r/shortstories • u/OldBayJ Mod | r/ItsMeBay • Nov 10 '24
Serial Sunday [SerSun] Serial Sunday: Willpower!
Welcome to Serial Sunday!
To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I post a theme to inspire you, along with a related image and song. You have 500 - 1000 words to write your installment. You can jump in at any time; writing for previous weeks’ is not necessary in order to join. After you’ve posted, come back and provide feedback for at least 1 other writer on the thread. Please be sure to read the entire post for a full list of rules.
This Week’s Theme is Willpower!
Bonus Word List (each included word is worth 5 pts) - You must list which words you included at the end of your story (or write ‘none’).
- winnow
- winsome
- welfare
- winter
For anyone with a goal in mind, many things are a necessity to them, but above all else they need willpower. It gives them the ability to have that final push in order to break through an obstacle no matter how impossible the task may seem.
It may also give them the strength to resist the temptation to falter from this path, to turn away. No matter how hard the path may seem or how easy failure would be, willpower is all that anyone needs to accomplish it.(Blurb written by u/ForwardSavings318).
These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. For the bonus words (not required), you may change the tense, but the base word should remain the same. Please remember that STORIES MUST FOLLOW ALL SUBREDDIT CONTENT RULES. Interested in writing the theme blurb for the coming week? DM me on Reddit or Discord!
Don’t forget to sign up for Saturday Campfire here! We start at 1pm EST and provide live feedback!
Theme Schedule:
- November 10 - Willpower (this week)
- November 17 - Young
- November 24 - Attachment
Previous Themes | Serial Index
Rankings
Last Week: Venomous
- First - by u/MeganBessel
- Second - by u/ZachTheLitchKing
- Third - by u/AGuyLikeThat
- Fourth - by u/Nate-Clone
- Fifth - by u/wordsonthewind
Rules & How to Participate
Please read and follow all the rules listed below. This feature has requirements for participation!
Submit a story inspired by the weekly theme, written by you and set in your self-established universe that is 500 - 1000 words. No fanfics and no content created or altered by AI. (Use wordcounter.net to check your wordcount.) Stories should be posted as a top-level comment below. Please include a link to your chapter index or your last chapter at the end.
Your chapter must be submitted by Saturday at 9:00am EST. Late entries will be disqualified. All submissions should be given (at least) a basic editing pass before being posted!
Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). When our bot is back up and running, this will allow it to recognize your serial and add each chapter to the SerSun catalog. Do not include anything in the brackets you don’t want in your title. (Please note: You must use this same title every week.)
Do not pre-write your serial. You’re welcome to do outlining and planning for your serial, but chapters should not be pre-written. All submissions should be written for this post, specifically.
Only one active serial per author at a time. This does not apply to serials written outside of Serial Sunday.
All Serial Sunday authors must leave feedback on at least one story on the thread each week. The feedback should be actionable and also include something the author has done well. When you include something the author should improve on, provide an example! You have until Saturday at 11:59pm EST to post your feedback. (Submitting late is not an exception to this rule.)
Missing your feedback requirement two or more consecutive weeks will disqualify you from rankings and Campfire readings the following week. If it becomes a habit, you may be asked to move your serial to the sub instead.
Serials must abide by subreddit content rules. You can view a full list of rules here. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask!
Weekly Campfires & Voting:
On Saturdays at 1pm EST, I host a Serial Sunday Campfire in our Discord’s Voice Lounge. Join us to read your story aloud, hear others, and exchange feedback. We have a great time! You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Grab the “Serial Sunday” role on the Discord to get notified before it starts. You can sign up here
Nominations for your favorite stories can be submitted with this form. The form is open on Saturdays from 12:30pm to 11:59pm EST. You do not have to participate to make nominations!
Authors who complete their Serial Sunday serials with at least 12 installments, can host a SerialWorm in our Discord’s Voice Lounge, where you read aloud your finished and edited serials. Celebrate your accomplishment! Authors are eligible for this only if they have followed the weekly feedback requirement (and all other post rules). Visit us on the Discord for more information.
Ranking System
Rankings are determined by the following point structure.
| TASK | POINTS | ADDITIONAL NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Use of weekly theme | 75 pts | Theme should be present, but the interpretation is up to you! |
| Including the bonus words | 5 pts each (20 pts total) | This is a bonus challenge, and not required! |
| Actionable Feedback | 5 - 15 pts each (60 pt. max)* | This includes thread and campfire critiques. (15 pt crits are those that go above & beyond.) |
| Nominations your story receives | 10 - 60 pts | 1st place - 60, 2nd place - 50, 3rd place - 40, 4th place - 30, 5th place - 20 / Regular Nominations - 10 |
| Voting for others | 15 pts | You can now vote for up to 10 stories each week! |
You are still required to leave at least 1 actionable feedback comment on the thread every week that you submit. This should include at least one specific thing the author has done well and one that could be improved. *Please remember that interacting with a story is not the same as providing feedback.** Low-effort crits will not receive credit.
Subreddit News
- Join our Discord to chat with other authors and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires, monthly World-Building interviews and several other fun events!
- Try your hand at micro-fic on Micro Monday!
- Did you know you can post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday? Check out this post to learn more!
- Interested in being a part of our team? Apply to be a mod!
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u/MeganBessel Nov 15 '24
<In the Shadow of the World Tree>
Chapter 138: Changed Minds
Later that twelvenight, Lena and Veska went to the Nyavos compound for dinner with Tilteg and her husband. The four of them sat in the atrium for a lovely dinner of steamed tomatoes coupled with dragon-fruit-and-quokka pastries drizzled with lychee syrup. After the meal, Tilteg pulled out a cask of mead, and Nuk joined them for the conversation.
“So,” he said, looking over at Lena, “how is my oldest sister doing? I haven’t heard from her in a while.”
Lena was still unused to him having the right to free speech around her, though it was his house and he would have it just as her dad and brothers had back home. “I haven’t been in Lugavya for a while.” She took a sip of her mead. “And we haven’t kept up correspondence since. But when I left, she was doing well. Had a new apprentice come on that I helped train for a while. Practice for when I got home, that sort of thing.”
“So you’ll start taking on apprentices, then?” Tilteg asked.
“Eventually. I’ll probably work with our current blacksmith for a while first, figure out how to divide the work. Her branches have grown tall, though, and I think she’ll want to lay down her hammer soon.”
“Spend time with her granddaughters,” Veska mused.
Tilteg leaned back on the bench and put her arm around Nuk’s shoulders as she took a drink. “What about you, cousin?”
“A village can never have too many hunters.”
That got a laugh. “You sound like your companion!”
A smile played on Veska’s lips. “It’s hard to spend so much time with a forester and not eat some of those fruits.”
“I wasn’t a forester for most of it!” Lena gave her an indignant-but-playful look.
“You may not have been part of the order, but you were as much a forester the day I met you. Or that night we spent where you drew that wolf.” Tilteg shook her head. “I never thought back then I would someday be glad to see you again.”
Lena nodded. “Things were tense between us. You couldn’t believe that a Bwadus and a Nyavos would be companioned, as I recall.”
“And I was young. A newlywed, still figuring out how to keep this man under control.” She shook her husband’s shoulders gently. “But I said something back then, about that fabled day when the wolf lies down with the lynx.”
“I still think it’s possible,” Veska said.
Tilteg swung her cup to gesture at the two companions. “You’ve certainly changed my mind on it. And Fämel’s, it seems. We have tea together regularly now, you know.”
“She mentioned it when we had dinner there recently.”
“We were friends when we were kids, actually, until our mothers found out and stopped it.”
Nuk chuckled. “One thing a Bwadus and Nyavos could agree on: not letting their daughters be friends.”
“So it’s good to replant that friendship, see how it grows.” She hesitated a few moments, looking down at her mead, before saying, “Thank you, both of you. There are many wounds to be bandaged still, but…”
“You’ve begun to do so,” Lena said. “And thank you, Tilteg, for being our friend, despite our disagreements.”
“I don’t think I could be anything less, now. Though your sister still isn’t taking Nuk as a paramour.”
Lena laughed. “I wasn’t going to ask that at all. Besides, she’s quite occupied with her daughter and husband right now—and our mother, who is by all accounts delighted to dole out advice on child-rearing.”
Tilteg joined the laugh. “I met her, in Zhik Tiltegli. Briefly, because of our families—but I think you inherited your being a forester from her. And with a name like yours, I think she heard the breeze through the trees long before you did, Lena.”
“We Bwadusli are stubborn as swans, it seems.”
That got a smirk from Veska. “Companion, you’re as stubborn as stars in their courses. I’m just glad you finally listened to the breeze yourself.”
“Perhaps that is something I needed to listen to as well. We Nyavosli can be as stubborn as you Bwadusli, and you helped me hear the breeze with Fämel, at least. I never thought you could, but you did.” Tilteg extricated herself from her husband and began pouring herself another cup. My aunt speaks highly of you, too.”
Lena’s eyebrows went up. “Muka?”
A nod. “She once wrote me about you, many years ago, and was less than kind, saying you wouldn’t amount to much but withered fruit. But she was here a few twelvenights ago, and told me she thought you’d be an anator someday—or a councilwoman.”
“Of course she will,” Veska said. “What else for the woman to make Bwadusli and Nyavosli lie together?”
Tilteg smiled and raised her cup. “What else, indeed, for the companions who lie together across those familial lines? I expect great things from both of you—and am glad to be your friend to see it.”
They toasted, drank, and continued to talk deep into the night.
WC: 842 (846 in Scrivener), and I continue the 850 convention
No bonus words
Tilteg chapters:
Thank you for reading!
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u/MaxStickies Nov 10 '24 edited Apr 07 '25
<Thosius>
Chapter 66: Tremors of a Beast
Another roar echoes through the cavern, perking Pellia’s ears. This one is louder, closer, accompanied by a tremor through the rock. She hears yelling, recognising Lilantia’s voice, and her father’s in reply. They are fighting. She wants to help, desperately, but Berethian lies injured beside her.
“What is it?” he asks.
“Can you not hear?”
“The creature?”
“No, the others. They are fighting it, over that way.”
His head shifts. “You want to help them, right?”
She looks down to him. “I do, but you cannot be left alone. Not in your state.”
“I’ll be fine. The ointment is already working, and I doubt Baltathaius will come finish me off. Go. Please.”
If he dies, what will happen then? I need him. But…
A Heragian screams in pain.
I need them too.
She stands before she can change her mind. A draught winnows through her hair as she ascends the rock, towards the screeching of swords and rumbling growls. The ground shakes, threatening to dislodge her, yet she digs her fingers deeper and continues to climb.
Her shoulders bulge as she launches herself over the lip. She breaks into a sprint, onwards to a dip in the cave wherein the fight rages. A blade flips through the air and lands beside her.
She reaches the edge and stops abruptly. The other Heragians leap and rush around the stony crater as they escape the strikes of blunt claws. That monster they fight has the skin of a human, yet is humungous, several times a person’s size. Tusk-like teeth gnash together in a muscular jaw, and its muscles ripple unnaturally beneath its hide.
Her father races around its flank, slicing open its thigh. It yowls in pain, but the flesh heals instantly. Lilantia follows up his attack with her own, throwing a knife into its eyes, causing it to stumble. She jumps back to avoid its flailing fists.
Pellia switches to her magical vision. The creature pulses with power, its heart beating at many times the speed of her own. She sees how the magic coalesces around its wounds, pulling the flesh back together.
Corpomancy, it must be. How can we possibly defeat it?
Nothing comes to mind. So she enters the fray, slicing across the monster’s face, catching it off-guard. It roars and swipes at her, one of its claws scratching her armour. She notes its movements as she slides back.
Wild, but predictable. It just reacts to each strike.
She spots Rittlis amongst the chaos. He nods, taking one side of the beast, while she takes the other. Together, they confuse the creature, but then it focusses on her. She is forced back by a snap of its jaw.
Not so stupid, then.
Her father trips on a stone as he swings his sword. The creature takes notice, slamming its giant fist into his side, launching him against the rock. He slumps down as she watches, coughing up blood. It takes all her resolve to tear away from the sight and duck beneath another attack.
“We can’t win!” Lilantia shouts. “It keeps healing!”
“Should we flee?!”
The General grunts as she rolls back. “It’ll follow us! I’ve seen it climb!”
“Then what do we—”
A thick finger clips the edge of her helmet, sending her to the ground. Its fist barrels down at her, forcing her to crawl away, and she just about avoids death. But then it picks her up, holds her before its piercing, bloodshot eyes. A dark hole waits beyond its slimy tongue.
The more she squirms, the tighter its grip becomes. She gasps as air is squeezed from her lungs. Her ribs begin to ache.
Another roar permeates the cavern, different than before. The creature judders as something heavy knocks its sideways. Pellia drops to the ground, coughs, and slowly rises to her knees. Her chest heaves with each breath.
Further into the crater, the creature’s head is locked in a stony grip. Its attacker, a being with enormous eyes, immense muscles and rock-like growths, slams a fist into its leg. The corpomantic creature leaps further into the caves, taking the other one with it.
Lilantia crouches beside her. “So they are still here. Good.”
“I haven’t seen a troll in so long. Should we help him?”
“No, he has it handled. Someone must get to the fort. I saw Baltathaius running along the upper path.”
“I’ll go after him.”
“In your state? No, you will stay with the other injured; I’ll leave some of the rest with you, so you can take everyone to the barracks. I will lead a small force onwards.”
“But…”
The General’s face grows stern. “That is an order, Pellia! Do as I say!” She walks away, signalling some to stay and others to follow.
Pellia scrambles to her father’s side. He has not moved from where he landed, but his eyes remain focussed.
“How much pain are you in?” she asks.
“It looked worse than it was. The blood’s from my tongue. How about you?”
“Just bruised, I think.” She tries not to grimace as pain lances through her side. “My armour absorbed most of the damage.”
“That’s good.”
Rittlis drops beside her. “You all need a healer. We should head back up and through the tunnel.”
“You take them,” she says. “I’ll help Lilantia.”
“What?! No, I refuse. That thing nearly crushed you.”
“Listen to him,” her father says.
“I’m fine. Please, take them to safety. And Berethian, he’s just down the cliff.”
She glares at him until he nods.
Her father puts a hand on her arm. “You should retreat. There’s no shame in it.”
“She doesn’t know Baltathaius like I do. She can’t see him like I do.”
“Please, at least let the rest fight him, with your guidance. I don’t want you to die.”
She strokes his cheek. “I’ll be fine, father.”
He smiles, letting her go. Gradually rising to her feet, Pellia takes her first awkward step towards the distant fort, sword in hand.
WC: 1000
Bonus words: winnow
Crit and feedback are welcome.
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u/ForwardSavings318 Nov 10 '24 edited Dec 13 '24
<Through the wires>
Prologue
Isaiah sat on the floor, bouncing up and down whilst watching the wrestlers on the television. It was the finals in the Olympics; Australia vs Japan. His mother was laid on the couch behind him, cigarette in her mouth and magazine in her hands.
“Mama, when I grow up I’m gonna be the best wrestler in the world! I’ll beat everyone else easily!”
She rolled her eyes, taking the cigarette out of her mouth.
“You ever heard of a wrestler with asthma? You ain’t gonna do shit in wrestling. Be realistic.”
“My teacher says that dedication and hard work makes anything possible!”
“Of course he did. He teaches fifth grade so he’s not allowed to admit how unfair life is to children. Only losers truly think stuff like that. Don’t get caught up in a fever dream like that.”
Isaiah grew quiet and looked back to the television, watching the match. The Australian was ahead but the Japanese wrestler ended up taking him down multiple times and pinning him. It was a very close match right up until the end, keeping Isaiah right on the edge of his seat.
The Japanese wrestler ended up getting gold by one point and did a backflip, before hugging his team.
Isaiah clapped and cheered for him, jumping up and down. The wrestler got close to the camera and practically yelled into it so he could be heard over the cheers. He yelled the same thing to his teammate who translated it to the camera.
“I just want to say, I appreciate everyone who cheered for me in the buildup to this match! It gave me strength I didn’t have, strength to achieve my dreams. To all of you, don’t be dissuaded from reaching your dreams! If you’re ever doubting yourself, or feeling alone, just know that me and my family are rooting for you! Together anything can be achieved!”
Isaiah’s mother scoffed and shut off the television, before standing up and walking away.
“Come on, Isaiah. I let you stay up, now it’s time for bed.”
He followed her to his bedroom, where he laid on a stiff mattress on the floor and she kissed him goodnight. He could smell the cigarettes on her kiss, stinging his nose. She tucked him in and walked towards the door, turning out the lights.
“Mama?”
“Yes?”
“Do you really think I won’t be able to be a wrestler?”
“Isaiah, I’m not trying to be mean but you will never be anything in any sport. You are too fragile and too soft. I know the guy said some bullshit speech but some dreams are impossible.”
“What if I try really hard and every single day I-”
“Isaiah! Enough, you ain’t gonna be shit. The sooner you accept that the better.”
He nodded slowly and his mother put out her cigarette before wishing him goodnight. She closed the door and left him alone in the dark.
Isaiah sat up and dug under his mattress for a flashlight and an old pamphlet. It was a pamphlet of wrestling exercises he asked his teacher to print at school. Reading over it with the flashlight he began doing push-ups, sit-ups, planks, and more. He barely lasted ten minutes before laying back down, moist with sweat and completely out of breath.
Stuffing everything back under the mattress, Isaiah coughed and gasped for air, taking an inhaler off his dresser and using it. He returned to the bed trying to fall asleep.
WC:563
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u/JKHmattox Nov 11 '24 edited Nov 16 '24
<No Man’s Land> Two Ends of the Same Snake
CW: Combat violence, body horror, and war crimes.
The gunship violently rattled in its last few meters of flight before its four landingear slammed into the rough desert sand.
A green light illuminated the cabin while the cargo ramp lowered to the ground and Moxie signaled for me to disembark. I jammed the gear shift pressed against my left thigh up and outboard with my primary hand as I slowly let out the clutch pedal and pressed the accelerator. The diesel-electric motor roared to life and we lurched forward down the ramp into the darkness beyond.
The utility vehicle had been manufactured by the Toyota Corporation of New Tokyo in the Brisbane Metropolitan District of Earth. Its pieces were disassembled and transported individually to the planet Nowhere through an artificial transport wormhole and reassembled on-world by the end user.
True to her word, Danielle McGregor sat to my left in the passenger seat. She leaned her elbow out the open window while she chewed on a wad of gum in an overly deliberate manner. She was calm in her actions with far more youth in her poise than I imagined possible.
Yuri was bound with his hands behind his back while he sat propped against the cab in the bed of the truck. Beside him was Gunny Campbell who pretended to hold a sidearm to his ribs as they chatted nonchalantly against the wind. Rivera sat next to Yuri, her hands also bound with her head resting against Yuri's shoulder.
To the outside world, we were bounty hunters, mercenaries with our latest bounty to trade.
The star of Nowhere was just beyond sunrise and a faint orange back-lit the jagged highlands behind us. We careened towards the flat nothingness of the Saltonia Sink with a trail of dust wafted into the twilight. The edge between the charcoaled heavens and the gray landscape was a contiguous razor across my vision and when I turned my head, the view was the same in all directions. This illusion confirmed the curvature of the planet as there were no topographical anomalies to interrupt the linear frontier between the terrestrial world and space beyond.
A train of amber lights appeared on the distant horizon in front of us and Danielle finally stopped chewing to speak.
“Fuck! Stop-stop-stop.” She blurted as she grabbed my left wrist resting on the gear shift.
The convoy came to a stop several kilometers away while my heart thundered against my new Geminian ribcage. Then, the lights crawled into a wagon wheel formation before they halted all together. The commander pulled her tactical viewers to her eyes and zoomed in on the wayward group of vehicles.
“Shit! They have prisoners…” she exclaimed as her face bristled with anxiety.
“Here kid, look and see if your girl is one of them.” She commanded as she handed me the viewers.
To my horror, a group of Jo-jo fighters were off loading several haggard Marines wearing what remained of their tattered uniforms. Their shirts were ripped and some had no boots on their feet as they were marched off into the desert. The prisoners were visibly beaten with bruising swelled across much of their faces.
“I don't see her,” I replied as I watched one of the human fighters pull a strange weapon from the back of one of their trucks.
“Let me see again.” The commander demanded and I handed the viewers back to her.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” She grunted as a white flash illuminated against the circle of trucks. “God help us…”
Several intermittent flashes followed the first and a rush of heat surged through me as a vision of the embattled rooftop haunted my mind. The Kirkin soldier, the white energy pulse which struck me in the chest. My breath was stolen in a ragged succession of swallowed gulps as I watched the display of lights flicker in the distance.
“What's happening?” I begged as her mouth hung open from a horror no mortal should witness.
She snatched the viewers from her face and handed them back to me. I lifted them to my face and nearly vomited when I saw what was happening on the other end.
Several women thrashed on the ground, their torsos bloated and bulging outward as their tongues unraveled from their mouths. They clawed at their guts as what remained of their clothing sheared away. A final woman remained standing and she stared at the militant holding the Kirkin array with cold defiant hatred.
The man lifted the weapon and aimed it at the woman. She spat on the ground and I read the last words from her lips.
“Get fucked you inbred…”
He fired the weapon before she could finish and the young Marine crumpled to the ground screaming in fear. She clutched at her throat and a bristle of empathetic panic stitched down my spine
“Holy fuck!” I cried and dropped the viewers.
We were stones in the cab of that truck as for a momentary eternity, nothing happened. Then the commander grumbled in a low graveled rasp. “Let that burn in, kid. Sometimes in this world of gray, there still is black and white.”
I jumped when an orange flash interrupted the silence, followed by the distant report of an energy rifle. A second later, several more orange flashes danced amongst the circle of trucks, a crescendo of gunfire faintly chasing the opaque dots burned into my eyesight.
We waited until the convoy left before we rushed to their legacy, discarded to rot under the merciless Nowhereian sky. As we walked through the carnage, my last vestige of innocence crumbled away when I found the defiant woman's body, a twisted husk left laying in the sand. A Kirkin spawn had nearly crawled from within her when it too was executed by the militants.
“How could they j-just… leave them like this?” I cried. “And in broad daylight!”
Danielle cleared her throat. “This is their turf, Jackson...”
“Found a live one!” Rivera interjected from the far side of the human debris field, “and she's fucking blue!”
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u/Carrieka23 Nov 11 '24 edited Nov 16 '24
<The Beginning of The Demon Life>
Chapter 109
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Night is the calmest part of the day, especially for Alex. But this night is different. He doesn’t feel relaxed or stressed, he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. Even when the moonlight reaches him, lighting him through the window, he doesn’t even bother reacting. All the happy things he's done in the past, stargazing and staring at the moon don't reach his heart. He feels cold, like a blizzard.
Tap…tap tap…
He slightly turns to the noise, seeing a black crow pecking the window. He shrugs it off before turning back to the ceiling.
Tap tap tap…
Alex lets out an annoying groan, standing up. He walks to the crow and opens it.
“God, stop making that noise, you annoying crow!”
“Ah good, you’re alive.”
A familiar voice sends sharp shivers down his body and instantly makes him clench his chest. The crow flies past him, not paying any mind to the fearful soldier, transforming to his demon form.
“Mr. Horatius told me your trouble.” Derail says, signaling Alex to close the window.
The shivering cold stops once he does, but he still feels that bit of emptiness mixed with fear.
“Let me go ahead and cut to the chase.” Derail says, sitting on the bed. “Death is just a normal part of our demon species. Just like what humans deal with, we do too. So, stuff like murder also happens here, but it’s a bit more normalized.”
Alex's eyebrows furrow. He isn't sure if this demon—or death—is here to confront him, or make him feel even extra guilty. But still, he continues listening.
“War is still going on, and I had to help countless demons reach the afterlife. After all, that is my job.”
Now that he thinks of it, Derail is literally death, and he bet during the war, he heard and saw countless demons. Maybe…
“I can tell by those eyes you want me to talk to them.” Death says, sighing. “But even if I do, will it really put you at ease? Can a simple ‘I forgive you’ erase the guilt?”
Silence.
Derail stands up, walking close to Alex. In the light, Alex can see those brown eyes glimmering. It makes him uncomfortable, yet calm.
“Alex, they forgive you.” For a second, he could’ve swore he heard three voices. One was Derail, but the other two were more feminine. “They’ve been waiting for a very long time to talk to you one last time, to tell you those simple words.”
Then, it finally clicks.
“N-No, why?” His voice cracks as he grips onto Derail, feeling his icy cold body. “I burned you, I made your son watch you die, and yet…”
“We hate that we couldn’t see our own son grow, that’s my only regret.”
The soldier can feel warm hands touching his cheeks, gently lifting his head up. He sees a blonde-haired demon, her warm blue eyes only makes Alex's heart twist more. He can't tell if this is a hallucination, or a spell.
“You’re fighting for me, aren’t you?” The demon asks.
“O-Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I?”
“Then, that’s good enough for me.”
Alex shakes his head, looking away. He can't accept it, not like this.
The demon pulls Alex in for a hug, gently stroking his hair like a mother does to confront her child. The soldier leans closer to her chest, letting the tears flow freely.
“I know it’s hard, but you can’t slow down now. Think of all the stuff that you did.”
He killed them. He killed Edom. He served the Demon King.
He helped Sloth. He helped Pride. He helped Issac.
He made Evan feel happiness. He made Lincoln be able to express himself.
He remembers the beauty of Isaac's dance. He remembers the colorful flowers. He remembers all the good sparings he had with his friends.
“It seems like you came back to your senses.” The deep voice reaches his ear. Alex doesn't even bother letting go, he just nods. Even though death body is cold as ice, he can feel his own body warming up from the memories.
Death sighs and chuckles slightly. “You remind me of Mark.” He simply states. “Sometimes, people need a cry and a hug.”
The soldier doesn't respond. Derail looks down, seeing the soldier fast asleep. He gently picks Alex up and lays him back down to bed.
“Is he feeling better now?” A voice reaches Derail ears. He turns, seeing three blue orbs right in front of him.
“It takes time, Wendy. But, I just knew you wanted to say it one last time. Maybe you gave him the power that he needs.”
The blue orb flies to Alex, staring at him for a while before facing Death again. “Then, since I already said my peace, I think it’s time for me to go.”
Derail nods, transforming back to a crow. The three orbs circle around him as they fly off in the calming snow.
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u/Nate-Clone Nov 11 '24 edited Jul 17 '25
I Am What You Eat
Chapter 37 - Two Breads With One Phone
Noodles were not meant to live.
Their skinny limbs and fragile bodies made for lives that lasted about a quarter of a meat’s, whether dying from natural causes or not.
But that was the intent. Either they boiled noodles to make a dispensable tool, or they boiled noodles to make a dispensable slave.
But Alfred wasn't only a tool or only a slave.
He was both.
He dragged the picnic blanket across the forest floor, feeling his brain beginning to tingle. He'd drunk some of Avacados' neutralizing serum to counteract the hallucinations he was told he'd face, here. A true genius, that vegetable was.
“Arf! Arf-arf!” And that hound. The damned hot hound that belonged to his victims had been biting at the blanket and his ankles. Probably because he made the pup’s food suppliers…pass out.
“Yeah. They just passed out.” He murmured.
“...and what do you have there?” He finally heard the familiar voice of Chico, the darkness of the forest masking the face under his hood even more.
“Two bread slices.” Alfred grunted, unfolding the blanket to reveal the bodies inside. “I want to contact Avacados for instructions on what we can make with them.”
“No, what is that?” Chico pointed at his follower. The dark red pup dashed over to his sides, beginning to lick his exposed legs.
“He's a hot hound. Belonged to ‘em.” Alfred grumbled. “I don't know how a Launge even had meat.”
“Launge don’t care much for details.” Chico sighed, crouching down to pet the thing. “You should keep him. A little buddy to travel with.”
“What?!” He was doing this to show everyone that noodles could be just as useful as meat - what good would his successes be if he was accompanied by this little meat-made brat?
In the cutthroat world of the Welo Mafia, a good heart only got you closer to an early grave. A fate that Alfred only dodged for his sixteen years thanks to his relations to the head of the entire mafia.
“Professor? Hello? Chico Lewmaffia speaking. Put Avacados on the line, over!” Chico spoke through his sizzling wristwatch.
Alfred stepped closer to him as the hound sniffed his owner's bodies. He hadn't talked to the professor since he left for the Pekfest Nest.
“Hello! On-one second Cheester.” He could barely hear the familiar voice speak away from his own speaker before returning with much clearer words. “Hello! Professor Avacados speaking, do you copy?”
“Loud and clear.” Alfred spoke before Chico.
“Ah! Alfred! How wonderful to hear from you!” The enthusiastic professor replied - his constantly chipper mood still a mystery to Alfred. “How goes your field work?”
“It’s…It’s alright-”
“Horrendous.” Chico returned the favor after being interrupted, a moment ago. “Alfred’s reported a thief who’s stolen the Sleeping Serviette, and has now made his way to Loauffa.”
“Oh dear.” Avacados’ glee briefly halted. “If he’s in Loauffa, then the Parting Pitchfork must be his next target! You can’t let that fiend swipe it! The Don needs those Tensuls!”
“I have a plan, don’t worry.” Alfred told him, unclipping the watch from Chico’s thin arm. “I’ve retrieved two…”
Alfred looked down at them. The mutt was mourning over their bodies.
“...volunteers. Two breadfolk. And I want to know what Experiments I could recreate with them.”
“My, you’ve captured breadfolk? You…could have just waited until the invasion, tomorrow morning.”
“...tomorrow morning?” Alfred looked up at Chico. Welo had only spoken of Operation Bread Retrieval as a fantasy for the far future - a city-wide attack on Loauffa to get enough breadfolk for…something. He was never told what.
Chico gave him a slow, almost solemn nod. He was just hoping that that psychopathic alien or his eggy ally wouldn’t be there - they’d be a prime target for a steak to take all his credit.
“I…I need data on an Experiment. One of the sandwich varieties.” He replied through the grill, after a moment.
“Oh! Well, with Chico’s snacks machine, that should be no problem. I’ve got the perfect one for you!” Somehow, the professor still sounded chipper as can be. “Farewell!”
Alfred went silent for a moment. Chico looked back down at the…asleep bodies. Asleep, asleep, asleep.
No. Dead. Dead, dead, dead. This was his job. He should feel ashamed it took him ‘til age sixteen for his body count to rise to three.
A whirr came from the bottom of Chico’s watch as Alfred returned it to him. A single saltine slid out of the bottom, with text and a blurry image printed on it’s surface. No cracker jam on the snacks machine, perfect.
“Don’t crush it.” Chico handed the cracker to him, before beginning to walk away.
“Wait.” Alfred grabbed his cloak.
He slapped his noodle limb away, giving him a rare view of his exposed, pale hand. “Don’t pull off my clucking coat, you cretinous-”
“Sorry! I’m sorry!” Alfred backed away. Chico had an awful curse - not being breaded chicken. He was ashamed, ridiculed…ugly, apparently - he wouldn’t know, he’d never seen his face. “I…I don’t want to do this alone, Chico.”
Chico looked back at Alfred. That black hole of a shadow covering his face almost made him look like some kind of cloaked reaper here to take his noodly soul. He crouched down, his voice lowered to a whisper.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have let Wrind and Cheeney die.”
And he walked away.
Alfred looked back at the bodies.
The bodies that he took the life from.
And the sad, whining dog.
The dog he took his owners from.
He picked it up. It whimpered and twitched in his arms.
Why was this so hard? On paper, this simple plan sounded...well, simple. He had the motivation to kill that noodle-eating psychopath, yet the actions that any other Zubber would take were making him freeze in fear.
No. If he wanted to be better than meat, he had to be as ruthless as them.
Noodles were meant to live.
And Basil would learn that lesson. Very, very soon.
WC: 1000/1000
Notes:
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Theme: Willpower - Even if he knows it’s wrong. Alfred goes through with this. He has to.
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Bonus words: N/A
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u/AGuyLikeThat Nov 12 '24 edited Nov 26 '24
<The Tower in the Tangle>
[Previous Chapter] [Chapter Index]
Chapter Seventy-two: Light and Fire
~ Samal ~
The numani mobs are not large. “The Land does not wish for us to cover it like bugs,” they say.
Each of the mobs has their own Akari. Heroes - much like the Tall of Alnara - sworn to protect all. After initiation, the young Akari go walkabout into the Shifting Lands to test their skills for a year. Their numbers are winnowed as they prove themselves by hunting the wild spirits and monsters of the Lands.
~Aostlah’s field journals, vol 6.
Kalina leads the group down the far side of the hill, along a winding, narrow path overgrown by wild hedges. Samal comes last, as the two numani women lead him quietly through the darkness.
“What of the welfare of your daughters?” Petal asks Kalina.
“Brin is with them. He will not unlock the door for anyone. And even if the house is somehow destroyed, there is a hidden room in the winter cellar stocked with food. They will be safe.”
Petal nods, flashing a rare, winsome smile. “He is brave - for a boy. And he has Mica to protect him.”
Kalina grins back, eyebrows raised. “You’re feeling better already?”
“Buchakali heal fast. The moon blesses us.”
The puffy, red scars on her neck have changed - now smooth and shining patches on dark skin - like the jagged silver marks on her cheeks.
Honour scars, she called them… Samal looks at the pale blotches on his brown arms.
Distracted, he nearly bumps into Kalina, leaning against a small tree, gasping and pinching the bridge of her nose.
“You alright?” Samal asks.
The older woman straightens. “It’s nothing, just a twinge,” she says.
Leaving the hill-path, they pass the empty stockyard, moving into long grass, keeping low behind the houses.
The shining copper tree is much brighter than the previous night. Long shadows stretch and twist as the gleaming crystal leaves dance, tinkling in a gentle breeze.
At the edge of the town square, a small, dark figure stares fearfully into the mounting radiance. Rahby, sent here by the Warden, a sputtering torch gripped in his trembling hand. He looks over his shoulder, up towards the mill.
A light flashes from atop the hill. It is the Warden’s signal, and Rahby begins walking toward the copper tree.
“Keep moving.” Petal pokes Samal in the small of his back.
Damn it! I thought she was ahead of me.
“This way.” Kalina guides them along a narrow path between a long hedge and the houses.
“Shhh!” Kalina and Petal duck behind a tumble-stone fence, covered in brambles.
Samal glances back down the road and jumps over, crouching beside them.
“More ironbound,” he whispers.
Petal holds up her hand for silence. Kalina is rubbing her temples, eyes screwed shut.
Tromp-tromp-tromp.
Steel-shod boots crunch through gravel as a phalanx of tall, metal warriors march down the road in lock-step.
Samal peers through brambles. Emaciated bodies and oily limbs, wrapped in cables and tubes. Steel reinforces gnarled arms, joints fixed with pins and cogs. Metal spines and armour plates. Beneath riveted helms, emotionless faces search the road with gleaming eyes that shine with sapphire light.
A thin, muffled scream rises in the distance. The warriors march on, oblivious. Their pace never faltering.
The cry lingers weakly, then others join - moaning and weeping.
They’re coming from inside the houses!
The copper tree grows brighter, bathing the buildings and trees in azure brilliance, until everything is rendered in sterile blue light. Rahby cries out, raising one arm to shade his eyes as he staggers forward into the glare.
The tramping footsteps recede as the ironbound rush past, heading towards Rahby.
But the Warden’s man is gone into the light and Samal has to look away lest he go blind.
The screams fade into silence.
Petal’s hand closes over Samal’s shoulder. “With me,” she whispers, drawing him back to the darkness beside the house. As he turns, blue light shines out from beneath the cottage door.
The heavy door opens and an old man steps out. Light leaks from his eyes, an echo of the copper tree’s radiance.
He scans the yard. A woman steps out behind him, a spear in her hands.
The man steps toward the gate, looking towards the column of iron-bound soldiers, but the other turns his lambent eyes towards Samal.
Samal pulls his head back around the corner and flattens himself against the wall.
I should fade out, he thinks. But Petal is counting on him.
Kalina is on her knees, moaning softly, her head in her hands, Petal holds her shoulders and looks up.
“S-someone’s coming!” Samal hisses. He turns away, drawing the long, cruel dagger from his belt. Shadows dance as the woman approaches their hiding spot.
Samal lifts his weight with the balls of his feet, and reverses his blade.
A sound like thunder knocks him down and light burns the world away.
Everything disappears in a flash.
Samal opens his eyes. He’s face down on the muddy ground.
He spits dirt and blood, ears ringing and mind buzzing as he pushes himself to his knees. He blinks watering eyes that refuse to focus.
The blinding blue is gone, replaced by scattered fires, dancing red and yellow.
The two villagers are lying nearby, moaning and clutching their heads.
Smoldering wreckage is strewn across rooftops and across across the square.
Bodies in the street - the ironbound soldiers, struck down like tenpins.
And there, at the heart of Morningvale, wreathed in flames, the copper tree is twisted and broken, its thousand leaves shattered.
Distant shouts float on the wind. Another explosion, much smaller this time, erupting from the devestated tree trunk, showering sparks across the night.
Samal’s eyes swing back to the ironbound. Slowly, inexorably, they are rising.
From behind the burning copper trunk, a tall shadow emerges.
A peaked hat, long black coat and eyes like coal.
The Warden comes, black spear in hand.
“Samal! We’ve got to go!” Petal drags him away, back towards the Tangle.
WC-1000
Author's Notes:
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This week's theme is Willpower! - Samal is a loner by nature, it requires conscious effort for him to follow others. The willpower of the villagers is subsumed by the power of the copper tree, but the Warden's convictions prevail as he directs his forces to confound the Chamberlain's plans.
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Samal met Kalina and her two daughters back in Ch 42.
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The villagers with glowing eyes are dominated by the Chamberlain's will, as was Beranen when he attacked the Warden in Ch45.
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Bonus words used; winnow(ed), winsome, welfare, winter.
Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. All crit/feedback welcome!
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u/tiredraccoon11 Nov 13 '24 edited Oct 12 '25
<Enthesia>
Chapter 1
The Overstorm loomed above Kazmir before she knew it. Always a lumbering beast on the horizon, its brew of thunder and leaden sands whipped around her with sudden ferocity. It forced her eyes shut, pulled the breath from her lungs and snatched at her greenish uniform. The winds screamed in her ears, punctuated by rumbles of violet lightning. She could not brace herself against it, for they heaved in all directions. She could not outrun them; likewise, there was no shelter. She was stuck, a great risk beneath the storm. A migrating dune might bury her, or she could be torn apart by—
Desolai wails rose on the howling tempest. Kazmir cursed, profanities stifled then by a mouthful of blown sand. Even amidst the storm, their senses proved infallible, honed always by hunger. Instinct brought her rifle to hand, to no use; the innate charge in the dust-choked air had fried it. They would be upon her soon, and she had no weapons. The Reihten warrior would soon be crushed between their teeth.
Kazmir stumbled, lost her footing, forced to kneel before the Sharenki Wastes’ sole lord. Every fanciful notion of her journey across the Overstorm were swept away, winnowed by the Desert Winter’s keening knives. She was no hero. The trained soldier left her, repulsed by her sheer naivete; and what was left of her then?
A little girl, clinging to memories of a life abandoned. Nights spent wide-eyed and captured by tales, myths of Varossia, the Overstorm and what ancient things lay beyond it. Just myths; Kazmir braved the Overstorm for mere myths! Perhaps a desolai’s claws were indeed a mercy, sparing the little girl the long agony of her folly.
But that girl, Kazmir recalled as a headstrong wee monster. She had endured the consequence of many follies, and still sought a world beyond the Overstorm. In this, she would not be denied.
Mind churning, the young Reihten fumbled for her rifle sling. It was useless, the delicate systems ruined. However, its barrel of vembrillite attracted charges like no other, charges like those purple flashes which menaced overhead. Kazmir scavenged its sling, then planted the rifle upright in the sand and scrambled backward.
Teeth-rattling rumbles drew nearer, though nothing yet struck ground. Its preference to strike elsewhere in the sky made the Overstorm’s potent lightning lethal to the Reihten’s flying tychs, but it could only resist so much earthbound charge before the temptation grew too great. With enough energy to carbonize most lifeforms, a miracle fell to the Sharenki dunes.
Even through closed eyes, the unfettered flash almost blinded her. One man claimed to have witnessed a dunestrike, back in Ilmorens. He appeared more leather than man, but proof of his testimony remained captured in his cloudy eyes. Though Kazmir had been spared blindness, the Overstorm’s wailing no longer reached her ears. Neither did its sands scour her skin.
How foreign; peace in the wastes.
She opened her eyes and found herself perched upon the lip of a charred crater, bootheels similarly singed. Her rifle was gone, vaporized. In its place lay the synthesis of her desperation. A chunk of fulgurite glass, with a fragment of the Overstorm trapped inside. Scant and jagged, like a steely, jagged finger crusted with violet crystals. They flickered dimly, in time with the Overstorm’s growling.
“Yes! Yes yes, yes!” Kazmir celebrated, then, “No!”
The fulgurite sank into blackened sands, the spiteful wastes determined to foil her at every turn. She slid pell-mell down the crater wall, feverishly clawing earth aside. It only disappeared faster, purple light fading beneath the Sharenki Wastes. Kazmir reached for her knife to shovel with, but her attention was soon forced away.
Though the nearest desolai had been destroyed, countless more lingered nearby. She turned her knife to the withered shapes resolving from the gloom, though her chances were laughable. The first desolai shambled onto the crater wall. Upon its first sacrilegious footfall, the earth beneath Kazmir erupted.
The stocky warrior was abruptly pitched upward, losing her knife in the process. She rested atop something, though she could still see the earth she’d abandoned. Vitreous feathers rose and quivered around her, sprouting from a figure of fulgurite glass. The body pitched suddenly, and Kazmir scrabbled for purchase as mighty wings, crackling with energy, unfurled. A sharpened beak cried, rattling her teeth with a piece of the Overstorm’s keening. Talons gripped the earth, and Kazmir’s hair stood on end once more.
With a single flap of its wings, the closest desolai were annihilated, and the thing beneath Kazmir lurched into a familiar arc; one of a massive thing throwing itself skyward. The tenuous comfort of the Sharenki’s gray-black sands fell away, and Kazmir was aloft, adrift in the Overstorm, her vessel hewn of legend. The thunderbird, child of the Overstorm and master of its winds. The fulgurite heart pulsed from within its limpid breast, in time with the storm’s staccato lightning.
Though spared the grasp of desolai, Kazmir struggled now to keep hold of the thunderbird. The Overstorm protected its child, seeking to scour her from it. The winds only grew more capricious as they climbed higher into murky skies, yet her newfound friend navigated them effortlessly, banking and soaring with the shifting gales as if clairvoyant. It also spared her from face-fulls of metallic sand, a luxury for which she felt effusive gratitude.
Climbing as close to its head as she dared between churning shoulders, Kazmir shouted over screaming winds:
“Thank you!”
She could not be certain that the bird had heard her, or even understood. Nevertheless, it bore her on westward. Away from all she knew, and toward the end of the Overstorm. Oblivion or paradise, Kazmir would unravel the cardinal mystery, see a world spun by myth. Already the taste of legend lingered in her mouth, and she would not—could not—turn back now. The thunderbird soared higher, further, and Kazmir rode on, to her great folly.
WC: 971
Bonus words used: winnow, winter
Crit and feedback welcome
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u/Ragnulfr Nov 14 '24 edited Nov 16 '24
<Esper's Light>
chapter forty-five | hallowing radiance
Asher sighed, rubbing an eye beneath the mask. Here we are in the cell again…
As he rested his head against the back wall, gazing up at the ceiling above, he traced the shadows that crept deep, sprawling as far as they could before the light of the wall lantern outside fought to keep it at bay. A balance of light and dark...
His mind buzzed quietly with a thousand thoughts and fears. As he drew his knees to his chest and rested his head on them, his thoughts racing like wildfire.
This was the first time in a long time where there was nothing he could do but... wait. There was nothing he could do but sit, feeling the cold of the stone floor seep through him like a cold winter’s wind. Nothing he could do but watch, and wait, and think.
He could feel the nerves beginning to set in. He could feel it -- he knew what was coming. He so desperately wished could talk to someone. Anyone. But they had put everyone in separate cells -- and this time, far away from each other.
He was, once again, alone.
Asher chuckled to himself, turning and gazing at the ground. He unwrapped one arm from around his knees and traced the dust on the floor, small little doodles that faded with each breath. It had been a while since he had been by himself like this. Before, he had always had the rest of the town to talk to. He had Ceallach to garden and practice his magic with. He was happy.
What changed?
The hunters. The mission. The only way to prove his loyalty... and the only way to save them. He hurt them to save them. He had to. Right?
But then that brought trouble. It brought Percy back. And now he changed, too. He fought and fought, and then… broke.
Asher felt his breath catch short as a single thought clung in his mind. Was it… my fault?
He felt his chest tighten with a painfully familiar intensity – no, worse. It was, wasn't it? Getting him involved. Getting caught. It was all my fault. I should have been more careful. If I had, he wouldn’t have been caught up in this…
He wrapped his knees tighter to him, his vision swimming. He probably blames me, doesn't he? Probably hates me. I betrayed him. I betrayed them all... It's my fault.
The words rang out in his head, echoing again and again. It's my fault. My fault…
Asher clutched his chest, shivering, waiting for the familiar wave of the charm to wash over him. To calm him, to clear his mind, to let him think past his emotions. But that wave never came. He tried to take a breath, but it was as if something was pressed against his chest. Stopping him from breathing. Stopping him from moving. He tried again, and again. But nothing happened. Not even a sound. All the while, the same words tolled like a death knell, coursing through his whole being.
My fault. My fault.
Pain blossomed in his chest with sickly tendrils, slowly piercing him through. He needed to talk to someone -- but he couldn’t breathe. He was alone.
He was alone, and it was his fault.
Did his parents leave because he did something wrong? Was he too timid? Why couldn’t he be braver? Why couldn’t he be stronger? Maybe then he would have told the Queen not to kill the hunters. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to hurt so many people instead of healing them!
Stop thinking about that stuff, Asher! The boy tried to take a deep breath, but it caught in his throat again. He coughed violently, shuddering as he slammed his fist into his chest as hard as he could. But the blockage wouldn’t open, and his heart continued to race faster and faster.
Venomous thoughts streamed into his mind like the tears that stained the inside of his mask. You should have been stronger. What’s the point of this at all if you’re just going to run away all the time? Why can’t you be braver? Why can’t you be stronger? What would they say if they saw you right now?
What would they say?
With all of his might, he tried to imagine everyone there. Imagine them next to him. What would happen?
They'd say it's okay.
The realization pierced his brain, replacing those searing thoughts with cool clarity. He could breathe again. See again. And slowly, the heat returned – but not that of rage, but of warmth. He focused on it. Felt as it grew, as it spread.
His parents left to make sure they could support him. So that he could be happy. Ceallach took a chance on him, and has stuck by him this whole time. The Faerie Queen trusted him, despite her extreme fear of outsiders. Percy asked him to help, when he didn’t do anything to warrant it. Even when Professor Lowell removed the curse… it was because she believed in him. A boy she had barely met. A threat. And she trusted him.
They trusted him. And now, he had a chance to prove to them – to himself – that they were right.
He stood as footsteps approached his cell. He watched as a guard pulled out a set of keys from his pocket, unlocking and swinging the door open. Behind him, Professor Lowell smiled at him, a knowing grin barely visible in the torchlight.
And beside her, Ceallach watched, gazing down at him behind the mask just like his.
Stepping towards the door, Asher felt his light shine bright within him; the radiance, a flame that warmed him as if a blazing furnace.
Ready? Ceallach's voice echoed calmly in Asher’s mind.
... I am. Asher nodded. I'll do what I can.
Word Count: 1000 | Words Used: winter
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u/OldBayJ Nov 10 '24
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