A Woman Scorned (Chronicles Of The Dragon)
By Makokam

The city had various alarms in case of emergencies. Alarms set off by tremors, smoke, radiation, temperature change, rifts in space and time, anything they could accurately detect that might get people a chance to evacuate if disaster struck.

Tonight, each and every one of them sputtered to life…then stopped.

Each one would stutter a warning, then stop… and start again.

Those that watched the alarms didn’t know what to make of it. Was something happening or not? Could there be something wrong with all of them at the same time?

The people of the city could feel something was different. Something they couldn’t explain. An unnatural chill in the air. An uneasiness that sank into their bones. A sound at the edge of hearing, sending shivers through their souls.

Across the globe, the few practitioners of magic who thought to set their own detectors for magical activity grew alarmed as something massive registered.

But soon, it became more than a general sense of unease.

They could feel the ground shake. The shrieks and roars weren’t hard to hear. The flapping of wings took a little longer to make out.

Slowly, each person turned towards the feeling. Towards the sound.

Not much longer, the cause could be seen.

The screams of the populace spread through the city like a wave. Their panicked flight shaking the earth.

Soon the city would be overrun. And then the nation. The continent. And finally the world.

And one young woman would feel at home again.

Like a Rolling Stone (It’s Always Sunny in Olympus)
by Alexsander Edwards

All was calm in the Underworld. Or as calm as it could be, among the thousands of moaning shades, the monstrous three-headed hound, and the ever-groaning ferryman of the dead demanding a raise.

The Lord of the Dead kept himself preoccupied by negating the thousands of requests from shades wishing to upgrade their accommodations to the Elysian Fields as his Dreaded Wife spent her summer days in the surface, trying to convince her mother to listen to her Gothic Metal playlist.

Eventually, the God of the Underworld stopped and took in his surroundings for a moment. Everything was silent. “Dead silent” is how the mortals would describe it, but Hades knew death wasn’t THIS quiet.

He looked up from his desk. Charon was trembling by the entrance, having shut up about his wage, as Cerberus coiled behind him in fear. A figure came in, casting a long shadow across the tiled floor.

“I’m looking for my wife,” its voice echoed across the corridors, sending even the hardiest of shades into a panic.

Hades squinted at the stranger. He could make out a slim figure, holding… something. Something light, maybe wooden? The object had multiple strings, of different lengths and thicknesses-

“Oh shit, a folk musician!” he bellowed, recoiling and throwing himself against the back of his chair.

“I… wanna see Eurydice…” the man said.

“Death is final!” Hades yelled. “No ‘take-backsies’, no ‘undos’ nor anything like that. Now begone!”

“B-but,” Orpheus stuttered, “maybe we can make a deal?”

Hades watched, reaching for his bident, as the pale, thin man readied his lyre.

“I could sing-”

“No.”

“But what if-”

“No!”

“Maybe the words can… make you see-”

“STOP. IT.”

“B-but… my poetry…”

The Dreaded Lord sighed. “Okay, look, if you’ll just shut up, I’ll give you one chance. Take her, leave this place, and do NOT look back, got it?”

The man smiled. Turning his back as to not see his beloved, he waited for her hand to grasp his and then walked off, singing along the way:

“Knock, knock, knockin’ on Heaven’s door…”

“AND FUCK YOU TOO!!!!” Hades yelled.

Grateful
by Gamesolotl

Sarah could see it now, on the horizon. The apocalypse.
A slowly approaching cloud, acid green swirling violently yet slowly through gray. Silent purple thunder struck the ground below. Sarah wanted to break down crying and run, but terror had its claws around her throat, freezing her in place. Even if she ran, what use would it be? That cloud would eventually cover the entire world. No, they had made the right choice.

Ari panted behind her as she finally joined Sarah on the roof garden of the train station where they first met. “You still won’t slow down for me, huh?” Ari said. Her warm smile made Sarah collapse into her arms, sobbing. Ari soothed Sarah and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Hey, let’s make our last moments together happy.”

Sarah spread a fleece blanket over the grass mounds as Ari produced snacks from her backpack. In the long-abandoned city, she had somehow gathered coke, sandwiches, grapes, and much more. Sarah knew that her resourcefulness knew no bounds. It had saved them so many times in their 7 years together.
The food was good. Together they laughed, reminisced, and talked about so many things. Eventually, they made love.

After the fact, Sarah noticed a fox peeking out from a nearby bush. “Look at that, How’d she get up here?”
“Woah, it even has your exact color too.” Ari responded, ruffling Sarah’s ginger hair. Sarah offered a ham sandwich to it. Approaching carefully, it politely took it out of her hand. The fox sat down, joining their company. It didn’t seem to mind as their joyous conversation continued. It was eventually taught to roll over, too. It wouldn’t last forever, as at some point the fox licked Sarah’s leg and disappeared into the bushes.

The fox’s departure didn’t spoil the fun, until Sarah stood up. She collapsed immediately. Ari clutched Sarah’s hand. “Jesus, are you okay?”
Their skin was falling off. Sarah locked her slimy hand into Ari’s. The cloud was above them now, a swirl looking down at them like an evil eye.

Lost in the Fog
By MasaCur

Natalya was regretting her decision. She thought that leading a venture into Mistvale would pay out huge. A lot of monsters lived there, and few adventurers had the courage to set out into the foggy valley.

It quickly became clear why few had attempted Mistvale. The fog was far thicker than any of them had expected. Within minutes, they were engulfed in a soupy haze that left them unable to see each other if they ventured more than a few feet away. Natalya had the party light lanterns, giving off enough of a glow for each of them to track each other by.

After that came the ambushes. Hobgoblins mostly, an easy foe under normal circumstances, but with the thick fog, both Avyn’s magic and Jotar’s bow were almost useless. Furthermore, the attacks would scatter the party, making it time consuming to regroup.

Natalya had Jotar try to track the hobgoblins back to their lair, but as they neared, the attacks increased in frequency and size.

The party was scattered by yet another attack, and after Natalya had slain three of the wretches, she called out. “Everyone okay there?”

A number of assents answered her, so she raised her lantern. “To me! Regroup on me!”

She heard a faint voice call out “Regroup on me.” Was it an echo?

“Who said that?” Natalya yelled.

“Regroup on me!” the voice said again, louder. It was her voice, and it was clearly no echo.

“Nat! Where are you?” Jotar called.

“Jotar, no, it’s a trap!”

“We need to regroup!” her mimic voice yelled. “Rally on me!”

A scream pierced the fog. Avyn!

“Avyn, are you there?” Natalya called out.

“Avyn’s with me. He’s fine!” the other voice said.

Another cry, this one was Jotar’s. After a few minutes, he yelled out. “We’re good! I killed it. You need to see this, Nat!”

Natalya clenched her spear in her hand, and placed her lantern on the ground. If it could imitate her, it could imitate him as well. Fighting down the fear, she took a few steps back. “Jotar, regroup on me!”

A Stranger in the Darkness
By Norman Gray

The night fell far before its time; it was an unnatural darkness, beyond the mere absence of daylight. . . But Gandrian was no stranger to gloom, and whether it was some new curse placed upon his shoulders or some other force of evil, he saw no choice but to continue his lonesome trek toward Harbourbridge.

He soon crossed paths with a man sitting on a tree stump on the side of the road, motionless as the rain covered him. . . There were few people more peculiar than Gandrian. But this fellow was perhaps no less strange.

“Are you alright, friend?” Gandrian asked, though it was very clear that he wasn’t.

When he finally answered, he uttered something that Gandrian did not immediately comprehend. “I never thought that there might be others.”

It took a moment for Gandrian to understand. . . Somehow this stranger had seen what he had not: The darkness was this man’s curse, just as the storm was Gandrian’s.

He’d once before met another cursed traveler like himself; an old fellow who had spent a lifetime with the rain bearing down on him, never stopping, never finding his escape. It was a grim look into his own future.

But this, a man trapped in shadows. . . It was a peculiar sight.

“It’s forever on the horizon,” he said. “A dawn that never comes. I’ve tried to give chase, but it forever eludes me. It took me too long to understand, or rather to accept. . . The darkness follows me.”

For Gandrian, it was very much the same. The horizon showed a different world; skies unhindered by storm clouds. He suddenly felt awful for being here, as he often did in the company of others. . . His burden was now placed on someone else’s shoulders; a man who’d done his best to isolate himself from the rest of the world, as Gandrian had. “I am sorry. Truly.”

The stranger sat in the rain, looking utterly defeated. “Do you know where it began?”

Gandrian shook his head. “I know the when of it, but not the why. What I would give to know.”

The stranger nodded.

To Take Arms Against a Field of Pumpkins (Amory)
by Lee Strangely

The sun shined its last, and arguably brightest, light as it melted into the hills beyond. Its beautiful orange-yellow glow permeated the vines and husks scattered around the fields. Down in the pumpkin patch, the two oafs grunted and grumbled as they struggled to move the large vegetables around.

The tall one whined, “I told you they’re too big! We should’ve gone after em earlier!”

“Earlier?!” the shorter one gawked, “Those were puny! It was better to wait for them to grow… Besides, old Crocker would’ve surely caught us then. Trust me… this is… better!”

As they toiled away, a crow silently judged their display from its perch atop a fencepost, occasionally cawing, almost like laughter.

“What’re you looking at?” the tall one sneered at the bird.

“You talking to a bird?” the short one mocked.

The crow gave another caw before turning away. Out of curiosity the tall one followed its gaze. Then he froze.

“Why’d you stop moving you-” the short one froze as he too saw it.

The crow flew off as it grew nearer. Over the hill, a shadow slithered down the road. With the sun shining behind, the figure that followed appeared almost as dark as her shadow.

She turned to the two men, “Can you point me towards Halesburry?”

“D-down the road,” the tall one stammered, “then take uh… take a left.” The short one elbowed him hard.

“Having some trouble?” she asked, pointing to the pumpkin.

The short one could only muster a measly, “ah.”

To their horror she then drew what in the dying light looked to be someone else’s arm. The hand glowed as she pointed to them. The two oafs then jumped as the pumpkin began to writhe in the dirt. It pried itself out like a cork, and proceeded to hover over them until placing itself into their rickety cart.

Close to her face, the hand’s light revealed her mischievous smile, “Thank you gentlemen! You best run, before old Crocker catches you.”

The End, or Is It the Beginning (Flight of the Fairy)
By: The Missing Link

“Am I really considering this?” Titania thought to herself as she wandered through the unusually crowded streets. Her words back at the camp echoed in her head, “I will not kill my father.”

The crowd fell silent, and she looked frantically around for the cause, almost upsetting her veil. Her eyes eventually fell on a scaffold occupied by a curved block and a hooded man. As the crowd refused even to breathe, a young man no older than Titania was led up the stairs in chains.

A magistrate forced him to his knees and switched on the crystal broadcasting the event. “Xander Kisentra, you are found guilty of high treason and face public execution by beheading.” He almost sounded bored as Xander kneeled in resignation.

Titania gripped the crystal the fairy used to call on in frustration. The prisoner raised his head and looked through the crowd.

“As we are a magnanimous nation, you are allowed some final words.” The magistrate concluded.

With renewed vigor, Xander spoke, seeming almost to be looking directly at Titania, “Regret is inevitable, isn’t it?”

Titania knew that voice. How could she not? It was her fairy up there on the scaffold, the man who had given her the confidence to escape her father, who had saved her, who she could not save.

Xander continued as Titania waded towards the front of the crowd, “I’ve learned something in my months imprisoned. It’s better to regret the things you’ve done than the things you haven’t. It’s unfortunate, my good magistrate,” he smiled, “when someone becomes a martyr.”

The magistrate’s face grew pale as he rushed to shut off the broadcast, but it wouldn’t stop.

“Citizens of Lucrenia, the despot on the throne is destroying our country with frivolous wars. How much do you pay for bread, for clothing? The people suffer for the tyrant’s greed, and he will be stopped. He would even sell his own daughter, and when that failed, he invaded to claim Thryll’s end of the contract anyway.”

A loud metallic sound echoed as he finished his speech, “Long live the revolution.”

INEQUALITY (TW: sexual themes & dealing with trauma.)
Part of “Stupid Sexy Dragon” series by Drago/Pryzma

For uninitiated, there was once a story about the Knight in shining armor and a foul Dragon, who fell for each other. But their relationship was as smooth as sandpaper and as pleasent as nails on the blackboard.

It was inherently unbalanced, althought before they were on somewhat equal footing. When she was well armoured from head to toe, with swift movements of her sword, she posed danger to him. That danger electrified him, drew him to her like a moth to a flame with unhealthy fascination.

Both the Dragon and the Knight perfectly capable of killing each other. But now she realised that to have any pleasure at all, she had to bare herself powerless and vulnerable when he didn’t have to compromise his safety even the slightest bit.

He always carried himself proudly and openly when interacting with her or everyone else — out to the world, for all to see. His claws, his fangs, piercing yellow eyes and hulking mass of muscle hovering over everyone in slick package of shiny, smooth scales. She was risking it all and he was safer in her presence than ever before.

Now as he stripped her out of her armour, both physical and metaphorical, her body tensed and breath quickened while cold shivers ran through her spine. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t scream — petrified like a stone statue in the graveyard garden. Her limbs were too heavy and head too light. Dizzy, paralyzed and wanting to faint at the same time. Chest felt like if a deep black pit was stirring inside.

She heard some muffled words at the back of her head and just nodded along thoughtlessly. Whatever he says, just to come out of this safe. With eyes as wide as golden coins looking straight at the one in front of her but not actualy seeing anything.

A heavy touch on her shoulder and mild pain of claws prickling skin brought her back to reality. Even while her heart was pounding louder than any external sound, a concerned voice with a tint of unease ended the evening earlier.

Gingerbread Girls
By A.W. Blackstone

The group of girls huddled in the corner surrounded by darkness. Only a sliver of light shined through the tiny barred window of the metal door.

Amanda, the youngest among them, not yet 13, wailed while the rest consoled her. She was the newest addition to the flock. Jamie had been removed the day before Amanda arrived. With Jamie gone, Felicity was now the oldest veteran. Girls were usually selected in the order they arrived. Once a girl left, she never returned.

They didn’t know what awaited them, but they all heard the distant screams soon after one of them was taken. The frequency with which the girls were seized was irregular. Sometimes girls were chosen within days of each other; other times it could be up to two weeks. Felicity started steeling herself when Jamie was picked a week ago.

The familiar scraping of the rolling pin against the wall of the hall caught their attention. As the sound slowly grew closer towards their archaic cell, the girls hugged Felicity with farewells and warm wishes. She quivered, overwhelmed with sorrow.

The pungent aroma of gingerbread wafted in as the bulky baker swung the door ajar. The “gingerbread man”, as they called him, pointed to Felicity and motioned for her to come forward. He tucked the rolling pin into his belt, like a guard’s nightstick, before grabbing Felicity, throwing her over his shoulder, and beginning the trip towards their destination.

The gingerbread man grunted as he laid her on a metal, bloodstained table. Before Felicity could comprehend the situation, tight manacles locked around her wrists. She froze in terror. Nearby, an old woman was scraping out the ashes of the largest oven Felicity had ever seen. Were those teeth and bones… or was she imagining them in her panic?

“Don’t fret my dear,” the witch said sweetly. “You’ll feed many starving people in the village.” She stacked a new pile of logs into the oven and set them ablaze. Felicity’s head whirled when spotting the gingerbread man holding a sanguine saw. Her screams echoed down the corridor.

Crunch, crunch…
By Iosef Paramonov

A gentle breeze blew through the long grass. Between the sighing blades, a young stag sniffed at the roots of a young oak. A herd had been here not too long ago. He gazed at their tracks which dotted the meadow floor. As he did so, he considered whether or not to follow them. Maybe there would be a particularly pretty doe among them, one he could mate with.

The wind changed direction.

The stag froze. He sharply raised his head. The scent of metal. Bare skin. Fake hide.

He turned to run, but it was too late. The blast tore the air apart, and he was thrown a whole boulder’s width away. Fire bit greedily into his side, as blood squirted out, desperate to escape.

The stag bellowed in shock and agony. He clambered shakily to his feet and limped as fast as he could away. Grass, bushes, trees. As far as possible away.

But the fire was gnawing its way deeper and deeper into his torso. The pain had become so great that the entire right side of his torso had gone numb. As he galloped and galloped over roots and between rocks, his back legs gave way, and he collapsed in a panting heap at the foot of a dead yew. Rotting leaves lay all around him.

Crunch, crunch…

Now he could hear them. Two leathery feet not even attempting to hide their mirthful approach.

Crunch, crunch…

The stag knew what was coming. But even so, he pawed hopelessly forward through the dead leaves and twigs.

Crunch, crunch… shing!

A sharp metallic sound cut through the unforgiving air.

Crunch, crunch….

The stag gave one last mournful wail to the cold, grey sky.

Crunch, crunch…

Be warned of the curse of evil
By Vera

She stared at the mirror, and a pair of bloodshot eyes stared back. Ever since her ill-fated attempt to leave the safety of the city for the adventure of the surrounding woods, she has been changing. Her once bright blue eyes were yellow and red, the color had drained from her dark, olive green scales leaving them an unnaturally pale grey.

It was scary. Beautiful in a way, but scary. Everyone knew, what to expect. Before long, she will feel an unnatural urge to feed, to kill and destroy. To be evil, like all the others afflicted with this curse. The few humans who venture deep to the south brought their stories, their warnings, and their curse.

She stood in the deserted marketplace. The merchants had left, screaming and flailing with their arms, leaving their stalls unattended. She looked down at herself, pale grey scales showing through holes in her thin shirt. Bones were visible in her thin frame, weakened by a diet of rodents and other small animals she managed to catch.

At last, she felt a strong, irresistible urge. Not to chase after the screaming merchants, not to kill them. Not to destroy their booths even. But to take some warm clothes, some food, and to leave some coins in their place. Is this, what being evil feels like? Do evil humans not destroy, torture or kill, but steal?

For lizards, stealing isn’t seen as evil, as long as it happens strictly out of necessity. Take what you need, but never more. And avoid taking from those, who can’t afford to lose even little. Everyone has a starving bowl sitting at the entrance of his home, food items that don’t spoil for those in need. These bowls were the only reason, she hadn’t starved yet.

She wondered, if these acts of kindness that are so inherent in lizards was staving off the curse’s evil influence.

Maybe, nothing wicked comes her way.

Wicked Demon (Exile Universe)
By Alex Nightingale (aka Spectre)

When considering the Exile, many people picture a scorched landscape, covered in bricks and deserts or a vast sea, frozen over or a dead forest, with skeletal trees. And all that is true, to an extent. But mostly, people picture hordes of demons beating and bartering with imps and goblins and the damned, like others would with cattle.

This too is true, if only to an extent.

While slavers do exist in this realm, there is a growing number of demons and cambions, who speak out against such practice. It is said that they all formed around a pale cambion, with pointed ears and surgical marks on her chest and hip.

They don’t fear her as much, however, as one of her companion, the former Lady Eventine.

They don’t fear her for her magical prowess or her skill with a quarterstaff, but more because she grew up in the kind of society, who would have turned a blind eye to the slave trade, on a good day. Because of this, she had not only the capacity to hunt slavers, but to destroy the very system she’d been born into.

Which was exactly what Eventine had set out to do. She didn’t necessarily feel guilty for her origin, per se. Being a part of demon nobility was just a facet of her life and that facet happened to include dangerous magics, blood money, dealings with corrupt officials and impish servants, to use the polite term.

If that made her ‘wicked’, then so be it.

Since she’d been cast out and sent to starve in the woods, however, her outlook had somewhat changed. Now, she didn’t want to join the nobility. She wanted to crush them, on an existential level, like only a true insider could.

Janeah had known exactly how to play to her bitterness. If Eventine was honest, she’d never liked the nobility, not really.

Eventine held her staff, feeling its magic in her veins. She walked through the alleys of the town, her gaze focused on the slave ships, anchored in the harbour.

Time for her to act.

The Army Marches In

by

Sarah J. Herbison

It’s February 23, 2021. The air is cold outside but warm here in my office. I check Google once more, searching for new information on my sleepless night. Troops have gathered near our borders and have been for months. The news states that it’s just a military training exercise. But I know better. I knew better in 2014 when they invaded our land, ripping it away.

It’s by a monster that fancies himself a tyrant—trying to bring back the old ways. His spies go into the chats in other countries to divide and concur, arguing with the faction to get them too separated to help us. I hope this will fail. I hope they see the tyrant for who he is and stop him.

I hear the siren; my heart beats hard in my chest. I grab my rifle and head to the border. I’ve enlisted with thousands of others and must defend my country.

The Debut of the Century
By: Hælamon

Feeling of chalk mixing with blood on my very hands is disconcerting as the mixture turns to a sludge on the ground in front of me. A mess of lines before me, not even in a circle. A trial of patience, perseverance, and how much blood is in my body to make.

I can’t let them sacrifice her to that monster. Not like mother.

However the moment of truth comes with another wave of dizziness. I feel sick and empty, but at the same time hopeful. An unmarked ritual for summoning a spirit of… something. Never summoned before, but it may help. That is all I need.

The nasty mixture turns black and a hole opens up. A hole filled with eyes, eyes and more eyes. The banging on the door is growing louder.

What have I done?

Then they’re gone. Everything is black, I can’t see nor feel anything.

“Hello there. Do you need some… assistance?” What looks like a well dressed young man in red, glossed back-swept black hair, a cane, and gold rimmed spectacles is looking at a pocket watch. In this void, where they’re the only thing.

“Oh I see, there’s a sword to your throat right now you know? They’re yelling about ‘heresy of the highest order’, seems indicative of a religious organization. Fun.”

I don’t feel anything, I can’t speak but help. Please. They took my sister to sacrifice. Help.

“Quite miserable to lose family to a poor institution ay?” Hearing the sound of their chipper voice fading with their image I feel despair. Are they leaving?

Then light returns to me, and I see… blood. The ritual is covered in far more blood than I could ever hope to hold. Dismembered limbs and plate armor ripped and torn litter the area like confetti.

“I see now, well isn’t that a coincidence, Spirit of Disaster is coming this way. That who they sacrificing your sister to?”

I nod. The regular sacrifice to sate it is nigh. My sister…

“Anarchy, at your service.” With a massive grin splitting its face, I feel despair and hope.

Waiting for the dark
By Qurtan

Barin finished his watch and made his way to the interior giving a nod to the guards replacing him. On his way to the throne room, he passed the citizens and refugees huddled together for warmth. Months ago, if you saw Areni next to a Finith the meeting would end with one or both in a pool of blood, now here they are sleeping in the same bed sharing the same food.

Once he’d gotten to the throne, he noted the quiet. Ignoring it he made his way to the steps of the throne and kneeled. The young prince looked at him worse for wear. The prince turned to Barin, and you could see that he had not slept for hours.

“Barin, what… what news do you bring at this late hour?” he started, then jumped out of his throne with panic in his eyes. “Is time, did you see them, no they can’t be here yet?!!!” he hastily paced around the throne. This is too much for this child to handle, Barin thought.

“Calm your highness, it is still some time before they arrive.” he says as he walks up to the throne and puts his hand on the prince’s shoulder. He stops and turns his head to Barin with tears in his eyes and slumped back on his throne.

“How did it come to Barin, why is it that we have to face such wickedness in our time?”

Barin stood still for a moment.

“I don’t know my lord, but now is not the time to let fear take us. The people need hope from their king.” The prince gave a laugh then let out a long sigh.

“What king? A boy not yet tested for rule, held up here while his people freeze. A coward.”

” My lord,” Barin started then they all head it, the roar of thunder and the earth shaking. They looked at each other and both knew, they’ve come.

Barin went out and saw the dark clouds on the horizon and he prepared for the end.

The twisted army

by Galer

people feared the march because it announced the battle to come by the mere cacophony of their footsteps

beings of twisted flesh intermingled, with metal walked the streets putting themselves in from of the walls of the city with their skin guns ready to, end the life of any that would dare to trespass.

their armor made out of crimson steel was integrated into their iron bone membrane interfacing with the abominable armor bestowing them enhanced maneuverability in battle, powered by the energy of their souls, along with a sophisticated targeting system.

with their armor adjusting to their tangled bodies that contorted in impossible angles even if some of them have more eyes, feed, muscle fibers, claws, tentacles, and teeth than a human

their twisted bodies being a product of unethical science and magic were made for one purpose, war.

but the project was shelved upon discovery and they, fortunately, retained their morality, while people in the past rejected them due to their profaned bodies, over time they become welcome with warmth, care, and love by the citizens.

nurturing their humanity, until they were capable to return back to society successfully even if some didn’t agree with that.

On the horizon was a huge creature that was a sphere that churned crooked roots of gore, from intersections known to man and unknown to man, connected to creatures made out of its countless victims like a perverse puppeteer.

most of these beings kind were passive, but an anomaly since birth made one of them an entity of carnage and unrestrained psychopathy, that was hellbent on inflicting as much suffering as possible for their own sadistic pleasure.

this one got bored of killing his own kind, which hunted him down and jumped at the opportunity of destroying city after city for his own wicked enjoyment.

and the Twisted army would be dammed if this thing, was let to trample on their beloved home.

they were born from man’s worse nightmares, however, they intended to keep their oath to protect this city.

to their last breath.

The army with forty thousand eyes

By Tamela Redfin

I felt something was off with Reagan. She had to be hiding another thing. But what was it?
Jezebel lit a cigarette. “Ya okay Sapphira? Ya look upset.”

I sighed, “Reagan is hiding something. But didn’t you say you’d give up smoking?”

She stamped out the stick. “Sorry, it’s been hard. Reagan you say? I can figga out.”

“Good. I’d like that,” I replied. “I think we might be in danger and I need to keep my daughters safe.”

“Ah, like a true motha. You’re doin a good job, Sapph.”

****************************************************************************************************
But soon we found out.

“What’s the matter ladies? By getting on Augen’s good side…”

“You’re an IDIOT, Reagan. Do you remember what the man did to you? To Cecilia? To cyphas?” I shouted.

“A woman has to do what she has to do.” Reagan flipped her hair. “Also, Cecilia needed to be pun-”

I scratched her in the eyes. “Shut up! Nobody deserves that treatment. Also, after he’s done, he’ll kill you.”

Reagan held her bloody eye. “I never wanted something like you.”

“Well I like you better when you’re drunk. But listen here Iscariot, if any blood is spilled, it’s all on YOU.” Tears streamed from my eyes.

“Me? I didn’t send the clone army. That was a dirty human.” Reagan winked. Oh I was ready to strangle her.

“They’re coming! The clone army.” Someone shouted.

I could hear a siren blaring. Garneta! Aquamarine! I had to protect my babies. Maybe my mother hated me, enough to betray her entire race, but I would always love my daughters.

There I was, terrified and running for my life in the middle of a war, all started from the lust and lies of my mother.

“Sapphira?” I turned to see a girl who looked a lot like me, but with blue eyes and a prosthetic leg. “I saw two girls crying for you, come quick. I’ll fight off the clones.”

Ready or Not, Here I Come
By Aracnarquista

“No, you are not yet ready to deal with the Dragon.”

Laetitia had been assessing my capabilities and strategies for the whole extended training session. I might be tired, but she seemed as sharp as ever.

“And when will I be ready, master?”

“You won’t.”

Her affirmation took me by surprise, and I left my defenses open. Now, I was not hearing her voice conveyed through air vibrations. Her voice was inside my mind.

“If I can get to you so easily, what do you think the Dragon can do, child?”

It was not just her voice. Laetitia was inside my mind. And she was a skilled psychic surveyor. She was looking through my vulnerabilities, leveraging what was hidden (even from myself) that could be used against me. She was my master in the psychic arts, and I trusted her. Still, this was defense training, and my trust was yet another vulnerability to be exploited.

“This is not a place for you to be.” My inner voice echoed through our minds. More than the words, the mental onslaught was enough to expel her presence from my psyche.

That voice, though… I was fearful of the tone of my own inner voice. Hurt, hateful. Ready to lash in anger.

Laetitia’s face didn’t betray any of her thoughts. “You have so much potential, child. But you lack skill and discipline. That is a very dangerous combination.”

Her voice didn’t betray any of her thoughts as well, and I was not so much of a fool as to try to glimpse her thoughts through more specialized means. Not knowing what she thinks after such an intense session unnerves me.

“Master, you surprised me and used my trust in you as a trap. That was clever. But I do trust you. That’s not a tactic the Dragon can exploit.”

“Can she not? I was not lying. You will not be ready for her assault, when it comes. No training in the world would be enough for it. Her attack… it will come from within. You heard her voice today. Your Hatching has already begun.”

Hexism

By Joe

Bison was approaching his Witch friend, unaware that he’ll say something accidentally Hexist.

“Hey, George!”

“Hey, Bison!”

“What’s up my Wicked friend?”

George gasped while Bison put a hand on his own face. “What? Is there something on my face?”

George looked horrified. “You can’t say that!”

“What? Wicked?”

“YES!”

“Why? It’s just a word.”

“Is human just a word?”

“I mean it’s a name for my people.” Then Bison put a finger to his chin. “And it’s used to express emotions…which aren’t exclusive to humans. And expresses how brave we are…and how frightened we are. How SMART we are…aaand how dumb we are.” Bison thought for a second. “Okay, you got me. What does it mean?”

“It’s not just what it…well, first off, it’s the implied meaning that I’m up to no good…but it’s also what it does to you!”

Bison was alarmed. “What it DOES?”

“It’s a hex that activates when someone uses the word in an ignorant context. And you were Hexist in your introduction.”

“Dang, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was offensive. But what does it DO!”

“You become a toad.”

Bison expressed indifference in his face. “Kind of playing into the stereotype isn’t it?”

“I know. It doesn’t help. But this is how it is until the law is changed.”

“Well…augh!” Bison yelped as his body shrunk into his clothes. Then a toad dug itself out and looked up. Its amphibious face gasped in horror. “Oooh god!”

George knelt down. “Are you okay?”

“I can see more of everything that I can’t see anymore!”

“What does that mean?” George panicked.

“My vision is wider, but everything is blurry!” Bison reached in front of him. “And for some reason everything that’s blue and green is more prominent!”

“But you’re fine?”

“How long does this last?”

“Three days.”

“THREE DAYS!?”

“Don’t worry. I’m prepared for this. But you’re fine right?”

“Other than being cancelled by magic? Yes.”

“Cancelled?”

“OH! I have some SHIT to tell you!”

George brought Bison to his house where he would spend three days in a terrarium talking about Cancel Culture.

The Nature of What Follows
loudandclaire

“Is it my fault?” Emile’s voice broke. “Am I supposed to be nothing?”

She kneeled by her son’s side and took his hand. Small and fragile.

“No, little finch. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not a trade. And it’s not a curse. It’s an act of nature, no kinder or crueler than the wind thrashing against the sea. It’s up to us to face those forces as they come, and find the strength within ourselves to keep from being pulled under. That’s the true bargain: whether or not we can use the stormwaters to help ourselves grow.”

Sophie saw in her son’s eyes a flickering question, sparked from the embers of instinct, the same instinct of a fox with its foot caught in a trap. She pulled him close, listening to the quiet fluttering of his heart. “It’s alright to be afraid, Emile. It’s not bravery without fear.”

A quiet shudder passed through him. “But mom… I don’t want to die.”

“Who said anything about dying?” She smiled despite the tightness in her throat. “If you want to fly, you can’t focus on how awful it would be to fall. We will find a way to overcome this, together.”

He was quiet then, shadowed by an uncertainty that kept him from looking at his mother’s face.

“…It is hurting you,” she admitted. “I don’t know if it will stop on its own. If it doesn’t, yes, you could die.” She squeezed his hand. “But we’re not going to let that happen.”

“Will that work?”

“I don’t know.”

Those words crashed into Emile, deep and terrible, yet somehow the warmth of his mother’s embrace let it roll over him like water on oil, as if it were the only thing it that could save him. Maybe it was.

“It isn’t how I thought it would be. I thought it didn’t just take.”

“I don’t think it gets to choose. We just have to accept it as it is, and try to find the opportunity nestled within to make ourselves better.”

“Better how?”

“By overcoming all the ways it makes us worse.”

Forewarned and Unarmed (A Devil’s Tale)
C. M. Weller

Gwenydd startled when she saw the boy. Saw everything waiting for him in his future. Too many mushrooms, belike. Too many uses of the Green Mist liquor. It did things to a Seer’s vision.

The boy who would father a king was scrawny and twelve. He was racing though the streets, between people and carts, calling out, “BUCK!” as he went.

He came right up to her. “Have you seen my brother? The Viscount Purity Buckler Integrity Whitekeep? He’s so high, looks a lot like me… Uhm. Might… not… have a shirt.”

She had to laugh. “Hail. Hail, the Earl Valiant the Mad…” such threads he was tangled in! Gwennydd took his hand in hers. “Sire to the Thrice-Sworn King… I can tell you much. Yes. Your brother is on a short path to a bad end. You shall inherit all that is his. Everything. His bride, his crown… his curse. Blazing Stone on the bridal train. A little Kormwind in her birthing bed.”

“Stop it,” he lacked the strength and agility to get away.

Fate compelled her. Made her grip him tight. The threads held them both in this web until the words were said. “This is important, my Lord. You have to hear… Kormwind the nine, changes the line. Thrice makes the oath, truest to his troth. Tight of the purse, he’ll end the curse. When he marries the dead, a crown on his head. Once he swears three, he rules all that’s free. Eyes of fire. Calls you Sire… and then you’ll be Valiant the Mad. None shall share your names for three generations…”

Viscount Valiant Whitekeep finally squirmed free of her. Calling for the guards. Now she saw it. The older Viscount Purity was in one of the bathhouses of ill repute. Fathering the last Fitzwyte to stoke an Elven Master’s ire.

That child would be named Kormwind, too.

And such a harried path for the future king. She’d never be able to tell him. Poor soul. Poor unfortunate soul.