss of your father must be hard. He was a great man,” a girl said behind him, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Great man? Ha! How could a wife-beater tyrant and underground king who liked to experiment be described as ‘great’? Although the experiments weren’t all bad, he supposed. It was what had brought his superior intellect along and his physical enhancements. He was stronger, faster, sturdier, even while still looking like a lanky young teen.

“Yes, Mina. Whoever poisoned him with such a small dose of belladonna, only barely enough to be lethal, and then hidden him away must have been cruel. Cruel to draw out his suffering so long.” He covered his mouth, as though attempting to hold back a sob, when really he was hiding a grin that had involuntarily spread across his face.

Jonah gasped as his shirt tried to strangle him for a moment, his feet leaving the ground, and suddenly he was flying over the casket with the ground racing up to meet his face. His arms swung out in front of him to stop the confrontation. Pain laced through his back, searing hot. Mina screamed, and he could hear her pounding footsteps and she ran away. Other screams joined, and the single set of footsteps turned into a stamped.

“I knew you’d be here. Couldn’t believe your old man was really dead until you saw for yourself. Bet you’re all torn up inside, having lost your partner in crime,” a woman snarled from behind him.

Panting, every breath sending a twinge of pain through his chest, he managed to ask, “Who are you?”

“You ruined my life, slaughtered the few friends I had, my only family member, and you don’t even remember me?” she screeched, “I’m that first girl you and your father ‘fixed’. I’m the girl who comes up on the news daily for helping the people you take advantage of and condem! And I’m the woman who’ll make sure that you can’t ever do anything like that again!”

In reality, he already knew exactly who she was and what she could do. Anger made someone predictable though. Just like he knew she’d strike at the end of her rant, to make her point, and where she would strike to make her point most effectively. So he merely rolled over right before she lashed out, and then grabbed her right wrist with his right hand when it struck the ground where the back of his neck had been.

Just as predictably, she tried to yank her wrist out of his grasp, and he also pulled, in such a way it brought him to his feet. His right hand shot out to grab her other wrist, where he knew it would try to strike and take advantage of an opening he left. He stepped on her right foot, with his right anchoring it to the ground, and pushed. As she worked at trying not to fall over, he brought his left knee up, hitting her between the legs, and stepped back as she leaned forward. It didn’t have as powerful of an effect as it would have had on a guy, but it was enough. He brought up his knee again, catching her in the forehead, simultaneously letting go of a wrist and bringing his elbow down on the back of her head.

And then he saw the gun of someone who had been standing behind the woman as they fought, having not noticed it before in the heat of the battle. Before he could react, the trigger was pulled and he staggered backwards, clutching his chest. Was it him who was spinning, or the world? It was hard to tell, before he fell onto his back and experienced a white-hot agony from it before everything went black.

No, sorry, you ain’t dead yet. Couldn’t allow that to happen before the big plot twist. Perhaps I can tug at some of those heart-strings in that heartless chest of yours.

Head pounding like a jackhammer, he blearily regained consciousness. Trying to sit up, he found himself severely restricted - chains at his wrists, ankles, and torso, all leading to the wall behind him. He marveled at just how quickly the day had turned from a day to frolic upon clouds to feeling like he should be at home, in the toilet room for a few hours puking his guts up.

Finally, he was able to clear his eyesight enough to look around, and bit back a yell as he saw his father and his mother, side by side, both hooked up to crazy machines and their eyes closed.

A man entered the room, grinning. “I’ve been told no one has been able to outsmart you, or find anything that resembles a heart. You can call me Mr. No One. I’ve got half the challenge done, and now, for the other half. So I’m gonna give you a choice, and then I’ll let you go.”

The places a red button on the ground in front of Jonah, then retreats to a nearby chair.

“Your choice. They both live, or they both die. I’ve made some... upgrades to your father. He’ll be immune to poison, and anything short of severing his head won’t kill him. And he’ll fully remember your betrayal. You won’t be able to touch him. So, what’ll it be? Kill mommy dearest to get rid of your father, or unleash the monster that’ll ruin all your schemes and playthings so mommy doesn’t have to die.”

Jonah’s throat clogged up, even though his answer was already decided. His body was betraying him, wouldn’t let him speak.

“Five seconds. Then I’ll just kill you instead.”

Jonah opened his mouth, but no sound would come out.

“Four.”

He looked around, desperately trying to find some way out of the mess.

“Three.”

Futility, he pulled against his chains.

“Two.”

His throat raw, and voice hoarse, he tried to speak. “Kill them.”

The man laughed delightfully. “I won’t be the one killing them. You will,” he said, and pointed at the button at Jonah’s feet.

Jonah pressed it.

Swifter than he could see, it was done, and their heads hit the ground with a sickening sound, rolling to a stop facing him.

The glint of the gun came again, and he didn’t even try to find a way to avoid it. He looked down at his chest as the trigger was pulled, and saw a red feathered dart embedded there.

When he woke, it wasn’t in his own bed. There were other boys, in a bed above him, and all throughout the room. He was an orphan now, they must have transported him here while he slept. Quickly, he got out of bed, and made his way over to the window. It was covered with a thin wire mesh. Checking the door, he found it was locked.

One of the other boys woke, and rubbed his eyes. “What’re ya doin’?” he mumbled, “It’s way past time for lights out. Noob. Get back in bed.”

Jonah ignored him, and looked around for anything he could use to either break through the mesh or pick the lock on the door.

“Oiy! I asked, what are you doing? You’ll get in trouble!”

Someone pounded on the door. “Quiet in there!” More boys were waking up now.

Jonah pounded on the door right back. “Let me out of here!”

“No. Now get in bed, before you wake the entire building. You’re not allowed out after lights out. I'll forgive you this once, since it's your first night, but you must follow the rules!”

“Do you know what I did that left me an orphan? I killed my parents. I killed my father twice. The people who I grew up with, who raised me. What do you think I’d do to boys I’ve never met before if I’m forced to stay in here? I’ve orchestrated kidnappings, blackmail, mass theft, even murder to progress the family fortune, even though I’m merely thirteen years old.”

“Nice imagination you got there, kid. Now just go to bed.”

In response, Jonah grabbed a kid from a nearby bed that was just sitting up, ignored his yells and protests, and put him in a chokehold. The boys panicked, yelling and running to the other side of the room, and the one in his arms frozen in fear.

Slamming open, the door bounced on the wall as a man charged in. “Let go of him!”

Jonah complied, running out the door quicker than the man could react to, down the hall, and out the front door. Taking merely a moment to gather his bearings by glancing up at the stars, he ran towards where he believed his house to be.

Once home a few hours, a couple stolen cars, and a large handful of police tricked later, he managed to get to his father’s rooms, and searched hard for something he had seen a while ago that had perked his interest but had been discarded as merely fantasy. Timetravel.

After having found what he came for, and gathering the necessary ingredients, he cleared out the living room and drew on the floor all the while feeling like an immense idiot. Magic was such a foolish notion in the current era. Magic was merely science that couldn’t be explained yet, but there was no possible way for science to explain how drawing on the floor, tossing together some herbs, and chanting some words can achieve time travel. It was worth a try anyway - if his step-father never met his mother, then there’d be no possible way for him to be in his current situation.

So he set up the spell, sat in the middle of the floor, and chanted it with his eyes tightly closed as if that would help it work. Frozen fingers crawled their way through his body, chilling him to the bone, making it impossible to breathe or even think for what felt like forever. A hot flash left him sprawled out on the floor, sweating heavily. When he opened his eyes, he saw that by the light coming through the window, it was midday, and there was no furniture at all in the room.

It worked.

He went outside and looked around, spotting a jogger going by.

“Hey, miss? What day of the month is it?”

“January third.”

“Right, so it’s the year two-thousand fourteen, right?”

She looked at the boy funny. “You’re not drunk, are you? Of course it is.” she said, and hurried away.

So it was true - he’d gone back to the exact date he’d wanted to. Three years, two months, and eighteen days ago. Five months before they met - a little off target, but it just meant more time to plan. He remembered where they used to live, before his mom found his step father, and he decided that’d be the best place to start.

It didn’t take him long to get there, though when he did, he was famished. He knew he’d be at school at this time, and his mother at work, so he remembered back where the spare key was hidden and used it to get inside, and raided the fridge. Afterwards, made his way up to his room. Stopping short of going in, he found that the door down the hall that he remembered always being locked was beckoning to him. Going up to that door, he tried the door already knowing it wouldn’t open...except it did. There wasn’t even a lock on the door.

Stunned, he looked inside, and just about passed out at what he saw. A robotic version of him was just sitting there, staring at nothing. It looked nearly complete - the skin smooth and flawless, the hair so realistic, everything about it looked just like Jonah did, except for the chest, which still had a gaping hole in it where so many wires connected it was hard to see anything besides a hint of a metallic bone structure. It looked like his mother was building him a twin. 

Prompts 2, 3, 4, 5, 6,10, 12, and 13. Prepare yourself, crap incoming!

It was terrible. The Sith Lord , Jar, defeated the Jedi Warrior Quiller. Now, the world is taken over by the Imperial Jars and now all hope is lost. Complete slavery has begun and now it's all over. The one thing this world needs is a hero. And luckily, one has arisen.

The once peaceful town of Elksville burdens, being whipped and attacked while building a statue of the Great One, the Jar. But suddenly, shots ring out. This is very unusual, as bullets aren't used in this futuristic time. Their hero must be one old guy. They drop their tools and bricks. Suddenly, their new hero appears. A.....a......tomato!? 

"Hello people. I am your savior! I will defeat the almighty Jar!" The tomato cries.

The townspeople just look. And laugh. The thing....it's something out of a comedy! It stands as tall as a human and owns a pair of legs and arms. What a joke!, they think.

"I am serious. Oh well, you guys don't need me. Plus, my work isn't done. I must get my friends out of jail, and then assault the Sith Lord, Jar! Plus, it's not my fault I'm in a made-up story for a contest!" The tomato walks away defiantly.

The people then notice they didn't get out of their shackles.

A female pickle sits in an office chair, sharpening her nails. The door opens and the tomato walks through.

"I need help defeating Lord Jar. You in?" The tomato asks hopefully.

The pickle walks out of her chair calmly. "Hell 'ya! Those darn imperials cost me everything!"

The pickle and tomato stand in a corridor of the imperial prison. They must break out their friend, Cheese Puff. They open the jail cell and they reunite. 

"I knew you guys would come for me!" They hug and release all of the other prisoners. 

The alarm turns off and the pickle says, "Let's get out of here!" 

Luckily they escape, and with their new prisoner army they assault Jar's castle. The Jar Troopers stand, weapons ready. The odd assortment of fruits, vegetables, and meats wait in unison. Shots soon ring out and all hell breaks loose. Bodies fly everywhere, and blood and ketchup spray over the battlefield. The heroes, with a platoon of broccoli, breach the base and assault the main chamber. A squad of Jar Troopers blast them with a heavy plasma cannon, but the Tomato brings out a Fruit Saber, and deflects the blasts. Soon enough, Jar walks down from his throne. 

"So, you have come to fight me? Like your father, the Quiller! I stayed him like I will slay you!" Lord Jar brings out a fine-crafted Jar Saber, igniting it. He force pushes the pickle and cheese puff over the edge. They grab it, holding on for dear life. Meanwhile, the platoon of broccoli engage Lord Jar. 

"Help!" They cry for help while hanging off the cliff. Tomato must make a choice! The cheese puff, or pickle?

"Get the pickle! You don't need me!" 

"No, get the cheese puff. I'm of no help!" 

Tomato suddenly feels a voice in his head. Use the force, Tomato.

"Father! Father! Is that you?" Tomato understands. His father, the Quiller, was the most powerful Jedi alive. Tomato can do this. Igniting the power of the force, he pulls Cheese Puff to safety. 

"Well well well. Look who got his powers? Too late, tomato!" Lord Jar slices the tomato, spewing ketchup everywhere.

"I am more powerful than you demon. I am tomato!" The Tomato rushes forward, but Lord Jar pushes him back.

"You don't realize it. Join me, and together we will control the world together!"

"Never. The moment I turn on my friends and family is the moment I die!" Tomato slices Jar's head right off, blood going everywhere.

"You did it!" Cheese Puff hugs him.

But suddenly, Jar's helmet comes off. The...the Quiller!

"Son, you have saved me. I was subdued by the dark side, and became one of the Jar. Thank you. I love you." 

"Nooooooo!" Tomato comes to his fathers side, crying. From that day he swore to protect the Galaxy from the evils of the dark side. Forever and on. 

In memory of:

Lord Jar
Quiller
Pickle
Jar Troopers 1, 4, 5, 546, 391, and 4520.
Broccoli Sergeant
Broccoli Trooper 3, 736, and 027.

How the prompts worked:

2. Jar is really Quiller.
3. The sad situation becomes funny when the tomato appears out of a sudden.
4. He must choose between Pickle and Cheese Puff.
5. Tomato fights Lord Jar.
6. Lord Jar confesses he is actually Tomato's father turned evil.9. Pickle falls and dies.
   10. Tomato admits he is in a story.
12. The world is corrupt and controlled by Lord Jar after "killing" Quiller.
   13. It's a combination of sci-fi (lightsabers, lasers, plasma, and future stuff) and comedy(the food soldiers).

(... This is one of the worst things I've written in recent history and I blame you, Quills. But, all thirteen prompts, here we go!)

The Masked Dark Lord had just returned to his combination spaceship and palace--which was hovering over the medieval capital city and its many, many dirty peasants who all strangely looked exactly alike--after a long journey across the globe, slaughtering the innocent and subduing his enemies.

Ah, the famed, spikey-haired hero of the near-south-east and his mysterious black-winged companion had been defeated, at last. He'd won! His black, shriveled heart was full of evil, evil joy.

Today was going marvelously. He had just taken an evil nap and woke up to a steaming cup of evil tea sitting on his evil nightstand beside his evil bed in his evil room. He got up to take a dastardly bubble bath (because not everything can be pure evil, but most things!) Suddenly, his adviser ran in and interrupted--so the dark lord, of course, shot him for the intrusion and resumed his bath. "I've told them a thousand times, never to interrupt my baths," he grumbled to his rubber duck. "Stupid minions, all look the same. Not special like me."

Afterwards, as he was toweling off, another adviser ran in and he shot him, too, because toweling off was equally important and he was still having quality time with his ducky. Once he was done, dressed, and stepped out into his grand hall way to greet his evil royal mother, a third adviser ran up to him. The dark lord realized that his laser gun was out of charge and he didn't have any bolts handy for his crossbow, so he allowed the man to speak.

"My lord! Some of the peasants have uncovered what appears to be a time machine, it crash-landed in the middle of the town square. They're currently beating it with large sticks for fear it's some sort of metal god that has come to destroy them all. Should we kill them and bring the machine to you?"

"Yes, yes. Very good," the masked dark lord waved his adviser away. "Actually, you might as well just kill all of them for good measure, I'm getting rather bored of seeing their same-looking faces every time I look outside."

The evil, royal mother of the dark lord protested. "Son, as much as I appreciate your creative expressions of evil, it would probably be better to leave the peasants mostly alive, for ... ah ... reasons."

"But mother, why? There's nothing special about them. They all look alike and act the same, day in and day out! That's why I deserve to rule over them! Because I'm special! Why, even you do the same things every day..." He peered at her skeptically from behind his mask.

His mother was about to speak when he suddenly remembered that he hadn't yet had his vile supper. He blinked when he found himself already there, eating and listening to his scientist's explanation about the time machine. 'Huh. Must've zoned out ... right?'

When the explanation and his meal was finished, he clapped his hands. "Very well, prepare the machine. I wish to see the glorious future of my empire. Now that all my foes have been defeated, I want to know what will become of our utopia!"

The masked dark lord stepped into the machine, going forward into the future ten years, and immediately heard a familiar voice. "Ah HAH! You may have come this far, heroes, but you will never defeat me!"

'But that's... that's the same speech I gave just the other day... why is it happening in my palace, in the future?' He stepped out to see himself locked in a desperate battle for the fate of the world with an eerily familiar spikey-haired hero and a mysterious black-winged man.

"Now, choose!" His future self, who looked exactly like his current self despite allegedly being many years older, said with a smirk as he revealed what was behind a nearby curtain--a cage with a generic looking hot girl. "Will you hand over the orb of eternal power, securing my rule ... or shall I pull this conveniently placed lever and drop your only love into boiling lava?!"

"Neither! Because I..." The hero shouted dramatically "WILL USE A CHEAT CODE! Ha ha!"

The black winged man face-palmed.

"A what?" Both the past and present masked dark lord asked, confused. The hero stood still for a moment, and suddenly he had the girl on one arm and he had the orb in his opposite hand. "How... how did you do that?"

The hero shrugged. "Oh, you know, game-shark. It's been a long time since I've played this game, didn't feel like going back and getting the four keys to unlock the scrolls of Hiyako to get the teleportation spell and lava shield."

"Game...?" The masked dark lord of the future echoed, baffled. "What nonsense is this? No matter, I shall use my trapdoor and the bomb below to defeat--"

"Nope!" The hero chirped. "Just used another cheat code. The trap door's locked and bomb is gone. And now, for my ultimate attack. Code 605382049XB! Existential crisis! Makes all nearby villains realize the truth of their destiny...!" As victory music began to play, the dark lord's mask disappeared.

"No, the mask that mommy made for me to hide my beautiful, special face!"

The hero looked puzzled. "Special? What the hell are you talking about? You have the same face sprite as every single NPC in this entire game. The developers were lazy, so you're all copies of each other, just with different clothes."  

"W-what...? No, it can't be!" Both the past and the present dark lords ran to their closest reflective surfaces to examine their faces and realized that, indeed, there was nothing to separate them from the rest of the mindless drones of their world. He understood now, he was trapped in an endless loop. No matter how many times he fought the hero, even if he won, he was doomed to repeat this routine over and over.  

As the past dark lord returned to his own time, he knew that his future was the same as his past, the same as his present, and it would always be so. He staggered out of the palace to see the dead bodies of the villagers, a sea of his own face--just utterly lifeless and covered in blood.  

As the villagers suddenly began to re-spawn around him, an unfamiliar, upbeat melody began to play in the background and the dark lord mumbled to himself in a soft tone, "I think I'm a clone now..."

The End

---

Explanation of all prompts used:

Prompt #1: A long journey to kill his opponents and he returned happy, with lots of happy, evil thoughts of evil.
Prompt #2: The queen tried to hide her son's face from him so he'd think he's special.
Prompt #3: "I think I'm a clone now" is a Weird Al song. >_> It's funny, dammit--and the tragedy would either be the slaughter of the villagers or the dark lord's existential crisis.
Prompt #4: Fail to protect the world or let your girlfriend die, and the hero chose to cheat.
Prompt #5: The spikey-haired hero confronted the masked dark lord.
Prompt #6: The dark lord had the revelation that he was not special. And was in a game.
Prompt #7: The dark lord traveled to the future, did not make any changes because it's futile.
Prompt #8: Well, the dark lord's day WAS going well for him...
Prompt #9: Pretty sure you know who the black-winged companion is. He, same as the protagonist, lost at the beginning and was killed.  
Prompt #10: The hero knows, the 'winged' guide (tutorial character and companion for this game) is aware, and the dark lord knows now.  
Prompt #11: The Masked Dark Lord thought only his servants were mindless lookalikes, caught in an endless loop of pointlessness--but his loop is arguably worse.
Prompt #12: The Masked Dark Lord did manage to kill the heroes of the game at the end of his journey, so he won... it's just that the world reset in the future so he'd eventually lose.  
Prompt #13: I gave you a spaceship and a time machine on a medieval, magical fantasy version of earth.

"NO! YOU CAN'T FIGHT THEM, YOU JUST CAN'T!" Alexia screamed, tears in her eyes. "YOU'LL DIE IF YOU FIGHT THEM!"

David stopped walking away, and turned to his young companion.

"I'm not gonna die, Alexia." David said, taking a knee to match Alexia's eye level. "And besides, if we don't stop Kalypso, everybody's gonna be in trouble. And you and I both know that I'm the only one who can stop them."

He puts a hand on the 7 year old's shoulder.

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine." He says, wiping away her tears.

Alexia sniffles. "Promise?" She asks, still holding back rivers.

"I promise." David replies. They hug tightly, for the last time. David gets up, waves a final goodbye to Alexia, and walks off, knowing that he wouldn't be coming back, knowingly breaking his promise.

He was going to end this where it started.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

OmniCorp HQ, Neocity.

The place where it all began.

Where David's time machine spat him out, 1500 years into the future.

This is where it would all end, as David was already wounded in the fight against Kalypso.

"It's a beautiful day outside...." David says at a gap between the fighting, with labored breaths. "The sun is shining... birds are singing..." He takes a step forward. "On days like these, people like you..."

He raises his SoulSword.

"SHOULD BE BURNING IN HELL."

He Phaseshifts to Kalypso and engages in close-quarters with him, both of them moving faster than humanly possible. Neither of them are gaining any ground, but it didn't matter. David was still wounded from a lucky shot earlier in the fight, and is always getting weaker. His Majick can only pull him so far.

Suddenly, they both lock swords. Kalypso lowers their bottom visor to speak.

"It didn't have to be this way, David!" She said. "You were the one who left us!"

David pushed harder. "I couldn't stay after what I saw! You should've come with me!"

Kalypso evened out the swords. "I couldn't just leave OmniCorp! Even after you killed my father, I still couldn't leave! I had ENDLESS resources! You can't just give that up!"

"Don't give me that! You were my friend! I trusted you, and you stabbed me in the-"

David caught Kalypso motioning fast hand movements out of the corner of his eye. He immediately used the "Turtle" spell, as he liked to call it. No sooner than he cast it, Kalypso used a Hyper Blast. The force sent David out the Plate-glass window. Looks like this fight was going upstairs.

David cast Light Foot, and Kalypso did the same as she jumped out the window after David. They were running up the 70° slope of the building, jumping and clashing with each other, until they finally hit the roof. David was very fatigued, his Majick quickly burning up to keep him in the fight. Kalypso was also tired, so she started stalling so that they could both take a break.

"You didn't have to leave, David. You could've stayed. With OmniCorp. With me."

"... No, Kaylee... after I saw the test subjects... nobody in their right mind would've stayed." David replies, panting very heavily. It wasn't long now.

"David... I don't want to have to fight you... I don't want you to die..."

"Bullshit..." David calls. "I trusted you to come with us. I gave you the location of the base. And you sent a kill squad."

"I didn't want you to get hurt..." Kaylee replies, voice wavering.

"BULLSHIT! You don't care! Not about the Exceptionals! Not about human lives! Not about me!" David shouts in retaliation.

Kaylee snaps.

"GOD DAMN IT, DAVID, I LOVE YOU!" She shouts. "Ever since you left that portal, I knew you were special. After the accident, I knew you were the one." She admits.

Kalypso removes her helmet to reveal a young woman with windswept blonde hair and misty jade eyes. "Please..." she says. "Don't make me do this."

"... Oh, Kaylee... why did you have to put me in this situation...." David says, followed by a grunt of pain. The time has come. David falls to one knee, clutching his now bleeding abdomen. His SoulSword fades back into oblivion.

"You can't fight anymore, David. You're dying." Kaylee says. "You have two options, as of now."

David listens. It's about all he can do right now.

"You could come back to me." Kaylee says. "We could be together. You, me, and OmniCorp. I'm the CEO. We could do amazing things together." She says as she slowly inches forward.

"But... you would kill the Exceptionals... you need to..." David says, barely holding on.

"That's true. But, that's a constant." She replies. "Or... you die. I could kill you right now. I can't bear to see you in pain like this."

David thinks for a moment: She's right. I'm going to die here if I don't accept her offer... but I can't let her kill the Exceptionals...

"OmniCorp will kill the Exceptionals either way, David. It just depends if you want to live long enough to see it." Kaylee says, without a hint of remorse. "So... what will it be, my love?"

David finishes the hand movements.

"I choose SPIRIT JAVELIN!" He shouts as he throws the ethereal spear at Kaylee.

It shatters against the Kalypso armor, barely doing any damage.

"Oh, David..." Kalypso says as she returns the helmet to her head. "Maybe you need a reminder?"

Kalypso uses Quake Hammer on the paralyzed David, sending him back to the ground floor. David is barely conscious as Kalypso lands on his wound. He screams out in pain.

"What do you think this is, David? Some sort of third-rate story written for a story contest?" She says as she twists the metal ankle in David's abdomen. "Y'know, It's funny. If you never killed my collegues and came back, I wouldn't have to kill you."

David is in extreme amounts of pain, and then relief as the heel eases up.

"I'm feeling generous today. I'll pretend that the whole spirit javelin slash brutal beatdown thing didn't happen. Now..." Kaylee leans close as the helmet reveals her whole face. "What will it be, my love?"

David slowly brings his hands to his shirt.

"Option 3: Heroic Sacrifice." He says as he rips open his shirt, revealing dozens of runes carved into his body.

"What?!" Kalypso exclaims as she sees the runes, bringing her visor back down to scan them. She hears a beeping noise and looks to find a previously invisible rune pulsing with light to the sound of the beeps, like the countless hundreds above and around it.

"It was all a trap." David says weakly. "Surpriiiise!"

"You bastard!" Kalypso says as she tries to use the armor to jet away, but David uses the last of his Majick to Energy Sap the power from the armor, leaving Kaylee in a metal coffin. She collapses onto David, who can't even feel the pain anymore.

"Hey..." David whispers to Kaylee, now paralyzed and helpless like him. "I love you too, Kaylee."

The OmniCorp building explodes in a massive inferno.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Ever since the explosion at the HQ, OmniCorp has been in a frenzy, constant squabbles over power until a new CEO had been picked. All this distraction helped the Exceptionals rebuild. Soon,there was going to be a war. Exceptionals versus OmniCorp. Majick users versus the scientifically enhanced. Who would win? Nobody to say. But currently, OmniCorp had the public, and that's all that mattered. Anti-Exceptional propaganda, civilain militia, and other problems hinder the Exceptionals. OmniCorp may have won in that regard, but the Exceptionals will win the war.

Alexia has been waiting 11 years for this, and it was finally here.

Revenge.

Retribution.

Redemption.

For David.

End

Edit: Whoops, forgot to explain the prompts! Please bear with me.

Yup, I did all the prompts. I'm a big boy.

#1: David returns to OmniCorp HQ, his first home in this future world.

#2: David lied to Alexia, as he was planning to blow up the HQ from the start, as he knew that he couldn't beat the Kalypso armor AND Kaylee's Majick.

#3: Kalypso thought the deaths of her comrades was funny in hindsight, as if David never killed them and came back, she wouldn't get the chance to kill him. She's clearly insane at this point.

#4: Live with Kaylee and betray the Exceptionals, or Die by Kaylee's hand and let the Exceptionals die out. Good thing for third choices, amirite?

#5: The entire second sequence.

#6: Kaylee confesses that she loved David.

#7: David was from the past, and appeared in Omnicorp HQ. He basically changed everything, to be honest. Without him, the Exceptionals and Majick would probably die out.

#8: The Undertale reference/first dialogue in the second sequence.

#9: David.

#10: Kalypso after David throws the Spirit Javelin. Pretty Meta, huh?

#11: David realizing he loved Kaylee too, no matter how much of a crazy bitch she was.

#12: The third sequence.

#13: Fantasy and Sci-Fi/Modern Adventure. Turtle Spells with healing/stablizing spells and Power Armor. I think you get it.

Cooking with Cathy

With a soft thud his head knocked on the floor. It was over, it was done. Finite. Complete. The stench of ichor, and other unnameable fluids permeated, and faded into more recognisable, but just as gore-ridden. The pallet of purple and gray saturated into the furniture turned to more sepia tones, of red and brown. The enormity and truth dawned. This .... this entire day, wasn't what it seemed. Even the familiar scent of spaghetti was tinged with an awful realisation. That what he'd done here, had been wrought by his own hand. That when it came to light, there would be only one conclusion drawn, that he had done this all.

Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz.

How long his phone had been clamouring for attention, he didn't know. Muscle memory lifted it from his pocket to his ear.

"Hey love. Just ringing to check in, and see when your shift ends. I've got the weekend off, and figured we could go do something out of town for a bit."

Her familiar sweet tones brought tears to his eyes. The vomitous taste of bile ran through his mouth, threatening to drown him. Swallowing it down, he forced some semblance of reason to his voice.

"I ... I love you too, my love. It is a long shift. We'll be together soon."

A pause, as if she notices something off in his tone, his words.

"Mwah. Love you too, and until then."

Click, and a clatter as the phone feel from his nerveless fingers onto the tile floor, slick with what is becoming more and more recognisably human blood and vomit, and knew, as absolutely as he had before, that there was only one monster here. And if there was one good he could form out of this day, it would be to slay that one. Fingering the nearly empty tin, he popped it open and smelt the contents. Over and above the surrounding stench, this smelt of release from the dawning comprehension and consequences.

***

Bzzrt! Bzzzrt! Bzzrt! Clonk.

The alarm silenced, the day began. Rolling out of bed, and looking at her sleeping back, he again came to that wonderful realisation - that he was a mad fool, and unbelievably lucky. The rattling shower didn't manage to wash away the goofy grin, nor the dishes piled high, forcing toast to be on the menu. Okay, the fact the peanut butter was ready to become an independant state, making it toast ala butter dimmed it a little, but merely from supernova, to smallish supernova.

Stepping out of the bus, and into his realm, the kitchen of Shard Greens. Already in full swing, he nods to his sous chef who, in true fashion, has gotten his station ready and is sorting out the prep work. Bit high strung, and flakey, but so worth the time to manage him, when he's on the ball. Running over the noticeboard, there's a large lunch for 60, some other tables booked, and the whole and sundry is busy. As it should be. Also, as is tradition, got the staff lunch ready for 11, so we're all ready for the big lunch rush ourselves.

The hours pass, as they should. But the chef can't help notice, but occasionally something is just that bit off. Some of the ingredients are, frankly, below grade and dumped in slop heap. The manager passes a strange look after the third time this happens, but keeps out of it. But it spreads. The sauce has been badly done, and is unsalvageable. A steak tray is coated in rust. An enitre 40 pack of eggs, each one is rotten, a personal pet hate.

After enough of this, the chef has a break and retreats to the staff room, to clear his head. What is with the kitchen today. Fifteen minutes later, refreshed and cleared, he pushes open the swinging doors.

They reveal Dante's Inferno.

A bubbling mass of tumours stands by the sink, carefully coating each dish in a even layer of slime. Two feathered hydras, their heads swinging wildly, pull apart a third on the chopping block and squabble over the entrails that fly forth. A pot on the stove bubbles vigorously, dints appearing in the side as if the contents are fighting to get out. A tentacle lashes out and ties the lid down, after a steaming pink thing attempts to escape.

Falling back away from the door, hands clamped over his mouth to contain the scream, he gags. One of the assistants walks past and enters, giving another glimpse into hell, and yet no scream is heard. The chef pauses, and retreats again to the staff room, shivering at all that he has seen.

Minutes pass, he sits on the couch with his head between his knees. The sous chef approaches.

"Hey chief, everything right and ready? Getting on to show time, need your magic"

The revulsion fades into relief, it was just his imagination after all.

"Just seen some strange things today, and not sure what is..." Lifting his head, he looks where the voice was coming from. It is the sous chef. On the left. The right half, and slowly taking over more, is an uncognisable gelatinous form, roughly human shaped. Now, he can see where each 'footstep' it made, burnt a patch into the carpet. The words choke away, and hold back a scream.

"Well, when you're good, we'll get going some more. Got a lot to do" A once familiar gesture, the scratching behind the ear, holds more horror then imaginable when combined with such unreality. It walks away, giving sight to an internal view of his still human organs, and some loathsome parodies on his alien side. The staff door shuts again.

Clearly, he is not mad. Clearly, there is some devilry at hand, and there is but one person who can SEE that. Steeling himself for what he will see, he returns to that once loved cacophony, but now tainted with meaty chunks as inhuman hands clutch tools and chop things that have never been seen on a plate before. It as bad as he feared, but returning to his station, and muttering the instructions into the board seems to placate the monsters, and get them away from clustering around. Now, he has only a limited time and window to do this. First, to destroy this nest of abominations with one fell swoop.

The phone rings, and what until today was presumably the kitchen assistant, detaches himself from the wall and slithers to it in answer. A foul gutteral conversation erupts, and the phone is returned to it's hook, still smoking from the touch.

"The lunch is going to have 20 more people. We are all prepared, no?"

The kitchen erupts in a grotesque chortling, and the activity becomes even more hurried. Knives sharpen and plunge into flesh, squirming things are stuffed onto beds of mushrooms and staked in place, a torrid mass of slime is crafted into the shape of an eyeball, and blinks slowly, stupidly.

So, the lunch as well. His resolve, steels. A wizardry unknownst to him before today, takes hold, and his concoctions cease being formulated for delectation, but for destruction. Combining physical trauma of glass shards, metal scraps and bone fragments, to the more delicate nature of spice combinations to create toxins, to the most mundane of choking hazards. The new recipes sing to him, begging him to place the correct ingredient in them to fulfill their part. He obliges, glowing with enthusiasm, spinning his talents into a righteous cause.

At last, he can rest. The final steps have been taken, and he can lay witness to his handiwork. Stepping outside to embrace the cold air, he exults in it all. Any moment now, the two parties will erupt, spilling their wickedness out of their stolen carcasses. Some sounds from inside, seem to state this is so. Watching from the kitchen, he can see first few quivers in the machine. As they sit, slurping the soup of agony, munch the meat containing death, one of the beasts, rippling with fat so unseemly the jewels seem embedded in flesh, falls over. The vultures swoop in, pulling their dying member into their own maws, little realising that the death contained is potent enough for two. As more and more drop, their screams echo through the air, their ichor spewing out of orifices and painting the room with ghastly colour. And, as suddenly as it started, it finishes. A feeble choke rattles through the air, as one latecomer succumbs on their own, and it is over.

The chef pauses, and admires his handiwork, and rests on the floor.

***

The realization has hit, fully formed. Flowering in his mind, driving out all possibilities but one. The cans contents promise nothing, but to drag him to the same pit he dug for all around him.

As the convulsions start, he can feel the phone buzzing through the floor. Soon, my love. I'm sorry, my love. There is no other end, my love.

The phone stops buzzing, then starts again. This time, he can't notice it.

===============

Prompt #1: Started with the final steps in his 'journey' of madness.

Prompt #2: Well yes, that he just murdered a bunch of people, and won't be coming home :D

Prompt #3: Eh. From Lovecraftian Horror, to more personal, I just murdered a bunch of people horror?

Prompt #6: Well, that he was the mad one.

Prompt #8: Any day that starts with someone you love, is a pretty perfect one :) ANd, goes without saying, one where you poison a bunch of people is *probably* not a super day.

Prompt #9: Omnomnom. Delicious Can o' death

Prompt #11: That he was the mad one.

Prompt #12: Eh. The chef was the villain, I'd say. And his scheme came to fruition, so he 'won'.

Title is a badjoke. Cathy is a shorthand nickname for Cthulhu

It got stupidly long on me and I'm only half finished, but was hella fun to write. Linked to spare us all from the Great Wall of Text.

http://chooseyourstory.com/story/too-many-prompts

*mizal starts typing filler to make her post less tiny so it doesn't just get scrolled past*

I'll be cleaning it up and completing it over the week, and I'll put it up...somewhere, in some format or another. Too big for the forum, not really a fit for the site unless I go in and tack some choices on. Eh, I'll figure something out.

words

words words

couple more words

This post is probably big enough now I think I can stop.

(all prompts)

The train came to a slow halt and let out a sigh like a winded horse. The gilded doors glided open.

For the first time in six years Garrett L’Montaigne set foot in the village of Maedenform. There was hesitation in his step as if he feared that the gentle, quiet town would shatter under the heel of such a man as he, but the ground held solidly beneath his feet. He looked around in wonder at the simple place he had called home so long ago when his eyes fell upon the woman he had yearned to see since the day he had left, the woman who had given him a reason to live, the woman who now smiled at him broadly from across the station while tears of joy ran down her face. Garrett, hands trembling, set his battered military bag onto the platform and walked towards her, first unsure then we she did not vanish before his eyes he ran with the desperation of a man who has glimpsed deliverance from the darkness. She walked toward him as well and they embraced each other as they met in the middle, holding on as if clinging to a perfect dream.

“You’re real, you’re actually real” Garrett said over and over. Abigail snuffled and laughed

“I’m sorry,” she said, “But I just can’t stop crying.” Garrett laughed as he realized that he was crying too.

Eventually the train whistle startled the couple apart. They looked at each other to see their joy reflected in one another’s eyes then held each other’s hands as they retrieved Garrett’s bag and made their way down the dirt path. The path that led home.

The house resonated with the million sounds of silence. The air stirred warmly, insects hummed outside, and the wind blew through the flowerbed and burlap curtains. You could hear the sun baking the roof tiles, but the noise grew softer as the humming of the stars took up the slack. Garrett stood in the doorway in wonder, taking it all in. He had heard too many gunshots, too many screams, too many parades as he had fought through the war that was already being called the War of Plagues. Abigail laughed.

“Aren’t you going inside?” He shook his head slightly, turned and kissed Abigail on the cheek, and entered the doorway.

The night was perfect. Abigail was safe. He was safe. He was finally, finally home.

He awoke to hear footsteps outside the front door. Abigail didn’t wake as he gently slid out of bed, pulled on a pair of pants and reached into the side pocket of his bag to pull out his revolver. The sound probably heralded nothing more than a curious group of children coming to see what a war hero looked like (the youth in quiet communities such as this had little better to do with their time), still the spirit of war still mingled with Garrett’s blood. War required caution.

Better careful than dead

The voice of his commander echoed through his mind. It still weighed on Garrett’s heart that Colonel Brown would never live to see peace time.

The footsteps grew closer until they stopped outside the door. There was a soft knock, hardly more than someone brushing their hand against the old wood. Garrett angled himself against the wall and pulled back the corner of the curtain to glimpse who would visit at a time when even the moon was sinking in the sky. A woman, maybe twenty, stood as stiff and unmoving as a statue. She was dressed like a councilwoman, with a loose shirt and skirt that hugged her hips and flared at the knees. Her hair was messily held up and the silver moonlight glinted against the blood that coated the left side of her face. Garrett was perplexed. Who was this strange young woman, and why was she at his doorstep? The girl’s head turned towards the window in a unnervingly slow manner until her eyes locked with his. He closed the curtain and hesitated before walking to the door and opening it a crack. He pointed the gun at the girl, but used the door to shield it from sight.

“Good evening, ma’am.”

“Good evening, Garrett.” Her voice was cold and flat as if all the life in it had been cut out.

“Is your head alright ma’am?” She delicately, distractedly reached up to caress the blood.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, ignoring the injury.

“I will be here tomorrow morning. I’m willing to escort you to a doctor, but-”

“You killed the wrong person.” Then Garrett remembered. She had been there when he had defeated Augustine. He opened the door stepped outside and closed it behind him. His eyes glinted coldly.

“What do you mean?” The girl blinked twice.

“Do you not recognize me? I know I look different, but I thought you might have figured it out. Oh well. It doesn’t matter.” Garrett grabbed her by the front of her shirt and prodded the gun into her ribs.

“Who are you? Why are you here?” The girl’s expression remained blank. She held out a hand. A small metal device glinted from her palm.

“I can show you. This is a time machine. You have killed the wrong person and made a bad future. This will show you the future you have made.” He dropped her and snatched the device from her hands.

“How did you get this?” Only high standing military officials or– in special cases– leaders of a government were allowed to possess time machines and only to go back rather than to go forward. Even so, a small light shone and when he held his hand close, Garrett could see the insignia of Queen Jean. There was no doubt in its authenticity.

“I waited,” She said stiffly, “I waited for a long time. Please, don’t waste time. I’m trying to help you fix what you’ve done. Go any year after 4057 and you’ll see what you need to.” Garrett glanced up at her. She had been in Augustine’s corridors, probably one of his slaves. He saw no reason why she would have emnity towards his killer.

“And I’ll be able to come back after?”

“Of course, just input the date and time you want and it will take you anytime. You may test it first if you so desire. I would appreciate if you took me with you when you go to the future though, so that I might explain.” Garrett looked at her a moment longer, wondering how she got the blood on her face.

“I believe you,” he said. He extended a hand to her, she took it, and he set and pressed the dial.

With a jerk in his stomach and a moment of darkness that had to be blinked out of his eyes, Garrett found himself ten years in the future. The girl suddenly gripped his hand quite tightly and Garrett felt something jab into his arm. He jerked his arm away. There she stood, syringe in hand the same sky that had shown ten years ago pushing against her shadowy form.

“What was that?” He yelled angrily.

“A cure. The only known cure to a disease that has killed the whole population of the earth.” Garrett first responded with disbelief, then his eyes scanned the horizon to find signs of life. A space shuttle in the sky, a city in the distance, even a fire in the home of a neighbor. It was then that he noticed how truly dark the world was.

“No. That can’t be true.” But he wasn’t so sure.

“It’s perfectly true. I have waited five years to make that antidote before coming to find you. It was the greatest trap I ever conceived. You still haven’t recognized me. I am disappointed.” The passionate words were strange coming from the emotionless face and voice of the woman. She sighed in a way that sounded like dye dispersing through water before saying.

“I am Augustine.” Garrett laughed. The girl did not. Garrett frowned.

“No, you can’t be Augustine. For one, I killed him. I buried a sword into his skull. For another Augustine was a man. Though I will admit you’ve mastered the emotionless thing.” She blinked.

“Remember when I ran. You laughed. Said I looked like a cockroach scuttling under leaves. I haven’t forgotten.” Garrett remembered that, Augustine had finally been beaten, his biological weapon destroyed by the blast of a missile. Garrett had cornered him and Augustine had run, whimpering. The comparison was an apt one, Augustine had long limbs, and as he climbed and tripped he did resemble some sort of ungainly insect. Garrett had laughed as he pursued his enemy. The man who had inspired fear in all the known world was nothing but an insect he could crush beneath his foot. Augustine still found it funny.

“I remember when Augustine ran, yes.”

“I turned a corner and ran into the girl. I had hoped to run into you, but she was less of a risk. I traded with her.” Something in the words made Garrett’s spine run cold.

“Traded?”

“Yes, I have the ability to shift consciousness between two people due to an implantation in my brain. Since we last met I have had this body put through the same procedure.”

“So you’re saying Augustine was put in the girl and-”

“The girl was in Augustine’s body when you killed it, yes.” Garrett grew cold. If this were true the implications were horrific…

“Prove it.” The girl shifted.

“We spoke in a locked room before you drew your sword. I told you not to fire the missile and that I would win even if you did. You fired it anyway. I’m still going to win. You released the virus when you fired the missile. Released it and it spread at an approximate rate of 60 kilometers per second. The world was doomed before you started celebrating its deliverance. Now, everyone is dead except for you and me. Don’t believe me? We have time to search for survivors. Though I should warn you I have not been vaccinated and I am the only one who can cure the disease. If you take up too much time I will die and there will be no way to save humanity.” Garrett slit his eyes.

“I don’t believe you.”

“As I said, search.” Garrett turned and opened the door to his home. It was empty. There were rags shoved onto the cracks in the window and the furniture and books had vanished the home was nearly empty. We must have moved. I’m sure Abigail is alright. Even so, there was something nagging in his mind. Why was his home in such shambles?

“Did you see this?” The girl called from outside. He walked out to see what she had found. She pointed unwaveringly at something on the ground. Three stones lying in a row.

“Abigail, Abigail, and Thomas. You had two children. I know. I met them,” she looked Garrett in the eye, “They were beautiful.” Garrett felt the world grow heavy. Despite his best effort he was starting to believe.

He wandered away, the girl followed in tow. They travelled throughout the night and into the morning until they reached the city. The sun wept droplets of light across the sky scrapers which surrounded the palace in the center. No flag stirred in the breeze. No horses galloped or engines roared. He went to an apartment building where the front door was dangling off of its hinge. He slowly walked in. This was a threatening quietness that sang of death and emptiness. The first door he opened, he found the petrified corpse on the couch. A nest of swallows flew away as he opened the door of the next apartment. Sunlight streamed in to touch the feet of a dead woman who clutched the body of a child who could not have been more than five. Door after door, he opened. Behind each one dwelt a new a macabre scene. His heart began to sink. Finally he stood at the end of third floor hall. His head reeled and his stomach was twisted.

“You see?” said Augustine, “Everyone is dead. And it’s because you gave the order for the missile. You thought you were saving them, but you’re the reason they’re dead.” Garrett fell to his knees. It was true. It had to be.

“Why did you show this to me, Augustine?”

“Because I want your body, with it I will have the time to cure the world. I can fix this.” Garrett looked at his enemy in horror.

“My body?” And after a moment more, “Why didn’t you just use the cure on yourself?” For the first time a trace of amusement showed on the girl’s face as Augustine said,

“Because I wanted to hurt you. The way I see it, you have two choices. We trade bodies. I live your life. Find the cure. Sleep with your wife. Have your children. Meanwhile you die alone and unrecognized in a foreign body. The second choice is that you go back to your time and live to see everyone hate you as they realize you have doomed them all. You will see your wife, your friends, everyone die. You will live out the rest of your life alone and the villain of your own story. Either way, I win. So. What will it be?” Garrett’s head spun while Augustine continued, “I would choose quickly. This body only has a week or so left to live.”

“Shut up and let me think.” Garrett swallowed. He was trapped. He was dead either way. No matter what he chose, if he didn’t give Augustine what he wanted, the world would die. Clearly other scientists had been unsuccessful in curing the disease. He looked up at Augustine who stared down impassively before saying softly,

“Would you… would you let me say goodbye to Abigail before we trade?” Augustine raised an eyebrow.

“What if I say no? What if I say I won’t trade.” Garrett’s eyes dropped and his voice shook.

“Then I’ll beg you.” Augustine smiled.

“I suppose I might consider it. Let’s get back to your home, excuse me, my home before we discuss the details.”

They appeared back on Garrett’s doorstep. An outside observer would have said they had only flickered out of existence for a second then had appeared back in their original positions as if nothing happened.

“I will wait here.” Augustine said. Garrett, pale, nodded and quietly slid into the home he had been happy to return to mere hours ago. He went to Abigail and softly kissed her awake. She opened one eye to look at him then seeing his expression sat up, her eyebrows angled with concern.

“What’s the matter honey?” Garrett hugged her tightly and started to weep heavily.

“Nothing. Nothing. I’m sorry,” he said, “But I just can’t stop crying.” She gently, bewilderedly stroked his hair until he cried himself out.

“I’m not ready to leave you,” he said.

“You don’t have to. I’m here for you now,” She said holding his hand firmly. He nodded his head.

“I’m going out for a walk. I need to clear my head.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, I just need some air. You get some sleep.”

"Honey?" he turned to see her anxious face, "You are coming back, aren't you?" He choked on the words, cleared his throat, and thickly said,

"Of course I am dear. I love you. I love you so much." He softly walked across the room.

“Are you ready now?” Augustine said when the door was closed.

“No… Yes.” Garrett said. Augustine nodded and placed his hand on Garrett’s forehead. There was a moment where Garrett would have sworn he didn’t exist at all. Then his hand dropped to his side. He felt so small, so tired. He knew he was riddled with disease and the body felt accordingly: feverish, nauseous, and pained. His old face stared back at him dispassionately and unblinking. His old face now possessed by the enemy who had ensured his life was destroyed.

Augustine slipped into the small house. Garrett could hear Abigail ask about the voices she had heard.

“It was nothing, dear. Now get some sleep. I’m sorry to have kept you up.” Garrett was startled and infuriated by the tenderness with which Augustine spoke.

Three days later Garrett lay in the city curled in an alley. He looked into the sky and cursed the life he had been given. According to the history books, Garrett L’Montaigne would have twice served as a hero before dying peacefully in his sleep. History was a lie. Each man did not fight a battle of good and evil, each man was good or evil. And the evil men always won. The only thing that ever changed was that bad men were able to rewrite the history books. With these thoughts in his mind and this fury in his heart, a nameless girl’s body and the mind of Garrett L’Montaigne died unloved and unnoticed.

Prompt #1: It started after the enemy was destroyed

Prompt #2: The end with his wife

Prompt #3: Augustine running away like a beatle meant he survived

Prompt #4: all humanity or himself

Prompt #5: Ergh, pretty much the whole thing

Prompt #6: That the enemy was in the girl’s body

Prompt #7: Goes to the future

Prompt #8: Reunited with Abigail

Prompt #9: garrett

Prompt #10: Using the definition allowed for Kiel-farren, the end part

Prompt #11: I’m the person who caused the disease moment.

Prompt #12: Whole prompt

Prompt #13: whole prompt (use swords and palaces and gilded decorations alongside having small traditional cottages, but there is also biological warfare and space travel making it a historical sci-fi)

(I'm curious how many of you realized Garrett was shirtless throughout the whole story)

Alas, if I hadn't gotten busy with work and home... congrats Mizal, Tim, and Bilbo. :D

You did great Kiel! And congrats guys.

Damn, I think Quill is making suspense. Wait for it.....

....does that mean that I wasn't entered? I mean, I got 7 of the prompts down, even if I couldn't get it completely finished. I suppose I forgot to ask to be added to the tag list, but I only jumped in on the last day so I didn't think it'd be needed.

Whoops, your total points were 14, Taco. I did add you into the lottery, but not my taglist in Excel, so I missed you when I sorted the list and just copy-pasted. A thousand apologies!

That's alright. (there was a little more that I wrote - it was all in google drive then copy/paste over, since it has the auto save feature. But, I was cut short without enough time to copy it over.)

Anyway, now I have a bit of a dilemma. What do you think? Should I finish it up just for fun, or leave it and try and find something more productive to do? (Key word; Try)

Please do! I'd love to read what you wrote.

In fact, that goes for anyone and everyone who wants to finish up a WIP or even post something for a day they missed. I certainly won't mind, since I'd be thrilled  to read even more of these great short stories, even if it won't gain them any prizes anymore :P

Well, I've got alot of proofreading to do, but I've added in a couple more prompts. (Don't think I can finish it tonight with only 15-ish minutes left before my computer shuts down.)

You did the "humanity vs humanity", didn't you?

#Rekt

#Ctrl+F

#Ctrl+Ford

Congrats, Breezy!!!

Eyyyyy gg breezyyyyyy

Lucky, hehe. (Though you did work hard to please the RNGods, well done.) Congrats, Breezy.

War does not determine who is right. Rather, it determines who is left.

Congrats once again, and even though the contest is over, you can still post what you wrote even if it won't net you any extra points (since I'm greedy and still want to read it, haha)

ABSOLUTELY. 6000 words, holy crap! Please feel free to share so we can all appreciate your hard work.

I'm not sure what the actual word limit for a post is, but doing what I did and breaking it up into separate pages as a storygame is a possibility if you run into it.

In fact I might just do that for all of mine and link them from my profile.

e: or, blog works too. Those are handy to have. :P