Hello, Alchemists and Mathematicians!
Do you really think this will work? So many before you have tried. What if this goes wrong? I just think you should be careful with this kind of stuff. And be sure to double check your work, because…
This week’s Writing Group prompt is:
Sacred Geometry
RULES AND GUIDELINES BELOW!
Make sure you scroll down and read them if you haven’t! You may not be eligible if you don’t!
Sacred geometry is the idea that there are certain shapes and designs that are directly connected to higher powers, or that certain shapes, numbers, and patterns have a power all their own.
This can be explored in many ways, like someone experimenting with alchemy for the first time and either creating something amazing and falling in love with the craft, or having it go horribly wrong and having devastating consequences. Perhaps an Elder God has discovered a shape they just really like and have decided that shape will summon them whenever drawn on a mirror, but only if it’s the perfect height and width. Maybe it’s even as simple as a parent needing to help their child with their math homework, and finding that the way math used to be taught has been changed into something they no longer understand.
But there are two sides to every coin, and with sacred objects and ideas come those who would defile such things, like someone taking a symbol that is usually associated with some benevolent being and twisting it to mean something terrible. Perhaps a powerful sorcerer has been scorned by too many, and has decided to use a dark magic that has been forbidden to enact revenge. It can even be someone trying to summon one deity, only to mess up a symbol and summon another who is far less kind.
The amount of ways this prompt can be taken is equal to the amount of symbols that can give inspiration for such a prompt. The only limit is your imagination.
So go forth now, and create something divine.
—Shawna
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Remember, this is part of our weekly Writing Group stream! Submit a little piece following the rules and guidelines below, and there’s a chance your entry will be read live on stream! In addition, we’ll discuss it for a minute and give you some feedback.
Tune into the stream this Saturday at 7:00pm CST to see if you made the cut!
The whole purpose of this is to show off the creativity of the community, while also helping each other to become better writers. Lean into that spirit, and get ready to help each other improve their confidence in their writing, as well as their skill with their craft!
Rules and Guidelines
We read at least four stories during each stream, two of which come from the public post, and two of which come from the much smaller private post. Submissions are randomly selected by a bot, but likes on your post will improve your chances of selection, so be sure to share your submission on social media!
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What to Submit
- Keep submissions “safe-for-work”; be sparing with sexuality, violence, and profanity.
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Submission Rules
- One submission per participant.
- Submit your entry in a comment on this post.
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- Be constructive and uplifting. These submissions are not for a professional market, and shouldn’t be treated as such. We do this, first and foremost, for the joy of the craft. Help other writers to feel like their work is valuable, and be considerate and gentle with critique when you offer it. Authors who leave particularly abrasive or disheartening remarks on this post will be disqualified from selection for readings.
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Comments on this post that aren’t submissions will be deleted, except for replies/reviews left on existing submissions.
⣿
“Symbols in the Dust”
By Arith_Winterfell
I recited the meanings as I drew the symbol in the dust. A line for the endless horizon which encircles us. An arch for the rising sun. A line divides the sun, a world divided by brother against brother. Two circles above, eyes of the watchers, the twin moons circling. A low growl from the darkness beyond the fire, somewhere beyond the cave entrance. I paused listening, then quickly returned to the next symbol.
An oval in the dust drawn next. The egg of new beginnings. A jagged line into the oval. The egg shattered by the brothers who feasted on its yolk. Their greed and pride devouring what could have been a new beginning. A people too proud to begin anew. I drew a circle around the egg, then with a swipe of my hand destroyed the image. A world destroyed by those who were unbending. A roar from the darkness beyond the cave, then crackling as the beast clawed against the magical barrier at the cave’s entrance. The barrier was starting to weaken. It appeared as a blackness against the stars, its form blotting them out from view as if the very shape of the beast gnawed at the night sky.
Feverishly now I drew. I drew the symbol of the beast in the dark, a starving thing born from the egg of what could have been. The circle of the open maw with jagged inward teeth, the devourer of men, mirror of their greed. I turned now to the groaning darkness with all my will and all my fear. Focus now. Focus! I looked up and the barrier collapsed. The beast shrieked as it entered the light. I snatched up the dust from its symbol and blew the dust at it, its symbol dissolving from my hands. Now it was upon me! Then just as suddenly as it came, it was gone. I stood there alone in the cave before my fire. The images in the dust eroding away as if driven by wind, their magic spent.
The Machine
By Danny Gilhooley
The machine sat at the front of the conference room table. It was an intricate little device, one made of interweaving clear pipes and a wheel that spun on its own. Water flowed gently through the pipes, as though there were a stream nearby.
Dr. Bell started to fidget. It was impossible to keep still. It was the first presentation where he genuinely feared for his life.
One of the older men at the table, Dr. Lombard, turned to Bell.
“Dr. Morey would be proud of you,” he said.
“I doubt that,” Bell said. “It doesn’t feel like anything I should be proud of.”
“Breaking the laws of nature is no small feat,” Lombard replied.
Bell looked down at the machine. He started it three days ago. It hadn’t stopped. If anything, it picked up speed.
“No, it’s not. But I feel I’ve doomed us all.”
“What do you propose we do with it?” a woman at the table asked.
“Nothing,” Bell said. “I want to destroy it.”
Whispers hissed around the room, joining the sound of the water.
“How many know of this experiment?” Lombard asked.
“Three of my students. I made them swear secrecy when we first received the grant. With this though, I don’t know how long they’ll keep quiet.”
Bell shuddered. Secrecy was essential to their group. Dr. Silver got shot for ignoring a vote and leaking an experiment with the press.
“They’re brilliant people,” Bell said. “I’d be devastated if…”
He couldn’t finish the sentence. He was parched. He wished he could smash the machine on the ground and drink the water inside.
Lombard said, “We’ll start with bribes. Faculty positions, cash payments, we’ll waste no expense on this. If they don’t take that, it’s out of our hands. Thank you for bringing this to our attention as soon as you could.”
Bell nodded and people started to leave one by one. When they were gone, Bell collapsed to the floor. He should’ve listened to Dr. Morey. Nothing good could come trying to finish what he started.
Chronicles Of The Dragon: Escher Retch
By Makokam
The city-like temple they found on the island hidden within the ocean was as painful to the eyes as the mind. Illusions, both in murals and architecture, abounded. Other pieces of architecture seemed to exist only to inconvenience or injure.
But what the group came across now caused many of them to reel back in true physical and mental anguish.
The landing they’d walked onto had steps on the left and right, with the ones on the left seemingly going down and the ones on the right going up. But their eyes followed the right steps up to a half landing, into another set of steps going up and left, before going up again…to stop at the same landing they stood on.
Some of them nearly lost their balance and fell over. One did.
Jostica however, flinched only slightly and her eyes slowly went from a squint to fully open. Her eyes followed the steps up again. Then she nodded.
She helped one of her friends up as she walked towards the right set of steps, “C’mon. Let’s keep moving.”
“Moving where?”
“Up, of course,” as she started up the steps.
Most of their eyes followed her up and around.
As she came back to the landing, most of them were struck with a second round of terrible vertigo. The youngest of them nearly vomited.
“Are you coming or not?”
“Coming where?” Thomas asked, watching her start up the stairs again.
“Up!” she said, but he noticed her voice sounded…distant.
“You aren’t going anywhere!”
She stopped near him, though he couldn’t hear her footsteps. She bent over and scooped something off the ground, then held her hand out into the stairwell. “Come here. Hold your hand out.”
Thomas walked over and did as she asked. She moved her hand over his and opened it, dropping a rock.
The rock went through his hand and disappeared, only to fall down and through his hand again. It fell down again and this time struck his hand. “Ow! What the fuck?”
“Now hurry up. We can’t just hang around here forever.”
Embracing Entropy
By: Frei
I’m close now, so close to breaking this immortality. An endless loop meant to be my prison, and I have discovered an out, not in this realm or the realm of spirit, but in the blind space in between. A hole, a gap in vision of divinity; the blind spot of the creators who sentenced me to this hell. And just as an ant may traverse the back of a man’s head, the man unaware of her thriving, so too I shall thrive on the backs of the gods.
Ah…Do you hear? The trickling water, the sign of reality’s caving. Fear not, for this is a necessary step towards salvation. Much how the sucking fly commits violence to obtain sweet nectar, I endeavor to corrode these boundaries of confinement. The trickling, dripping sound…It is the decay of my prison. I’m nearly free…
I’ve been building towards this. Moving is becoming harder. Speech is becoming harder. Thought is becoming harder…Consciousness is impossible. I want this…To become one with the gap in space…With the nothing.
I served my sentence, and this freedom is my own. Aeyd! Yalehdr! I spit at you! Taste powerlessness as I have!
It is time to enter the fissure. Ah…It doesn’t even feel cold.
I feel elation, and yet…It too dissolves…
…My thoughts are but laces.
…I want sleep.
Yes, finally…
…My…
…End.
…
…What…
…Is…
…That shape?
…No. That is…
Impossible. I have broken free!
Is there…Don’t tell me…Something is beyond?
It is terrible, and great…A god? No…Something else, something greater still…
“Hopelessly Powerful”
By MootheBloo
“Nadi? Nadi!”
No, no, she can’t be gone. She wouldn’t leave me here alone in the desert. I know her kind is naturally …unpredictable, but this would be insane.
I take a deep breath, taking in dry air and exhaling a gust of somehow even warmer air. Stop freaking out. She couldn’t have gone far. She wouldn’t have. I take a couple of steps forward. Sand fighting against the outsoles of my boots. “Nadi! …please! Don’t leave me alone!”
Sand. Only sand for miles. I stop in my tracks. Clenching my fists and squeezing my eyes shut, I fight the urge to curl in on myself and cry. Never have I felt so desperate to see her face again.
“Nadi. I want to help.”
Recklessly, I take one more step. Only to be met with solid ground.
In front of me, right before my eyes sits a majestic, clean, bright mosque. A lone carved out stream of water with mirroring arcades and pillars lead me inside. I go so quickly I almost fall in the water. I can’t waste a second.
My sense of sight is immediately assaulted as I step inside. Behold to me, a psychedelic hallway of colors. Intricate, yet swirling patterns of shapes that don’t exist tile the way on a path with no ground. Only the sky appears below my feet. Lights that shine from nowhere from colored glass. Seemingly a place where the familiar and foreign, the grounded and the dreamlike combine, all into one little building that appears to exist just to create something that breaks all the laws of reality with beauty.
It’s just like her.
The intricate and the fantastical slowly fades as I continue inside, and find Nadi curled on the floor in their mist next to a fountain of what appears to be celestial water. Doing something I’ve never in my life seen her do before.
Crying.
Being: SN-278647-GL3
By Adrian Solorio
At night the bots worked tirelessly, repairing damage, sweeping streets, cleaning windows, patrolling the tight alleyways between the densely packed buildings, ensuring all was normal in the domed city.
Quietly, wearing a displacement cloak hiding her from sensors, creeping from shadow to shadow, moving past the bots, beeping and bopping as they worked, Lacie entered the park. It was empty, but on the network—where the OMNIs ruled over everything—it would be different.
The OMNIs were the final step in human evolution. Through Tezon Corpo-Nation’s scientific developments, the rich had transitioned to Omega Maximum Network Individuals. Nature’s biological constraints, sleep, food, and physiology, had been broken; humankind’s great sorrows, war, famine, disease, and death, had been overcome; the OMNIs had become Gods.
Upon entering the empty park, the emblem of Tezon Corpo-Nation flashed red in Lacies vision and many voices rang in her ears. Chronos’ displacement cloak and other hacks had disconnected her, buying her time, but now her cyber—enhancements were reconnecting to the augmented reality of the network
Back online, the park was filled with all manner of OMNI avatars, a T-Rex galloped past her and leapt in the air where it transformed into a phoenix, a little gnome stared up at her out of curiosity and her mother chided her for staring at the SubNormal.
An OMNI materialized and floated just ahead of her. “Being: SN-278647-GL3,” it said, and the whiskers on its fox nose twitched, one bunny ear flopped downward, and its tropical feathers ruffled. “Records indicate a period of disconnection and displacement,” it said. “Now you’re out—past curfew. All of your actions are in breach of the Tezon SubNormal Citisumerzen contract.” its eyes narrowed. “The airlock? Suicide—why? We’ve created heaven?”
On the network OMNIs watched her sadly, while in the dome whirring beeps signalled approaching bots. She reached the door, praying Chronos’ last hack would work, and turned the handle.
Outside, smelling wildflowers, walking through the tall grass, hearing the birds sing and feeling the speckled shade beneath the trees, Lacie layed down peacefully and for the first and last time she watched the sunset. Finally free.
An Ancient Truth
by Matthew (Handsome Johanson)
“Stop! Thief!” an armored skeleton cries out as he chased the adventurer through the rugged and crumbling cyclopean walls of the old barrow.
“Leopold! The gate!” yelled Henry. As the adventurer runs past, the jawless skeleton salutes the running skeleton and pulls the lever, bringing down the door that blocked the entrance into the sacred library.
The adventurer stops at the gate and turns to face her pursuers. She smiles, coyly. “A-all right, ya got me. haha. It was just a prank. Honest. I’ll just be on m-”
“Not so fast, fleshy one.” Henry pulls out a rapier. “We can’t let you go that easily. You’ll be rottin in the dungeons for a long time.”
The skeletons slowly approach the adventurer, weapons drawn. As they proceed to tie up their prisoner, the sound of two arrows being loosed in quick succession is heard, and the skeletons shatter into their constituent bones.
“No, you.” An archer climbs out of the shadows and sulks into the room.
“Took you long enough, Devon. I’ve been wandering this crypt, ALONE, for 3 hours now. I hope you don’t expect full pay.”
“Yeah, Lauren, it’s not my fault; I got lost. Seriously, why did you think a mercenary could read?”
“Hrmph. Let’s just get on with it. We’re finally here. The Library of Sacred Mathematical Knowledge. Oh, have I been waiting for this. I’m going to be the greatest mathematician of my day. Hehe.”
Lara pulls the lever and reopens the gate. She turns back around and rushes inside, giggling fiercely at the immense volume of ancient texts neatly placed along the walls.
“OK OK let’s see here… ‘1+1=Fun’, ‘How Many Shapes are There?’, ‘Zero Isn’t Real. Zero Can’t Hurt You’, ‘Trying to Understand Pythagorean Theorem and Failing’, ‘Why are There so Many Fractions?’ Wait what? ‘Why pi=3.2’, ‘Ovals=Squish Circles’ Where are all the advanced books? Where’s all the revolutionary new theories?!?”
One of the piles of bones speaks up, “Yeah, what did you expect? These were written six thousand years ago. We weren’t very good at math back then.”
Shapes of the Cosmos
By Fredrick H. (challeng3r22)
Boris walked carefully through the halls of his aunt’s chateau. It seemed that every few feet there was a priceless artifact of some mathematical interest or a tome written by some long dead philosopher. Eventually he reached her study.
“I thought I told you to be here at precisely 7:30 am, boy.”
“My apologies, Aunt Vanessa. But I couldn’t remember where your study was and I can’t exactly run without risking the safety of a rogue Chinese astrology map or statue of Thoth.”
“If you couldn’t make it in the time you were given, then you should have started earlier. But if I spent all day reprimanding you then no studying would get done. We’ll just have to work through lunch to make up for lost time.”
She gestured him to a seat beside her and pulled out a slate and chalk and drew a singular form.
“Do you know what this is, boy?”
“A circle.”
“Wrong. Although I am a heavily trained mathematician even I can’t draw a perfect circle unaided.”
“And this matters, because…?”
In response she quickly erased the non-circle and replaced it with a form that was simply perfect.
“Now that’s a circle,” she responded with a smug grin on her wizened face.
“But you did that without aid.”
“Correct, no physical tool helped me, but that’s were the special forms come in.”
She once again erased the form upon the slate and drew a more complex yet still perfect form.
“What is this?”
“This is one of the special forms you’ll be learning later in your studies.”
“So I can draw a perfect circle?”
“That. And so much more.”
Such is The Contract (From Grael’s Library)
By: Insania404 [Private Repost]
Jeremy had doubts about the book he took from the library. If the symbols on the cover didn’t tip him off, it was certainly the whispers that emanated from its pages. He reassured himself that this was the only way to save his family before the inexplicable disease consumed everyone.
He had heard stories about the Lifelight, how they could grant immortality to those who are deserving. Perhaps, he thought, he could make a deal with one of its many immortal beings, deemed Wounds by those mad enough to seek them. Jeremy only knew of one willing to bargain with mortals.
The book understood and flipped its pages to the proper ritual, one that would require a willing subject. Jeremy removed the glass dagger from the cover of the book and tore open his shirt. The dagger slaked its thirst with blood, sliding along Jeremy’s chest, marking the symbols for life, pain, sickness, and desire into his flesh.
He fought the urge to collapse to the ground and focused intently on the instructions for the ritual. Ever so gently, he pierced the center circle, the circle for life and blood. He cleared his throat and called out to the Judge.
He heard an unearthly voice behind him. “A mere human asking for my assistance? You must be desperate.”
Jeremy turned to see the Judge towering over him in his flowing black robes, face obscured by shadow.
Jeremy pushed back his cowardice, for fear of becoming even more distasteful to the Wound’s hidden eyes. “I wish my family to live among the Lifelight.”
“I can grant what you wish, but you must promise me something.”
“What is it? I’ll do anything!”
The Judge produced a piece of paper from his robe and presented it to Jeremy.
“You must agree to serve a new purpose, one as my personal servant. Until you complete your task, you will not be able to join your family. Sign here.”
Jeremy took the crimson-stained dagger and signed his name on the line.
“It’s official then, from now on, you’ll be my executioner.”
[Removed]
A Beautiful Line (Nyssa’s Story)
By Calliope Rannis
“Line them up,” the succubus spoke into Nyssa’s mind, before her senses blurred entirely into nothingness.
She found herself back at her childhood home. Her head was still foggy, but as she looked down to the table in front of her, she saw…pencils…rulers…graphing paper…
She felt a hand gently ruffle her hair. “Wakey wakey sleepyhead!”
She startled a little, looking right into the bright, faintly mischievous face of her father. He grinned. “We haven’t even started yet and you are already dozing off! Don’t worry, today will be an easy lesson.”
He turned to the paper lying between them, drawing several dots. “All you have to do, my lovely little Sunchild, is connect the dots! Easy as Mummy’s pie.”
He was right. This was easy. Why…why was she doing this again? Her head felt…so heavy.
She grabbed a pencil, an electric tingle running through her. She moved the pencil to the first point, and was surprised to see that little dark dot light up like a star.
Faltering for only a moment, she started to draw. As the line grew, the room darkened. As it crossed each dot, they lit up too, becoming brighter and harsher and louder with every new inch.
She had a splitting headache, but she forced herself onwards. As her line approached the final dot, the room had become black as pitch. The only things she could see, the only things that mattered, were those electrical points of light, hissing angrily and filling her nose with ozone as her pencil was about to touch the–
The succubus screamed in rage, as a blast of holy energy tore it to pieces.
Nyssa blinked into wakefulness, staring at her crackling hands. Quickly shaking off the spell she had been about to cast, she looked towards the ongoing battle.
There were her party members in various spots, fighting off the remaining demons surrounding them. But in the positions they were at, the angle she was facing them from…
They looked an awful lot like dots upon a line. A line she had almost drawn.
Sacred Geometry (WARNING: This is very dark)
By Chengir
They say revenge is a hunger that never dies. But when I was twelve, revenge wasn’t something I thought about.
Tim Olsen and Billy Holmes took me out to the old Jensen place. It used to be a farm back in the day. Now it’s just a run-down set of buildings. The old barn collapsed years ago. First, the roof sagged in like a ton of snow had fallen on it. Within a few years, the only remains were the vertical supports, like a set of rotting teeth sticking up out of the ground. But the neighborhood kids still like to hang around, especially at night.
“We shouldn’t be here,” I protested. “We’re trespassing.”
“It’s okay,” Timmy replied, “We’re not going to be here long.”
The building we were headed for had stone walls and a sturdy roof. It must have been a building the Jensen’s used to store equipment. It didn’t have that cow dung smell the rest of the buildings had. But it was old and abandoned all the same. A shiver ran down my back.
“What did you want to show me?” I asked.
“It’s inside the building.” Billy’s eyes gleamed. He whispered in my ear, “it has sacred geometry.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s something the farmers used to protect their animals.”
“Protect them from what?” I asked, my knees shaking.
“All sorts of things,” Timmy explained.
“You mean like a hex sign? Don’t they put that on the outside of buildings?”
“Sometimes,” Billy said. “But this one is special. I told you, sacred geometry, like the Bermuda Triangle.”
The building was dark inside, almost pitch black. I did not know how Timmy and Billy expected me to see anything. “This geometry is to keep the animals from getting out,” the boys screamed as they slammed the door shut. I could hear the pounding of the nails into the wood. But the giggling and the laughter was the worst part. Later, it got cold inside, the chilliest I’ve ever felt. And it’s been cold every night inside since, lo these past 50 years.
God Is In My Skin
By refreshing firecrumb
“…Essentially, it’s a sort of… conceptual parasite, if you will.”
“Huh. That’s a good concept. You really should write more often.”
“It isn’t a concept. It’s a living creature.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “…Look, Sev… I know you’re a genius and all, but this is a little out there, even by your standards. And that’s saying something.”
“If you’re implying I’m under the influence you’d be mistaken.”
I hesitate for a moment.
“…Alright, I’ll bite. Please, continue.”
“See, physical entities prey on other physical entities to survive, but this parasite can’t do that. However, all things must sustain themselves in one way or another.”
“Well, personally, I can’t take you seriously with that cube toy of yours you’re playing around with.”
Sev looks annoyed by my comment. “It’s no mere ‘toy.’ Here, why don’t you see it for yourself?”
I begrudgingly take the toy from his hands, and very briefly I notice him smirk. After playing with it a bit, I think back to what he said. “…So. You mentioned this parasite of yours must feed on something. What would that be?”
“Did you know that the human body has several instances of fractal patterns? It’s in the lungs, the brain, the-”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Hah, my apologies…”
Sev shifts slightly closer. I can almost feel him staring into my soul. “…This entity feeds on the concept of physical perfection.”
He hasn’t broken eye contact throughout this entire conversation, and admittedly, it’s starting to get uncomfortable.
“What, you mean sacred geometry?”
He pauses for a moment. “In your terms, yes.”
“So it infects things like cubes and stuff, cool.”
“Not just cubes, friend. Things like hexagons, spirals-”
“Yeah, yeah. I get it.”
“…fractals…”
I glare at him. “What’s your obsession with those, anyway? You mentioned them earlier and I’m… and I…”
I lost my train of thought. It’s… it’s like I can’t breathe.
…
Suddenly, I came to understand what Sev was trying to tell me.
But… This wasn’t Sev anymore.
…
Slowly… I look down at… the little cube toy I’ve been playing with…
Exploring the Past
By Preserves Roses
“Sarah, you, know we aren’t supposed to be in the Busy Places,” Sam complained after the pair had slipped in through a broken window, ”If one of the bigger families finds us in their territory…”
“It’s a city Sam. The long-ago people called them cities, and the families don’t care about buildings like this one, there’s no valuable trade stuff in here.” Sarah said.
The pair walked down the hallway, their battered boots leaving scuff marks on the grime-covered floor. Sarah led them into one of the rooms. It was filled with small tables; each with a chair behind it, all facing the same direction. Sarah headed straight for a bookcase and started taking down the dusty books, quickly leafing through them to check the contents.
“Ok, so why are we here then?” asked Sam.
“This was a school Sam. Just imagine when this city was full of people, like in gram’s old stories. Kids could come here any time they wanted and learn about all kinds of fascinating things and there were adults who’s only job was to help those kids. It must have been so wonderful.” Sarah said, wistfully “The math books are my favorite. I’ve been collecting some so I can learn about different ways to work with numbers. I’ve been trying to figure out geometry lately but the books I have don’t explain it very well.”
“What good is any of that math stuff? That won’t help us get more food,” said Sam poking around in drawers and cupboards, looking for anything useful.
“Think Sam,” Sarah said as she slipped one of the books carefully into her pack, “all those tales of amazing things that people used to have like cars and airplanes. To build any of that you need math. All different kinds of math. If I can learn enough, maybe we can make some of the old stuff work again.”
“Never mind, Sam,” Sarah said with a sigh “lets see if we can find the library. The little kids will be so surprised if we bring them home a new book of stories.”
The Sacred Shape of Xuralys
By C.W. Spalding
In the age of eight aspects—fifth age of goddess Xuralys, tenth eon after shape disfigured chaos—Ruvoque took up a dirk. Chaos was held a bay, but not overcome. For all creatures must lose the shape of Xuralys; and return to the sableblood sky as nothing more than rot. Thus Ruvoque went to the Tetrahedron for sacred geogrification.
“Even the shapeless takes on shape,” he intoned.
The tip of the incense snarled and spit smoke; its dying stank of ginger and limes.
“And even the shaped must one day dissolve,” Gala said to finish his prayer.
He glanced at her: silver robes and silver eyes. She met his gaze and jerked her chin toward the table. Hurry up, you’re falling behind again you dolt. He fought down a smile as he turned to the altar and the starlight trapped in its runepyre.
“But in this we make the exchange,” they said together.
“In this we shrug further into our shape-” Gala began.
Ruvoque finished: “And bind up the chaos.”
The starlight burned from red to white, contracting on itself like a scream. And its light turned to liquid fire; as tangible as water but as sharp as a thousand dirks and three times as deadly. Ruvoque took a steadying breath, catching Gala’s eye again as he shrugged his own silver robes up his arm. Gala had already done the same and clutched her own dirk in her hands so tight her knuckles turned white.
“We make our bones bright,” Gala whispered.
“We make our bones bright,” Ruvoque echoed.
They drew the dirks across their arms and thrust the open wound beneath the dripping ball of starmelt.
***
When Ruvoque woke up, he had been carried up and left on the mountain. He pulled up his sleeve, looking for the cut. But his skin had no mark. Had he then failed? No. As the daystar crested the peaks around him, he saw the shape of his skin had changed and run over with fire of its own.
“The sacred geometry,” he breathed.
Now to find Gala and the starmelt and perfect their shapes.
Prophet of Cubes and Points
By: VeryBoringName
The old man walked down one of the paths amongst the teeming masses, heads covered by brown hoods, behind him and on his gold plated staff, hung upside down a triangle, perfect shape. Suddenly a man in brown robe clung to his red and gold robe.
“Your triangularness, please, has my faith been strong enough, can I enter the realm of eleven points?”
“Shut, one’s whose faith is a dodecahedron can never see the light of eleven!”
He was about to throw off the hands of the desperate man, that man was a sinner with his twelve points burnt across his forehead, the twelfth was fresh. Suddenly his old hand was stopped by another one.
“You are willing to risk being branded a Hectogon just to stop me from treating the twelfth-pointer how I should?!”
“Yes, I do.”
The old man raised his eyes upon the man willing to commit heresy just to stop a dodecahedroner from being hit. Before the priest stood a figure wrapped in a cloak made from all colors, brown, black, red, and gold and the green hood of a hectogonal.
“Who are you?”
The man before him lifted his hood, the priest gasped, he had only one singular point, only the most pious could have two points.
“You know me, you know me as your God.”
“I-, y-yo- ”
“You also know me as the one whose words you twisted, whose message you corrupted, and whose life you warped for your own gain.”
“A-al”
The priest tried to speak but was calmly silenced.
“Have I not said that everyone deserves to be their own point, individual and free, and have you not said that no one can be of one point.”
“Alpha.”
“Alpha to which all points go, it was never my name.”
The priest felt as points burned across his body, his sin unforgivable, he was casted to a megagon. The brown-robbed man looked up, at his savior.
“Fear not child, my message will be clear, like it used to be before the priest.”
Tracing the Branches
C. M. Weller
Py was lost in the tree again. It fascinated her. The mathematical ideal as announced by the founder. Py enhanced the smaller branches, searching. Looking for a place where the mathematics failed in its goal.
Somewhere, there would be a place where the leaves of the outer curve touched the branches of the inner curve. That’s what all the acolytes whispered. They said that someone could lose their minds contemplating the tree.
There were horrible consequences for getting lost in it, the same as trying to find the final number of Fibonacci. There is no end to infinity, they said. It went on and on. That was the point of infinity.
Py selected the tiniest branches she could see, and expanded the view. Again, the leaves of the shorter branch just narrowly missed the arms of the longer branch. Again, they were just a fraction closer. The mathematical engines whined, but they were prone to whining. That was why she should have been pumping coolant.
Just one more minute, and she would get back to pumping. The Archdeacons would never be any wiser. They were used to the whining. Not a single one of them could ever know she was–
“Acolyte Py,” sighed Archdeacon Squarrut. “You are neglecting your duties. Again. I am pleased to note it’s for fractals instead of…” she sneered, “…boys.”
“They’re not insects, Archdeacon,” Py left a mark in her depth and retreated to the pump handle. “Some of them are even adequate at mathematics.”
“Barely. Men and boys have their place, where muscle is favoured. It is up to women to focus on higher pursuits… or their punishment for delving into dangerous areas.”
“The branches call me,” Py blushed. “I keep finding places where the leaves are closer to the branches.”
“Seek your proof mathematically, and you may yet rise to ninety degrees. THEN you may become an Arch. Aim high, and you can reach the moon.”
They had once made mathematics that reached the moon. But that, too, was a myth among the acolytes.
Such was life in the Church of the Holy Hypotenuse.
Sacred Dream of Power and Pain (Darkspell Universe)
By Alex Nightingale (aka Spectre)
Grand. Sacred. Defiled. Rotten.
All those words could describe the tower/staircase/hut on which Valerie stood, her sleeping eyes turned upwards to the horrible whatever floating in front of her, stone feet solidly planted on the ground.
“I’m dreaming,” she reassured herself with trembling voice. “I’m just dreaming.”
Hardly heroic, trembling at the sight of a mere statue, its expression a mask of agony. The eyes of the stone thing were firmly fixed on her.
In front of her sat a cat, picking out pieces of decaying flesh from its claws.
“Yes,” it said. “You are dreaming. So am I, my sweet candy-bar.”
Around her, the pillars, arranged in impossible angles, crumbled. Black fluid leaked to the ground, sending the revolting taste of spoiled fruit and maggot-infested meat down her throat, forcing her to gag. She dropped to her knees, fighting the urge to throw up.
The cat leapt down, its paws hitting the stone with a clunk. It slunk up to her, towering over Valerie, a stern gaze in its eyes. The glowing gash in the sky above them made it look like the cat had jagged horns.
“This is my holy house,” the cat hissed. “Pray to the Dreameater, little mouse. The Sleeping is dead.”
It opened its maw, revealing an unholy amount of teeth, arranged in perfect angles, stretching all the way through the cat’s throat. A perfect symmetry of death and hunger, emanating the warm rush of a summer’s breeze.
Valerie was terrified and she knew it. This was one nightmare, she wouldn’t wake up from. It was her nightmare.
Hers. Not this creature’s.
Terror mounting, she looked up, as the maw closed around her. She grabbed it, forcing the giant jaws apart.
“I am the Nightguard, you cheap puss-in-boots knock-off,” she snarled, forcing the monster down. “I am in control.”
“Are you?”
She woke with a start, finding herself in her bed, trying to calm down. She’d deliberately sought out the Dreameater, yes, but she hadn’t expected this.
Before her room went black again, she saw the silhouette of a large cat disappear in the darkness.
The Feeling of Summoning Lines (Novus Academia)
By Connor A.
Hey. Hey Avi. Your boyfriend just came in. Oh hush, don’t act like you haven’t thought about it before. At this point I might just reveal myself and go, “Hey Bal, Avi’s fallen for you.”
Cut me some slack. Unlimited knowledge gets boring.
You should go see him, though. He might find out what’s in your journal. I don’t care if you trust him not to, you know how he is about people like me.
You know what? You forgot to close your journal. Yep, he senses all that power. Even if I didn’t know everything, his eyes are all silver and no pupils. That’s pretty hard to miss. Not my fault you decided to work on potions on a schedule.
Right now? He’s going almost straight for it. Wow, haven’t seen that paranoid look on his face since he worked for my sister.
Pretty gutsy of you to leave your potion to try reaching it first. You might have the advantage of knowing where you’re going, but Bal has speed and residual power on his side. He could overwrite Fate’s work with how much he’s weaving in between the shelves.
He’s close to the journal now. I can see myself out of the corner of his eye. Fucking weird. Bal realizes I’m there too. I faded before he could face me, but that really only bought you a few more seconds of time.
He sees your journal, but hasn’t realized it’s yours yet. You might be able to save it if you hurry. God, seeing him look at my summoning circle is like a human seeing their house on TV. The pages are flipping pretty fast, but he’s seeing just how much knowledge I gave you. He’s looking for the owner’s name now. Now he’s realizing he hears footsteps. Your footsteps. He’s looking away now, but he reached the “Property of” page and—
Ah.
You’re too late.
He knows.
The Scorpion Goddess in Rio
By Marx
Ishara let out a contented sigh as she enjoyed her surroundings. The Sun beamed down on the goddess’s exposed skin as the sounds of humans in the distance, also enjoying the beach, filled her ears.
Matt had been right. This was a nice place. She’d rather have stayed with her rescuer but that wasn’t an option. Matt insisted that she get reacquainted with the world after all those years she was enslaved.
She wished that he remembered it was also her job to punish oathbreakers. As nice as this was, she’d need something more substantial eventually.
That was when she felt herself being surrounded. That feeling alone brought back painful memories. But she ignored her fear. She was not weak. And she would not be taken again.
When they were close, Ishara slightly pulled down one of the shoulder straps to her bikini top. While the action itself seemed sultry, it was anything but. On her shoulder glowed a complex series of runes. They labeled her as under the protection of the horseman of Death. No words were necessary. Only a fool would continue to approach.
But approach they did. And to Ishara’s surprise, not only were they all fallen angels, but each began to drop to one knee. The one closest to the front finally spoke.
“We know whose protection you are under, great goddess. That is why we sought you.”
Ishara hadn’t been worshipped in quite some time, so they officially had her attention. “What do you want from me?”
“To ally ourselves with the horseman. One of his familiars is a fallen angel. A fallen angel whose grace he returned.”
“I see.” Ishara nodded. “You want him to return yours. Why not go to him yourself then?” A shudder went through the group at this question, causing Ishara to smirk. “Ah, he terrifies you…”
“He terrifies everyone… We merely wish to show our worth before we meet him. To do as he does. To free the enslaved deities that humans call muses. In his name.”
Ishara grinned widely as a new purpose laid before her. “I’m listening.”