Hello, Mad Scientists and Influencers!
You’re taking quite a leap of faith, hm? Experiments like this don’t always end well, you know. You took all the precautions, I trust? You remembered the rubber gloves? Then the time has come to see if this works, because…
This week’s Writing Group prompt is:
We’ve Created a Monster
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!
We’re all familiar with the notion of monster creating, sure. Who hasn’t heard of Frankenstein, after all? But if we really think about this, it can go a lot deeper than simply sewing some limbs together and zapping the final product with some electricity.
We have to look at the “monster” in this. This could refer to a child learning a new word, and then using that word for every little thing. For example, maybe the child once broke their leg, and from there on, everything that hurt was broken. Perhaps the monster in question is an artist who has been given a new tool to work with, and the artist has since created so much that their hands hurt. Yet this doesn’t stop them from continuing to create work after work. Maybe the monster isn’t a person at all, but a revolutionary new game that has taken the world by storm, surpassing all before it in both popularity and sales. Maybe it’s as simple as someone showing their younger siblings a cool new song… and then those siblings also learn what a repeat button is, much to their mother’s bemusement.
The monster could even be literal, if that’s the route you choose. Perhaps an archeological team delves deep into a ruined temple of a deity for some legendary treasure. But upon taking the treasure from its display, the deity descends upon them as a furious, twisted version of themselves. Maybe some scientists have come up with some new serum for repairing hair growth, only to find out the serum turns their customers into werewolves. Or a small group of mages decide to try some newly invented magic on an ent, only for the magic to change it into some fiery beast.
The possibilities are endless with a prompt like this. The monster in question can be good, or it can be bad. This isn’t just about exploring what the monster is, but also what circumstances brought it about in the first place.
So fly, my pretties! Fly, and show the world what beautiful creations you can bring forth!
—Shawna
—
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!
Text and Formatting
- English only.
- Prose only, no poetry or lyrics.
- Use proper spelling, grammar, and syntax.
- Your piece must be between 250-350 words (you can use this website to see your wordcount).
- Use two paragraph breaks between each paragraph so that they have a proper space between them (press “enter” or “return” twice).
- Include a submission title and an author name (doesn’t have to be your real name). Do not include any additional symbols or flourishes in this part of your submission. Format them exactly as you see in this example, or your submission may not be eligible: Example Submission.
- No additional text styling (such as italics or bold text). Do not use asterisks, hyphens, or any other symbol to indicate whether text should be bold, italic, or styled in any other way. CAPS are okay, though.
What to Submit
- Keep submissions “safe-for-work”; be sparing with sexuality, violence, and profanity.
- Try to focus on making your submission a single meaningful moment rather than an entire story.
- Write something brand new; no re-submitting past entries or pieces written for other purposes
- No fan fiction whatsoever. Take inspiration from whatever you’d like, but be transformative and creative with it. By submitting, you also agree that your piece does not infringe on any existing copyrights or trademarks, and you have full license to use it.
- Submissions must be self-contained (everything essential to understanding the piece is contained within the context of the piece itself—no mandatory reading outside the piece required. e.g., if you want to write two different pieces in the same setting or larger narrative, you cannot rely on information from one piece to fill in for the other—they must both give that context independently).
Submission Rules
- One submission per participant.
- Submit your entry in a comment on this post.
- Submissions close at 12:00pm CST each Friday.
- You must like and leave a review on two other submissions to be eligible. Your reviews must be at least 50 words long, and must be left directly on the submission you are reviewing, not on another comment. If you’re submitting to the private post, feel free to leave these reviews on either the private or the public post. The two submissions you like need not be the same as the submissions you review.
- 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.
- Use the same e-mail for your posts, reviews, and likes, or you may be rendered ineligible (you may change your username or author name between posts without problem, however).
- You may submit to either or both the public/private groups if you have access, but if you decide to submit to both, only the private group submission will be eligible.
- Understand that by submitting here, you are giving us permission to read your submission aloud live on stream and upload public, archived recordings of said stream to our social media platforms. You will always be credited, but only by the author name you supply as per these rules. No other links or attributions are guaranteed.
Comments on this post that aren’t submissions will be deleted, except for replies/reviews left on existing submissions.
Gone too far
by Matthew (Handsome Johanson)
I stared intently as another globule of wax heated up and began its ascent. Soon enough, it rose too high, cooled down, and began to fall once again. Unfortunately, as much as I tried, I could never make his lava lamp actually interesting.
I sighed and leaned back on his psychedelic bean bag. Mike turned and smiled at me. “I too find the wiley charms of the wax relaxing, babe.”
I rolled my eyes and smirked. “C-can’t we do anything a bit more… fun?”
“This is fun, Jen. Here, I’ll light us some scented candles.”
As the aroma of lemon and peach rose into the air, I collapsed again, defeated. We’d been dating for 3 weeks and we’d done nothing but lay about in his room, sniffing candles and listening to droning music. He was so mysterious when we first met, but now, beyond the veil, I’m finding out that he was incredibly boring.
I lazily turned toward him, to find him still smiling, absorbing the aesthetic of the room. ‘Oh god.’ I thought. ‘What if he tries to marry me? I would be stuck with this and nothing else for eternity.’ I suddenly found it hard to breathe.
“This is bliss, babe. I’m surrounded by beautiful sounds, beautiful sights, and a beautiful babe. I think I could die now and reach nirvana.”
“Th-that’s nice,” I stammered, but he didn’t respond, slipping into a meditative trance.
I sighed and returned to my thoughts. ‘He’s so happy, he’s definitely going to ask, why is it so hot, what am I supposed to do, I can’t breathe, I’d go insane if I had to live with this 24/7.”
My heartbeat started to increase for the first time since we started dating. I looked around, for something, anything. I couldn’t stop the thoughts whirling through my mind. I had to do something.
I clawed my way off of the bean bag and headed to the lava lamp. It was hot, but I didn’t mind. I grabbed onto it, and tossed it at his head. It shattered, and he fell to the ground.
The Monster wins
By Jesse Fisher, Lyrics from the song Monster by Starset
An aged man jolted awake as a haunted tone began to play, as his eyes darted taking stock of the room. It was a dark room with only a light above him, he was bound and gagged to the chair he woke on.
“Under the knife I surrendered.” A voice came from the darkness as haunting as the tone began to pick up and steps meshed into the song. “The innocence is yours to consume, you cut it away and you filled me up with hate.”
The man started to panic, he could not turn his head to search for the voice and tone. However his body was unresponsive, beyond the binding. His heart was pounding as the song kept playing.
“Into the silence you sent me, into the fire consumed.” The voice seemed to switch sides as sweat poured from his skin. “You thought I’d forget,but it’s always in my head.”
The light began to swing wildly above the man, he thought he saw a figure that it could not be.
“You’re the pulse in my veins, you’re the war that I wage.” There the man saw the scared face of a being he did believe to be real. “Can you change me?”
That line echoed in the darkness. As the light keep going wild as the light and darkness flash on the man’s face.
“You’re the love that I hate, you’re the drug that I take.” The man could make out the blade as it drew to his neck. “Will you cage me?”
The echo came once again as fear moved from near heart attack to full blown heart attack.
The knife slowly drew closer to the man’s chest as the figured spoke. “Change me? From the monster you made me?”
The aged man slowly began to choke from lung collapsing and the figure just standing there.
“And now my tormentors are gone.” As the figure lit a match and flame began to spread.
Mixed Signals
By: KipOfTheMany
My radio crackled. I turned it down as I stepped into the room. The anomaly was hunched over in a dark corner.
“Hello? It’s ok. I’ve come to help.” I crept toward her.
She pressed herself further into the dark. “Help?” she whispered.
“Yup, that’s right.” I nodded.
Without warning, she sprang past me and scrambled into another corner. “Leave me alone! All that clanging, and shouting! Too loud!” She cowered.
I made a calming gesture. “Don’t worry, we’ll be quiet.”
She whimpered, “You can’t hear it. No one can. So many people. It hurts.”
I leaned into my radio, but before I could speak, she screamed.
I looked at the little girl, and then back at my radio. The professor’s briefing drifted back to me. Brainwaves are simply another form of energy wave. They-
“Can be broadcast just like any other.” The girl finished my thought out loud.
Thoughts streamed through my head in rapid succession. I noticed how she winced at the activity. I turned my radio off, and tried to quiet my racing mind. She looked up at me then. Her eyes sparked with hope.
“I’m sorry. I’ll fix this,” I promised her. “But, in order to do that I have to turn this back on for a second. I have to tell my team to leave, so it’ll be quiet. Ok?”
She nodded and covered her ears.
I bit my lip and turned the radio on. “Professor, you and everyone else need to leave. The anomaly, she’s scared. I can’t explain everything right now. I promise I will later, but you all have to back down!”
The professor’s voice broke through radio static, “You’ve been compromised. Back up team, move in.”
“No! I swear I’m fine! Please! You’re hurting her!”
Her screams rose to a high pitched whine, and then cut off abruptly. She stood, and glared at me.
Be Quiet! Her thoughts tore through my head like bullets through paper.
I stared at her helplessly, “I tried.”
She blinked. Then she turned toward the door, and I heard screaming outside.
[Removed]
“Nightbirth”
By Hemming Sebastian Bane
The cottage shook as metallic feathered wings struck the walls. Dust flew up. Brick crumbled. Rowtag skidded back, his copper hair matted against his face. It was too late. It was done. A gust buffeted the young man and cleared the dust, revealing a towering nine-winged, electrum-skinned figure. The wings retracted with a metal against metal scraping sound.
“Shekerel,” Rowtag said, his eyes turning yellow.
The winged man turned towards Rowtag. Its face was blank, save for two mouths with jagged underbites. With a squelch, a crack and a gurgle, the bottom mouth extended and stretched.
“You are too late, child of Asena,” it replied, its voice a mixture of snakes hissing and tar burbling. “I am born.”
Rowtag snarled. His teeth became fangs. “That’s impossible! I ripped out the seed from his soul! You should have been stuck in the Realms of Night!”
Sickening pops, clicks and groans emitted from Shekerel as the second mouth opened. “And I couldn’t have asked for more fertile soil. I really should be thanking you, dream-walker. You are the reason I stand here.”
The shame hit Rowtag like a mighty wave. The werewolf fell to his knees. This was HIS fault. Two of Shekerel’s bladed wings tucked themselves underneath his neck. Ruby beads hit the abandoned floor. This is what he deserved.
“Yessss,” it said, both mouths grinning. “That’s what I wanted.”
Rowtag closed his eyes and silently prayed to Asena for a quick death. Suddenly, a howl reverberated within the cottage ruins. The young man’s eyes shot open as a white wolf lunged at Shekerel, the metallic being toppling to the ground. Rowtag bowed his head as two more wolves came and piled onto the creature. With one mighty flap of its wings, Shekerel repelled its canine adversaries and took to the sky.
With a nod, the two gave chase. The white wolf, however, started changing. Fur gave way to flesh, fangs to teeth, paws to fingers. Rowtag swallowed as the man approached.
“Rise, young wolf,” he said, his eyes solemn and kind. “The night is long and the hunters are few.”
The Ruins of Good Intentions (Corespace Universe)
By Calliope Rannis
The Head of Expeditions took a deep breath. “Why?”
The elderly man that sat below bowed his head. “I…we…felt pity for them, Sar Branlow.”
“Pity.” Branlow repeated coldly. “Every single one of your team was taught again and again to prioritise preservation and non-interference over all else. What reason could you possibly have for forgetting the most core tenant of all your training, let alone both HTC and Intergalactic Law?”
“You have to understand, we lost control-”
“No. You didn’t ‘lose control’. This is not an accident your team fell into. This was a series of individual decisions you all chose to make.” Anger crept into Branlow’s voice. “You all had control. You just refused to use it when it mattered most!”
“Their shells…” The old man was weeping now. “Their shells were…cracking. They had so much intelligence, so much emotion and empathy…but when they grew old, their protective shells would stiffen and break. The poor creatures couldn’t heal, couldn’t fix themselves up. They would just slowly die of blood loss. Their life cycle was too cruel for us to stand!”
“And so, you helped them.” Branlow bluntly said.
“…Yes.”
“By giving them access to your ship’s medical technology, and teaching them how to use it.”
“We just gave them what they needed-”
“Shut up.”
The old man fell silent.
“You chose to ignore every parameter we had, to ‘help’ these simple creatures from a plight that was not yours to fix.” They fixed their burning glare directly upon the man. “Now, a mere seventy years later? Those creatures snowballed in development, overpopulated their planet, massively extended their lifespan beyond their biological limits, and reverse-engineered everything you gave them so extensively that they now have functioning spaceflight.”
Branlow stood up. “They are expanding now. Invading other untouched worlds, exploiting their resources, killing or enslaving their natives. They now pose a serious threat to our colonies in the sector, and any military attempt to drive them back will likely result in significant loss of human life. This is what your ignorant charity has inflicted upon us all!”
Horrors of the Countryside
by Carrie (Glaceon373)
Tales of horror spread on hushed whispers throughout the countryside. Farmers made sure their livestock were always under careful watch, dreading what could happen if they looked away for too long. Fear seemed to travel on the wind, hissing through the sky with a faint smell of smoke.
Dragon attacks had reentered the land.
The king stood in his high stone tower, looking at a stream of smoke in the distance, knowing what it meant for his kingdom.
“I know what I must do,” the king said firmly.
“What, Your Majesty?” asked a servant.
“Fetch me my paper and quill.”
The task was completed, and the king sat at his desk and penned a letter. Its words were flowery, but filled with seething rage.
Signing it with a flourish, he called to his servant, “Deliver this to the cave on the mountain to the northwest, if we value our kingdom’s safety!”
Miles away, the cave rested peacefully in its stone surroundings, not expecting nor desiring a visitor. Still, a royal messenger rode to the entrance and placed the letter just outside its massive entrance.
“I, uh, on behalf of my K—King, I deliver this letter!” the messenger squeaked before running back to his horse and riding away as fast as he could.
A few minutes later, a reptilian claw crept out of the darkness and snatched up the letter, tearing it open for giant glowing eyes to read.
“Sweetie?!” the dragon gasped. “Sweetie, have you been burning down villages?”
Another dragon bounded to the cave entrance. “Mom, I can explain—”
“Without me?!”
“Uh…”
The dragon’s mother swept her child up in a big scaly hug. “I’m so proud of you, you destroyer of civilizations! Come on, tell me! How was it? Did you capture any princesses? Steal any treasure?”
“I, uh, didn’t get much, Mom, just a few things…”
“Oh sweetie, your father would be so proud of you right now! Now please, explain every detail!”
“Oh, okay…”
Sweet Monster
By MysteryElement
What’s the harm? That was an easy response to make so many years ago. It had been such a small thing, simple and harmless, which over the course of time had repeated and compounded until this moment of realization.
“Can you believe this guy!?” Sasha had slammed the front door empathically before finding me in the kitchen. It had been a quiet afternoon, a cup of coffee and a nice book as I basked in the freshly cleaned brilliance of the kitchen, until her arrival.
“What happened?”
I had kept my voice calm and concerned, despite my mild annoyance at the interruption, and watched as her every move expressed her annoyance. She had not been rambunctious or wild, but there were subtle things; how hard she slammed the cupboard door, how sharply she turned corners, the quality of her sigh, which all gave away her mood with such clarity it might as well have been lit up in neon.
“Brian happened.” she replied, sitting with certain determination onto the stool across from me, her own cup of coffee in her hands. “I thought he was sensitive, like, a good listener. I thought he actually listened to me.” She paused long enough to take a brisk sip. “Blesses and splashes! That’s hot. Okay, so he picked me up, said we could go out for valentines day or whatever, and we had a really nice time. But then, he drives me home, turns to me and says ‘I know you like chocolate, so I got you this’ and you know what it was?”
“I don’t know, wha…”
“It was effing HERSHEYS! This cheese-for-brains nerf-herder got me hershey kisses, the cheapest, blandest, most…” and the tirade continued.
In the blink of an eye my mind was cast back to all of those times we gave her expensive chocolates as a kid. Her own allowance spent on a hobby of extravagant chocolates and writing ‘tasting journals’. Little harmless moments all came rushing back in a heartbeat, and a small worried voice in the back of my mind asked timidly.
“What have I done?”
We Created a Monster
By RVMPLSTLTSKN (Saga of the Deep One’s Wake)
Padas hobbled to his bed. He’d silenced Mazylas with a finger to his lips. She’d nodded, but he saw that fear in her too-open eyes. He shook his head and she hurried away.
Now, he had to tell Vienas.
She was already next to him. Her hands found his foot first and traveled up his leg. He sat up and took her hands.
“You are bleeding,” she said.
“Yes.” There was no denying the trail of blood he’d left coming home.
“What happened?” Her body was taut, like a ship’s rope.
He sighed, feeling somehow more defeated now.
“Padas.”
“I didn’t find her.”
“Is she alive?”
He shrugged with his hands. “I don’t know. I couldn’t find her.”
She let go of his hands and followed his arms up to his head. They held each other there, comforting each other on the ancient temple’s floor. There is a catharsis in sharing tears. The act gives a sense of mutuality and genuine human connection.
They cried there, together, for their lost first daughter while their second daughter quietly stirred the boiling soup pot and prepared strips of fabric older than she was to bandage Padas’s legs.
“Father,” she said at last.
He looked at her, saw the washed fabric steaming in her hands and nodded. Vienas held his hands and flinched at his every hiss and groan as Mazylas bound his legs in wet, hot strips of fabric.
“What happened?” Vienas asked.
“I saw her in the distance,” Padas said. Tears ran down his face from the pain. “I was almost close enough to call her back, but then I saw the dogs on her trail.”
Vienas shook her head and clutched at him. “What have you done, Padas?”
“I gave her a chance, wife. I gave her a chance to find her story.”
Vienas trembled and he held her again.
“Those damned stories. We never should have told them to her.”
“Wife, what else could we give her but stories of a better life and the chance to achieve them?”
The empty temple whispered echoes of their catharsis.
Practical prankster
By Larissa (Lari B. Haven)
“Quit the silly games, Haven; you are a grown woman.” Jack groaned as she popped the water balloon on his head and escaped from the study room.
“Never!” she shouted, teleporting to the bottom of the staircase, still on the run.
He didn’t even give chase to her. Haven knew Jack was tired of her unruliness.
He stormed inside the room, sat down on the sofa and took a deep breath.
She teleported behind the sofa, and as soon as she stretched her arms… He caught her by the shoulders, rolled off the sofa, and pinned her to the ground.
“I lent the scrolls with the advanced spells for you to study.” He confronted her, holding her by the wrists. “Not to fool around!”
She laughed in response.
“You waste your talents acting like an infant for no good reason!”
“Have you ever had fun in your life?” She rolled her eyes.
“That’s not a proper response.” He sighed. “You clearly can learn a difficult spell within a month. Why the insistence on using it, to enrage me with childish pranks?”
“Well, that’s exactly the point. You gave me too much power, Jack!” She bit her lip, taking pride in watching him all flustered. “Why not use it for pranks?”
“Perhaps I should stop enabling you.” He let her go and sat on the sofa again. “But If I stop, you would never learn the spells or new ways to annoy me with them.”
Teasing was never the most mature thing she could ever come up to. But it was one of the few ways she had to break his sternness. At some point, he would have to call it quits and express his true feelings.
Before she got out of the office, she threw him a devious smile.
“This means I should annoy you more often?”
He immediately cut her off: “No, this is clearly not what I said.”
Next month, she will learn how to fly.
Soldier 670
By tryman159
‘Where….where am I?’ John attempted to say, not hearing his own voice or anything.
A thick veil of darkness blinded him. Moving didn’t change it, and to his horror, he could feel his hands moving but no other sensation. Nothing.
‘What happened?’ he thought.
‘I don’t remember,’ his mind answered.
He tried to speak again, but couldn’t feel anything to move when he tried. No muscle movement, nothing. How could they be gone?
Fear pulsed through his mind. He tried again to move, only to feel pain slowly rising where his mouth should have been. ”What?” he wondered before it came back stronger. His mind now raced as it received signals from all around his body. His head drummed like a marching band, making all thought impossible. Convulsions rose from his torso and neck, and he fell into unconsciousness.
He awoke once more, the dark veil still in front of his vision.
‘Where…where am I?’ his mind repeated. ”What happened?” His shock had him at the mercy of his faulty memory.
‘I…I felt pain? Everywhere was pain? How?’ his mind asked.
”I don’t know, soldier! But a piece of shit like you doesn’t deserve this bed! This is U.S marine property. Get your ass up and move!” ordered a too familiar voice echoing in his mind.
‘Yes, sergeant major!’ He tried to salute the sergeant who was somewhere in this hollow room. He felt himself roll to the side, and a heavy blow hit his upper torso as he fell a short distance.
”Wha…!?” He wondered in horror. ”Sergeant…I can’t feel my legs.” He thought as his hands went to feel for them but found nothing. It seemed as though his legs were missing.
”I said to get up, Snow White!” Yelled the voice. ”Or Prince Charming will come and kick you to move!”
”Sir, yes sir!” As he tried, he felt a pressure upon his ass and back. Something was lifting him back into the bed. After a few seconds, another small pressure was applied to his forehead. Warmth. It felt warm. Rising his head, he saw nothing.
Child of Grim
By chronikDreamer
“Did you hear? They hung the witch in the woods. Her house was burned and her hound was slain!”
“I heard she had a child with a demon!”
“I heard she laid with her hound to have her child. You saw her come to town with all that game. No woman could hunt like that unless she slept with beasts!”
“Did you know that the witch’s spawn was never found!”
“I heard they went back to find the child but the witch and hound were gone. Only the noose was found cut!”
“I heard they found the noose whole and all that’s left were bones covered in bite marks!”
“Did you know the child was spotted in the woods!”
“I heard it runs around naked eating small beasts raw!”
“I heard it was wearing its father’s bloody pelt!”
“Did you know a hunter went missing in the woods today!”
“I heard they found him in a ditch with his throat cut!”
“I heard his throat was bitten out and you can hear the beat’s howling from the woods!”
Did you hear the story about the poor child who lived in the woods with her mother and their dog? Her poor mother had lived a cursed life with her only blessings being her hunting dog and her precious child. To feed her family she had to learn to hunt but was shunned by the village until one night they came to hang her and kill her dog. Her little girl survived, cutting down her mother and burying them both. She took after her mother learning how to survive, wearing the pelt of her beloved dog for warmth and hunting for her food while keeping out of sight from the villagers. One day a hunter found her but before history repeated itself, she killed her father and ran from the woods. She escaped from her old life in order to find her own blessings to live for.
Hollow Rites
By PitL
Night fell. Falkisst trekked towards the crest of the ridge, one step after another. One, two, one, two. Consistent. As it was meant to be.
The wind howled, slicing into him with the dexterity and precision of a sharpened dagger. It was the worst storm of the season by far. All gusts and lightning, and still no rain to show for it, even after nearly two days. Despite its speed it was heavy, carrying with it a thickening aroma of earth and metal and rot—partly the ridge itself, partly the smelteries downwind, and partly the storm’s own anger, or so he was told.
This was Falkisst’s thirty-fourth time performing an Intervention—all ‘successes’. Before him, it had been an older gentleman from the edge of town… Malk? Marik? He’d been blown from the ridge some time during the harvest season, when a hurricane had slammed into the southern coast and triggered a famine that lasted through till winter. A useless death.
It was over an hour before he finally hauled himself to the peak. A weathered, overgrown stone enclosure greeted him, its gaping entrance beckoning. It was an old acquaintance. He’d spent many hours wasting away within, wondering whether this visit would be the one.
He stumbled inside, catching himself on a rounded column. It was cold and grainy, but a relief after the relentless stinging of the wind outside. He bent down, descending to his knees, and prepared.
For the thirty-fourth time, Falkisst recited the words that were destined to save them—and for the thirty-fourth time, he found nothing there to listen. He slumped, sitting under the shrine’s overhang, and waited, praying for the storm to pass.
Birth of the Arch-Necromancer
By Twangyflame0
The bowmen lined the upper-level, their shots aimed at the figure near the altar. Outside, paladins held a shield wall around the church, ensuring no one got in or out. Standing in the doorway, the Arch-Bishop nodded in approval. The Knight Rannor Bracus felt his knees buckle as he watched the dead body of his daughter being held by the rogue mage of the Academy: William Bracus.
The young man’s sobbing echoed through the church, as he stroked her cheek, her skin cold and lifeless. His lip quivered as the air around the entire church grew cold. His grief slowly seeped into the core of everyone present.
Rannor’s face contorted as he turned slowly toward the Arch-Bishop. “You said… you said–”
“I won’t let trivial matters get in the way of divine justice.” His zealous arrogance cut through the chilling air as he looked up to the archers. “Prepare to fire. This time, hit the heretic.”
The drawstrings on the bows were pulled.
“Ready!”
William still held on tightly to the girl’s body.
“Aim!”
Rannor could only watch, horrified, as the boy he had adopted was about to be killed in front of him.
“Fire– Gah!”
Everyone stopped as his last words were cut short.. He had grabbed his throat and suddenly keeled over to puke out blood. When Rannor caught the Arch-Bishop’s eyes, they were bleeding. He looked up to where the archers were and saw they had the same affliction. To his horror, some of them began to lift up into the air.
Rannor looked back at William. The boy was surrounded by swirling shadows, his hand held aloft in the air. He squeezed in his hand and agony went throughout the ranks.
The screaming crescendoed as the limbs of the afflicted suddenly shot in. Blood and viscera sprayed as all the people that had threatened William’s life were squeezed into balls of flesh. Rannor fell to his knees; it was all he could do.
The only things Rannor was aware of were when William walked, holding the girl’s body, and when more screams came from the ranks.
A Very Bad Word
By MasaCur
Rikuto tasted the rice he was cooking. The miso flavor was really coming through, but the rice hadn’t softened enough to be ready. He glanced at the clock to check the time.
“Mornin’ Daada!” Nabiki walked into the kitchen, clutching her plush cat in her arms.
Rikuto turned to look at his three year old daughter. “Good morning, Nabiki. Breakfast will be ready soon.”
“‘Kay!”
“Go have a seat while I get your food ready.”
Nabiki nodded and shuffled off to the dining table. She sat down and set her plush down next to her. “Where’s Mama?”
“Mama had a concert last night, so I’m letting her stay in bed a little longer.”
.
Rikuto tasted the rice again. This time it seemed perfect. He grabbed the pan, and his finger brushed the heating element.
“Shit!” Rikuto pulled his hand away, and stuck his finger in his mouth. He glanced around, and then grabbed a jar of healing salve, and applied it to his finger. The burning receded instantly.
“Shit!”
It took a few seconds to register what he had heard. Rikuto glanced back at his daughter. “What did you say, Nabiki?”
“Shit!” She let out a giggle.
Rikuto sighed and scooped some of the rice out into a bowl, then added in some pickled vegetables.
“Nabiki, please don’t use that word.” He walked to the table and set the bowl in front of Nabiki.
“Why, Dadadaa?”
“Because it’s a bad word.”
Nabiki’s mouth formed an O. “Why do you say it, Daa?”
“Well, it’s a word only grown-ups can use. But you shouldn’t.”
“Good morning,” a voice mumbled from behind Rikuto.
“Mamaa!” Nabiki hopped up and rushed to Akane.
“Good morning, sweetie!” Akane picked Nabiki up in a hug.
“Mama! Daada said shit, and that’s a bad word.”
“Yes it is.” Akane glared at Rikuto. “You shouldn’t use it, and neither should he.”
“Dadaa, don’t say that word shit anymore.”
“Nabiki, that’s enough,” Akane said.
Rikuto smiled sheepishly. “Well, maybe she’ll forget about it. But we may have a monster on our hands.”
A Creation that Shouldn’t Have Been
by Lunabear (CW: blood and violence) (Please don’t read on stream)
WARNING! CONTAINMENT BREACH IN SECTOR 3V4! EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY!
The blaring siren nearly swallowed the automated female voice. Red, strobing light sliced through the thick smokescreen like a laser through human tissue.
Five men shielded by gas masks raced down the grated hall. They came to the open door of a room marked ‘Experiment 490-SW’.
“Where is it?!” Hawkins shouted.
“Damned if I know!” Jarvis hit back, his weapon’s light sweeping the demolished room. “Oh, G-God! I think that’s Cooper’s spine, sir! Next to his head! Under the window…”
Daniels went rigid.
“Last video feed showed it was headed north, toward the bridge. Probably outside.” Captain May surveyed his men and the bastard scientist responsible for the abomination. “Stay sharp, men! It couldn’t have gotten out without a key pass.”
They trekked further down the hall.
“SHE is mostly scared! Those guns aren’t helping!” Hank admonished.
“That THING has taken out twelve of my men, Crawford. Twelve. Good. Men. I don’t plan to lose anymore.”
A loud rattling brought their attention upwards. Glowing blue eyes raked over them from the darkened vent.
“Fire!” May aimed and shot off four luminescent, green pegs.
“Stop!” Hank warned.
His men followed suit. The vent resembled Swiss cheese when the rounds ceased.
They scanned every direction but discovered nothing.
A silhouette bypassed Hank and yanked Daniels back into the clearing smoke.
The soldiers retraced their steps and rushed around a corner.
A trail of blood and body parts led them to the sight of the parasite feasting on Daniels’ chest cavity and intestines. His head was missing.
The soldiers were shocked into silence. At least until May unleashed a barrage of bullets amid anguished screams.
Hawkins and Jarvis joined in, retching sobs emanating from the former and the latter taking in stunted breaths.
The rounds struck but ricocheted within the small space. They dented metal walls
and vaporized cloth and flesh.
A final round took out both Jarvis and Hawkins.
Captain May toppled backwards, his face frozen.
Hank arrived and nearly vomited.
“Starlet…NO.”
Through swimming eyes and bloody fangs, she looked up and smiled.