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[sjm9876]

Welp, I was stumbling around my google drive, and found this.
I have no idea what inspired me to write this, nor the reason for the sudden cut off.

But yeah - just though I'd post something as I haven't really had the time to write recently.

[adwarf]

Spoiler: Story Snippet Thing (click to show/hide)

All around the sounds of clanking metal, heavy breathing, and a sparse sobs filled the air as the Band took up what positions they could in the half demolished ruins, from somewhere to the right Markus could hear Sampson prattling.

"If I'm correct this is Fort Hadran, the Crown-less King Treyard and his Sworn Brothers fought here many years ago when the undead legions swept up from the south to try and take the Crossing and shatter the Kingdoms of the Living. Together him and the three hundred men of the Sworn Brothers fought over twenty thousand of the undead for nigh on seven days ... on the seventh day they overran the fortress and Treyard died though not without raising a mountain of truly dead corpses around him. Ha, back in those day the border to the Kingdoms of the Living was only a days ride away, now its over a week to the nearest bastion..."

Markus cut him off both angry, and saddened by the situation he'd led his men into,

"Sampson would you shut the hell up, the men don't need you reminding them we don't have a chance of making it the Lands of the Living before these hordes close on us, though I have to say there is perhaps no better place to die then where a King died. Come on boys, lets show this Crown-less King that we're worth seven of him, when these bastards get here I want five of them dead for every one of us!"

Some sparse war cries came in answer, but for most part the men did not answer, he didn't hold it against them of course because it was his fault they were here in the first place. He had lead them all to their death due to his greed, of course there was no trove of weapons blessed by the Gods so far into the nightlands, but he'd believed the tales anyway and in the end they had came to the supposed location only to find thousands of the undead teeming in the city. They'd had a good run, evaded them for nearly a week now but his scouts had brought in word three days ago of a band of Rattlebones drove on by a Revenant that had somehow made its way in front of his men, even now they were being encircled. The situation was so desperate Markus almost found it in him to laugh, well there wasn't really anything he could do now, and of course as that thought ran through his mind a cry went up from farther out.

"They're coming from all sides, oh god there's hundreds of the... ARGH!!"

As more dying screams began to be heard as the watchmen were brought down Markus signaled to the rest of his men for quite and scooted ever so slightly to the right where the low wall he crouched on dropped in a jagged cliff where a gate should have been. The fort had been circular in shape, and surely there had once been buildings in the middle but time had rotted the buildings to nothing and brought a good quarter of the wall down into rubble along with the sole gate. Now dozens of his men crouched beneath the rubble of the fallen wall with axes, and swords in hand while just as many crouched on the ramparts with bows in hand, he himself held his long-sword that shimmered ever so slightly with a blue glow tightly in both hands.

It wasn't long before the first of them began to come into sight out of the dark, dozens and dozens of shamblers came into view shortly after the stench of their rotting flesh, and the sound of their slow, heavy steps reached the group. He signaled to the archers to hold, and the shamblers made their way closer until finally they began to clumsily climb over the ramble and stumble through the ruined remains of the gate. With a determined look on his face Markus stepped back a bit, turned, and leaped from the wall screaming,

"NOOOW!"

The air was quickly filled with the sound of arrows whistling through the air, and the snap of bowstrings as they were let loose followed closely by a heavy crunching noise as Markus crushed a shambler under his weight. Before the closest ones could even react he was a midst them laying about him, and fighting with everything he had, the blue light of the sword grew brighter as it cut into the flesh of the undead and it scythed through both flesh and bone like a knife through wet paper. He could hear war cries from behind him, but they sounded dull and distant as the battle began to consume him and another cry came to his lips,

"For Voltaris, for the People of the Sun, and for the White City! Kill them, slaughter them all in the name of vengeance!"

The sword seemed to glow even brighter at his words, but he ignored it for all that mattered was the seemingly endless numbers before him, in quick succession he took the head off one, split another almost in half, and quickly sliced both arms off another before slipping the blade through its skull. Yet for every shambler he killed another two stepped forward to take their place, within moments he found himself surrounded and just as he thought it was the end over a dozen spears of white light came into view. They shot forward and impaled the undead around him which subsequently collapsed as the spears of light faded out of existing, sparing a glance back he found Sampson clutching an iron pendant of a sword over a hammer, the symbol of the Sun God Venmark.

Markus laughed bitterly as he turned back to face the yet more shamblers, all that had survived of Voltaris stood here in this fort, even Venmark was with them who was the last of the Voltarin Gods who would actually aid his worshipers. As he planted his sword in the head of the closest shambler skull he let out one more cry,

"Brothers and Sisters, today Voltaris will die here! Let us make it a glorious death that will be told of from here to the very ends of time!"

This time an answer came to his cry, it came in the form of hundreds of voices screaming in unison.

"Voltaris dies today! Glory to the People of the Sun God, Vengeance for the White City!"

A smile spread across his lips as he basked in the glory of the words while shearing yet more limbs from the ceaseless hordes of undead, at least in the end he had achieved what truly mattered to the the Voltarin people, he had returned their pride and fulfilled their desire for vengeance. The fight seemed to drag on for an hour, but eventually the sounds of battle began to fade away to be replaced by cries of death, pain, and sorrow as comrades lay dead, or dying in the ruins of the old fort. Looking at the fallen undead a sudden thought came to Markus, the only thing they had fought and killed so far were shamblers, as that realization hit him he turned to scream but it was already to late.

He watched in horror as most of the archers on the battlements were cut to pieces by the foes behind them, skeletal remains clad in rusted metal armor and wielding rusted weapons, and yet another thought came to him. 'Why, why did we not hear them sooner? Ho..' and then he saw it, each of the pale grey sentinels of death was clad in a dim black aura, the aura of necromantic magic ...

Some of those gathered in the courtyard saw the actions from above, and quickly ran for the stairwells up to aid the few remaining archers who had drawn their various weapons and were struggling to hold back the skeletal warriors. Markus felt a pain in his chest as if his heart had torn from the sight of losing so many, tearing his eyes from the he sought a single figure a midst the madness of the warriors in the courtyard, that single figure was Sampson, the last remaining priest to the gods of Voltaris ... and an adopted child from the far north. The weary knight found him standing in the center of the courtyard clutching his pendant and speaking prayers in a tongue Markus couldn't quite understand, as the young man finished a blast of light flew forward and threw a dozen of the skeletal soldiers from the fort walls but before he could start another prayer Markus took him by the collar.

He shook the youth and spoke clearly with a deep tinge of sadness to his voice,

"Go Sampson, you are no true son of Volantis, it is not your place to die here with the ruins of a dead nation when you could help those of the living, we may not be able to escape but someone such as you by themselves might just be able to make it. Sampson leave, leave and take the tale of how the Children of the White City died, of ... of the end of Volantis and the memory of the White City at the hands of our hated foe in the dark. When you flee here leave behind all that is of White City, for it shall finally lay to rest here."

Markus stretched his hand out to the young man whose eyes were filled with tears, and his shoulders shook as he suppressed sobs, at first Sampson hesitated but he stretched his hand out and dropped the pendant of Venmark into Markus' palm. A sad smile spread across his lips as he spoke,

"Goodbye my friend, goodbye Markus, Last of the Knights of the White City and son of the gods. May the Volantis rest in peace in this tomb of the dead, all of your gods but one may have passed from this world, but the one that still remains is with you all to the end and is ready to die here as well for his task is done. May Venmark the God of Sun, the Hand of Justice, and the Golden Face of Death lead your people to the ancient halls of your ancestors."

With that the youth turned and a few of the Volantis people nearby fell in around him as they headed for the space where the gate had once stood, they would carve him a way out of this hellhole over their own corpses Markus knew ... but even those that passed through the horde would all turn and fall back in on the enemy to die in the glory of battle. All except the orphan child Sampson ...

With the last of his tasks finished Markus wound the sword and sun pendant around the hilt of his sword, all the while the sword began to glow with an intense blue light and the presence of something akin to the very essence of torment became ever present. Clutching the sword tight Markus finally looked up to find the fortress had completely devolved into a full on fight, all his men stood in combat with the countless metal armor clad Rattlebones and for every one of the foul skeletons that was struck down to of the Volantin people died. Of course he quickly noticed that a circle had been maintained around him ... him and a being whose physical presence he had just noticed, before him stood a towering behemoth of a man clad in black platemail armor, and a bloodstained black cloak that covered his face. The aura of torment seemed to ooze from that being, from that spirit given physical form that the people had taken to calling Revenants for they truly lived up to that name.

The beings were in fact spirits that had come back to the living world after that event a few hundred years ago when the wall between the real world and the underworld were torn apart as necromantic magics tore through the land changing it forever. Except these spirits weren't average, they had come to possess a truly physical form by devouring the souls of the living and using those souls to make them stronger, and stronger. Markus knew of few men who had ever seen a Revenant, and none that had fought and killed such a monstrosity, of course none of those had been the last of Volantis, none of them had watched the White City burn, and none of them had nothing to live for but revenge. He was different, that single concept embodied him, drove him onward when normal men would succumb to wounds or madness from the sorrows they had seen ... and none of them had Venmark with them as he felt the Sun God with him now.

Markus looked the Revenant straight on and did the last thing he thought he would ever do in such a situation, he laughed.

"And here we are at the end of road, let us fight to see which is stronger, your forces of the dark or my God of Sun with nothing left to him, but sadness, pain, and a thirst for vengeance. Let me show you the wrath of the White City!"

Without even a second thought he leaped towards the towering figure, as he charged across the empty ground he watched a blade form from the shadows of the being's cloak, a blade of pure black that seemed to devour the light. It moved faster then almost any human could, and Markus stopped his charge short as he parried a blow from the Revenant, the truly opposing swords leaving sparks of black and blue in the air as they met. The parry turned into a seamless flurry of blows that the Revenant hastily met with a series of blocks, the fight continued back and forth with both sides trading blows back and forth that filled the very air with a blue light and a colorless darkness. The pair seemed evenly matched at first as both sides traded blows without giving ground, but quickly enough Markus found himself pressed back as he was forced to give ground to the furious onslaught before him.

He held against the onslaught for a time, but as he backpedaled away from a slash that nearly took off his head his foot hit something and he tumbled backwards, barely managing to roll and come up on one knee before the avatar of torment was on him again. He blocked one blow, and then another, and then another, and another ... but the fourth was the last as the sword made of shadows found a hole in his defenses and a sudden pain sprouted from his chest. A bitter smile spread across his face as he stared up into the pitch black hood of the Revenant, and before it could react he gripped the sword with one hand pulling himself up onto it, he pushed and pulled as the sound of tearing flesh and blood spattering across the ground filled the air. It was all drowned out by the sound of one thing, by a bitter laugh that echoed through the courtyard where now only a handful of Volantin people still stood fighting.

With a look of determination in his eyes Markus looked into the hood of the Revenant and spoke,

"You will have none of us you monstrosity, we are the proud People of the Sun, and our god spits in your face, but do not worry you wont come away from this without a reward!"

At the last word Markus slashed forward with the shining sword slamming it into the chest of the monster before him, an ear shattering wail escaped its lips as the blue light turned to flames that began to consume it, but all of this fell on deaf ears for as the blade sank into the black armor life left Markus. He could rest now, the last survivor and knight of the White City could finally leave this cursed world at last to be with his god in his final hours, at the thought a smile had crossed the dead man's face. What he did not live to see was a pillar of blue flames that slowly built up from the Revenant and began to spread devouring all the beings of necromancy, and darkness in it wake while leaving the corpses of the Volantis people untouched. In the end this place would stand a testament, a testament to the strength and pride of the Volantis people that had died, but achieved much in their death throes of course none of them would live to see it ... none of them but a young priest named Sampson, an orphan boy from the far north who had been taken in by the Priesthood of Volantis.

[Alexor]

I had a cool idea for a story and I felt like writing some of it out.  Might be extended into something longer if the mood strikes me.  Let me know what you think, I haven't really edited it yet, so it probably still needs some work.

Spoiler: Coffin (click to show/hide)

   “Alright, this is it.”

   The lock clicked open and the pair stepped inside.  It was a small place, just outside of town, quiet.  Secluded.  The door opened into a living room like area, fairly undecorated and uninteresting.   A couch, two chairs and a table, a few assorted furnishings, and an odd device in the corner.  The left side of the room opened up into what looked like a small kitchen.  It was a bit confined.  He liked that.  He wondered if there was a balcony.  He couldn't see one from outside, but he wouldn't assume anything.  An assumption was what had gotten him killed last time.  He wouldn't make the same mistake again. 

   The girl stepped over to the side of the room, interrupting his thoughts.  She took off her backpack and started unpacking its contents onto the table.  He watched from a distance, examining her possessions.  Books.  Lots of books.  Well kept, large, and thick.  What was that binding?  A coat.  Right, it had been warm out.  She had it with her just in case though.  She thought ahead.  A box, thin, with a seam in the side.  Another book, this one smaller, with an illustration on the cover.  She turned around before he could get a good look at it. 

   “So, this is the place.  You can stay here until we figure out what to do with you.  I guess you've been gone for a long while, huh?”

   “...Yes.” he replied.  “Your assistance is much appreciated.  You will be rewarded for this.”
   
   “Nah, that's fine!  You saved my life, after all.  I've got plenty of space, so make yourself at home.  I'm gonna make some food.  I wasn't expecting guests, so I don't have anything fancy... Oh!  I can make spaghetti!  Is that alright?”

   He paused for a second.  This seemed too generous.  Would it be considered an insult if he declined?  What the hell is a spaghetti?  “That's fine.” he said hesitantly.

   “Alright, cool.  I was worried you might need to eat something special.  Is that a thing with you?”  The girl stepped over to the kitchen, and started opening cupboards and taking out ingredients.  “Sorry, I guess that's a bit of a private question.  Anyways, I'm not gonna pry if you don't want me to.  You seem like a genuinely good guy.  Oh!  I know your name, of course, but I haven't told you mine.  It's Anna.”

   He took a moment to take a closer look around, ignoring her for the moment.  He didn't want to let his guard down, but there were certain things he needed to know.  He took a look out the window.  There weren't any houses nearby.  He could see one or two down the street, if he strained, but their lights were off.  Very few prying eyes here, if any.  It could work.  He examined the building.  It was new, by his standards.  Then again, he mused, most things were.  He estimated...five years?  Was that long for a house these days?  Maybe it was more.  But the way it was furnished, she probably hadn't lived here very long.  He had seen much larger buildings on the way here.  By his standards, it seemed fine...But it probably wasn't worth much.

   “Oh, shit.  Do you have any, uuh...Allergies, I guess you'd call them?  Certain herbs?”  He turned to the voice in the kitchen.  She was holding a bulb of garlic in her hand.

   “What?  No.”

   “Oh, okay, cool.”  She turned back to her work, adding a few diced vegetables into a skillet.

   It was at this point that he began to suspect she wasn't much of an asset after all.

   “You can turn on the TV if you like.  We get cable out here, at least.”  She paused for a second.  There was no response.  “Hey, you okay out there-”  She turned around and managed to get a close look at his eyes before his hand clasped around her throat.

   “My apologies for this.”

   “Wha-What are you doing?”  His hand wasn't tight, but it held her firmly in place.  She looked down.  Small points of light ran up and down his arm, like tiny lightning bolts.  A faint crackling could be heard.

   “It turns out I don't need you after all.  While I appreciate your hospitality, I have much better things to do with my time.  Goodbye.” He gave her an apologetic look, and then tightened his grip.

   The crackling intensified, and she felt a sharp sting on her neck.  And then...

   She opened her eyes again.  Nothing had happened.  He let go, and looked down at his hand.  The light was gone, and the crackling had stopped.  Everything was still for a second.

   “What-” he said, and then his head was struck by a very large skillet.

[Skyrunner]

I liked that. It would be nice if you could continue writing that, but explaining the situation more. It was a pretty good appetizer, giving me a taste of the situation and your writing style and leaving me wanting more.

[hops]

I figured I should post my random flash fiction.

Prompt was: "Spill a small secret you never told anyone before in third person."

Spoiler: Scent (click to show/hide)

The Boy wasn't sure whether it meant he was now a creeper. At his age, everything is so new, so confusing, so strange. The sweet, indescribable scent assailed him as he made his way past the room. Invisible tendrils tugging at his heart and inviting him inside to play, whether its master is here or not.

It was equal parts torment as well as joy, the smell that followed The Other Boy like a pet, ignoring everyone except for The Boy. 'I'm sure my master will like you.' it promised, it cooed, 'Don't be so shy', but what does the smell know, what does his heart know? The Boy knew that it was, and always doomed. An intelligent person like him should have been able to analyze the scent and knew it was toxic.

Distribution of the neurotoxin was limited, they only had three classes together a week. The Boy was quite unsure of approaching The Other Boy in any other time. He wondered if those that surrounded The Other Boy were also affected by it, whether they can smell it in the air and every place The Other Boy passed. To him the smell is always strong and distinctive, yet his words cannot describe them.

A fly is encouraged to come nearer to the sweet nectar of the pitcher plant. It promised of nutrition and delicacy. The Other Boy was sweet. Too sweet. An amateur's mistake. The syrup only belonged to the monkeys who are able to drink them. The fly may attempt to stick to the surface as they spent their time in their metalworking class and burning its' hand while captivated by the other. It plied the Other with affection and help. The scent overwhelmed its' sense of self-preservation.

'You fool. Just get on with it already! I need you! I want you!' the scent pulled hard. “Maybe I need you too.” The Boy was, quite frankly, definitely not the target that the scent should have wanted, but poison does not discriminate. “Oh, but I can't possibly be your food.” The Boy tried to reason with it 'A sweet thing like you is food to me' It replied. Some things just kill for pleasure.

“Hey, want to go watch movies together this weekend?” The Boy asked tentatively, giving in the the siren call of the room. The scent's master was focused on their video game. “Nah, can't be assed. Why would you want to go to the cinema with me?”

“Maybe I should just tell you...”

“Tell me what?”

“I love you.”

“I'm not gay.”

“I know.”

'Try again! Do it! Do it!' the beast screamed into his ears. “No” The Boy simply said. “Fuck you and your scents.”

The smell of love is sickening to him now.

[Alexor]

I ended up continuing on that idea I had a few posts above.  Warning:  Much longer than the last one.  It took a weird turn that I wasn't expecting about halfway through.

Spoiler: Coffin: Chapter 1 (click to show/hide)

   It took him a few moments to realize he was conscious again. The line between wakefulness and rest was a thin one for a creature like him.  Normally, it would take a lot more than a frying pan to the head to knock him out.  Of course, normally this wouldn't be a problem at all.   He did not fight, as a rule.  He had minions to do that for him.  Or at least, he used to.  The last time he had actually taken a blow like that was…

   He bolted upright.  Where was he?  He should be dead, or at least close to dead.  He looked around.  Those same walls.  Still in the house?  Why?  Usually, when he woke up losing a fight, he found himself in some unusual spot.  Frequently, he’d fine himself buried under six feet of sanctified earth, with his throat slit and a chunk of wood through his chest.  He wondered if he’d be able to survive that sort of treatment in his state.  Nothing had gone right for him since he had woken up.  He felt unusually… mortal.

   He got up and took a look around.  It looked like a spare bedroom of some sort.  No windows, but there was a door on the far wall.  Locked, of course.  Evidently his host thought he was more valuable alive.  He noticed a mirror in the corner of the room.  He examined himself:  He hadn’t really had a good chance to examine himself since the awakening.  He tried to remember… It had been a very long time since he had been human.  Had he always looked like this?

    A cursory glance revealed nothing unusual about him.  He was average height, maybe a bit on the short side, with straight black hair that ran ragged down to the shoulders.  His skin was pale, but not unusually so.  A thin trail of dried blood ran down his forehead, probably from his wound earlier.  His features were a bit pointed; in a way that made him seem intellectual, or so he liked to think.  His clothes were in a bit of a state:  A ragged black cloak, missing its hood, with the clothes beneath similarly colored and worn.  He didn’t look fearsome or predatory.  He looked like a delinquent.

   He looked away.  He had more important things to do than admire his looks.  Chief among them:  Leaving.  He had no intention of staying here any longer than he had to.  Carefully, he examined the lock.  It wasn’t a complex lock, as far as he could tell, although it seemed well crafted.  Perhaps there was something around he could fashion into a lock pick. 

   A voice came from the other side of the door.  “Are you alright in there?”

   He stayed silent.

   “I could hear you moving around in there, I know you’re awake.”

   Eventually, he replied, choosing his words very carefully.  “…I have no quarrel with you.  I merely wish to leave.”

   “Sure.  I’ll open the door, and you’ll try to kill that arm thing again, and then I’ll hit you with this pan again.”  He heard a noise that sounded like a large metal object being tapped against the door.

   “…It wasn’t going to kill you.  I merely wished to render you unconscious for a few hours.”

   There was a pause.  “I thought so.” she replied.  “I’ve seen what it looks like when you kill someone.  And you didn’t apologize then, either.”  There was a sigh from behind the door.  “Why don’t you tell me who you are and why you are in such a hurry to leave?”  Another pause.  “Oh.  And give me something better to call you.  ‘Baroth Lanius du Vanthael’ doesn’t really roll off the tongue.  How about ‘Lane’?”

   He scowled.  “You may call me whatever you wish.  As for what I want… I see no reason to spend my time here in a small dilapidated home when I have far more important concerns to worry about.”

   “Concerns like…?”

   He thought for a moment.  Perhaps he should just go with honesty here.  It’s not as if giving this girl information was terribly dangerous.  She didn’t seem the type to leak secrets, and in a worst case scenario he could always just crush her mind.  “I am a supernatural being, a creature that you humans might call a Demon.”

   On the other side of the door, Anna rolled her eyes.  “Yeah, I guessed that much when you stumbled out of that pentagram-shaped bonfire covered in black flames.  Speaking of which, didn’t that seem like overkill?”

   “…The ritual only requires an invocation and about a pint of blood.  Your friend apparently didn’t think that was flashy enough for his tastes, so he ‘enhanced’ it a bit.”

   “Well, it did look pretty metal.”

   “Huh?”

   “Never mind.”  She sighed again.  “You’re avoiding the question!  Just what are you planning on doing after you leave.”

   He thought for a moment.  “While I may have once been human, I have no intention of staying on Earth any longer than is needed.  I desired to leave and reclaim whatever remains of my old territories in the Outer Planes.  However, it’s becoming apparent that I’m simply too weak at this point in time to accomplish that.  My minions and servants, if they have survived my downfall, will not even recognize me in this state  My former power should have returned once they sensed the presence of their master, but clearly this has not occurred.  It may be that I have to start from scratch.”

   “Start from scratch?”

   “I only have a tiny fragment of my full strength.  That is all I need.  Fueled by blood and souls, I may yet rekindle my former power.  Whatever remains of my kingdom, I will take it back.  By tooth and nail if need be.”  He smiled to himself.  “Blood magic is only one form of power.  Domination over lesser beings.  The will to lead armies and legions.  Powerful supernatural servants.  Wealth.  All of this may be needed.  I will gather all that I need from here, and then retake my lands by fire and storm.”

   “That's one hell of a plan.”  Anna smiled, and leaned against the door.  “Alright.  I want in.”

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

   “You....What?”

   “You heard me.”  Anna grinned.  “I want in on this.  I'm coming with you, whether you like it or not.” 

   For the second time since he had awakened, Lanius was completely speechless.  He tried to think of the last time he had heard of such a foolish request.  “And what, pray tell, makes you think you can enforce this demand?  How exactly do you intend to force my hand here?  With the skillet?”

   “No.  I won't need to.  Because you need me more than you think you do.  How long do you think you've been asleep?”

   Lanius thought for a moment.  He wasn't sure.  Were they still using the Julian Calendar?  He could ask.  No, better not.  The less she knew the better.  “...My memories are hazy, but I would believe it to be at least 500 years.” he bluffed.

   “And you think you can just walk out there with no knowledge of anything, and still expect everything to go your way?”  She chuckled.  “Not a chance.  Maybe a few hundred years ago you could get away with that, but not now.  Too much has changed.”

   A few hundred years?  What did she mean by that?  Did something happen?  “And you're saying you think you can help.”

   “Well...”  She faltered for a moment.  “I mean, I'm not exactly an expert.  But I can show you around, help you get back on your feet.  And then, who knows?  I mean, it's not like I'm doing much right now.”

   Ah.  So that was her game.  Lanius grinned to himself.  This was becoming interesting.  “I understand now.  You're alone, aren't you?  Bereft of purpose, empty, desperately clinging onto anything that gives you meaning.  You want to come with me for the sake of making yourself sleep better at night because you've accomplished something.  As long as you're helping someone, you have purpose.  You're bored and alone and scared of being redundant, returning to the normalcy you hate.  Is that right?”

   There was no response.

   “A demon does not keep companions, miss 'Anna'.  If I require your help, I will ask for it.  Now open this door, and let me leave.”

   There was silence for a second.  And then she replied.  “But you still need me.”

   “Ah, now who's avoiding the questions?”

   “Quiet, you!  Do you even know what country you're in?”

   Lanius had to stop and think.  The architecture was different than anything he'd seen before.  What remained of his powers allowed him to understand the language fluently, but he didn't recognize what it was.  He made a guess.  “Obviously, it's a European country of some sort, though I'm not certain which.” 

   “Not even close.  We're in northeastern United States, in America.”

   Damn it.  America?  The name was unfamiliar, but he understood where she was referring to.  Why here?  And why were they speaking such an odd language?  “It doesn't matter.  All I need is a secluded place.  The geography doesn't concern me.”

   “And where are you planning on finding somewhere secluded?” 

   This he hadn't thought of.  “I don't suppose I'm lucky enough to have a cave nearby?”

   “There's one, but it's a tourist trap.”

   Lanius wasn't sure exactly what that meant, but he got the gist of it.  “Alright.  An abandoned building will do nicely, then.”

   Anna thought for a bit.  “There's an abandoned office building on the outskirts of town.  You'll probably get arrested for squatting if anyone sees you hanging around, though.”

   “If you're trying to dissuade me from something, Anna, I hope you can find a better argument than sending the constabulary at me.  At any rate, it's only temporary.  The mortal mind is more weak and pliable than you would imagine.  Once I regain a fraction of my power, it should be an easy matter to convince the local authority into granting me a parcel of land.”

   Anna chuckled.  “My uncle works in construction.  There's no way you'll be able to do that without someone noticing.  The
zoning laws are awful in this city.”

   “Fine.  I'll take it by force if I have to.  This isn't a large city.  I can't imagine anyone mustering a standing army here, of all places.  Easy pickings.”

   “That will just attract more attention.  Unless you're planning on fighting the army?”

   They would send their entire militia in defense of one tiny town?  Surely not.  But then, so much else has changed...  “Fine, then.  I hardly need the whole town.  Surely there's some reclusive citizens around that won't be missed.  I am not above killing a few nobles if that's what it takes.”

   “Yeah, good luck with that.  There's a couple of rich families that live downtown, but it's not like you can just take over their place and expect no one to ever call or send them mail?”

   “Is nothing easy anymore!?  Fine! I'll live in the wilderness if I have to, until I can arrange a more suitable dwelling.”  He was starting to get annoyed.  His patience with this girl was rapidly wearing thin.

   “That could work.  Or, if you're that desperate to find a place, you could stay here, in the spare room.”

   “You insolent cur!  Do you not understand me?  I do not want your help!  Nor do I need it!”  Lanius slammed his fist into the door.  The hinges shuddered, but remained sound.  “If I must, I'll tear this door apart and you next!”

   “Are you really that full of pride that you won't let someone help you?  You said it yourself, you need every advantage you can get!”  Anna kicked the door.  “No wonder it took so long to bring you back.  Who would want to bring back someone like you, anyways?”

   Lanius paused for a moment.  Who indeed?  The summoning ritual could be performed by anyone.  It was not a complicated spell:  Merely a section of his soul which lay dormant on earth, ready to be awakened with nothing more than a few spoken words and suitable gestures.  And the relics he left behind contained a nasty secret, a compulsion to complete the ritual.  It was designed to trigger within months of his death, and the enchantment would grow stronger with every passing day.

   But it hadn't triggered.  Countless years had passed since the day he fell, which meant that the compulsion must have failed  Why?  No, more importantly.  Why now?  Someone still decided to complete the ritual, without any magical prompting.  Unless...

   Someone else wanted him to return.  Not the boy who completed the ritual:  He had read his mind before consuming his soul.  He truly had no idea what he was doing.  Some third party was trying to arrange the return of Lanius.

   And they knew where he was.  Suddenly, everything clicked into place.  The kid was just a pawn.  His role ended back at the ritual site.  And the girl was innocent too.  She had her chance when he was unconscious. 

   He had been unconscious!   “Anna!”

   “Oh, now you want to-”

   “Shut up.   How long was I asleep?”

   “Uh.  Only about three hours.  Look, are you willing to discuss this reasonably or not?”

   Lanius ignored her.  Three hours.  If someone was tracking him, that was more than enough time to pick him out.  His missing strength would hide him for a time, but not long enough.  Enough of his powers remained to sense the movement of supernatural beings, so he would know if something was trying to enter the house.

   Unless it slipped in while he was asleep.

   The lights flickered.  Just for a moment.  Not long enough to be noticeable by anyone who wasn't looking for them.

   “Get away from the door.” Lanius spoke calmly, but firmly.  There wasn't enough time to explain.   

   Anna stepped back, raising her skillet.  “Don't you dare, I won't let you get away like-”

   The door exploded.  The skillet was knocked out of her hand by something too fast to see, and suddenly Lanius was standing next to her.  Anna reeled back, confused.  “How did you do-”

   “We have to get out.”  Lanius looked around.  He was in the hallway, past the living room.  There   was a window at the far end.  He walked to it, and peered through.

   Anna followed him.  “You can't see anything.  It's too dark outside.”

    “Anna, there was a full moon when we left that place.  Where did it go?”

   It suddenly occurred to her that she couldn't see anything outside.  Not the moon, not the stars, not the streetlamp.  Even the lights from the city were gone.  She felt an awful sinking feeling, the sort you feel when something is terribly wrong and you haven't quite figured out why.

   “Whatever it is, it's in the house, and it's hiding from us.  Sinking into the foundations, waiting.  Don't try the doors.”  He noticed   “It's taking over from the bottom up.  Are there windows upstairs?”

   Anna faltered for a second, and replied “Yeah, the one in my room is closest.”  She suddenly realized it was very warm in the house.  How long had it been that warm?

   “Keep up.” Lanius moved, faster than she could have expected him to.  He dashed up the stairs, almost seeming to glide up while hardly making a sound.  She followed him, but halfway up the stairs she heard something.  A sharp crack, like splitting lumber.  The lights dimmed.

   Anna turned around, and she saw something.  The stairs were opposite the door into the living room, and she could see something was standing there next to her couch.  She got only a quick glimpse of it, and it was gone.

   And then the first floor of her house caught fire.

   It wasn't normal fire, that much was certain.  It was deep blue, and seemed almost aggressive in the way it sought out anything flammable.  The chairs were engulfed in only a few seconds, and the couch lasted only moments longer.  The heat was unimaginable. 

   Suddenly, as if it had a mind of its own, the fire surged towards the stairs.  The first three steps were engulfed in a heartbeat, and the next followed suit moments afterward.  Anna was only on the sixth step.  There wasn't enough time to run.  There wasn't enough time to do anything.

   And then a hand grabbed her roughly by the back of her jacket and lifted her up.

   She almost seemed to have been flung through the air by how fast she was moving.  She came to rest roughly on the ground, and looked up to see Lanius slamming the door to the stairwell behind them.  He turned angrily to her.  “I said keep up!” he shouted, and then was gone again, down the hall and into the first open room he saw.

   Anna picked herself up and followed him.  He had entered her bedroom.  She looked inside and saw the unusual sight of Lanius holding a chair, with her bedroom window shattered.  Shards of glass littered the floor, and a chunk of the chair had broken off and landed neatly on her bed.

   She looked out the window.  It wasn't dark outside.  Something was covering the window, a sticky black tar that moved like it was possessed.  A trickle of it ran down the wall, and pooled onto the floor and Lanius' boots.

   What had he said?  'From the bottom up'...

   “The attic!”  Anna didn't stop to explain, running down the hall to the far end.  Lanius followed, watching her pull a cord
attached to the ceiling.  A set of stairs dropped down, as if from nowhere.  He didn't stop long enough to be impressed by the trick:  Anna had already started up the stairs.  He chanced a glimpse behind him as he followed her.  He turned around just in time to see the door to the stairs shatter.  The flames billowed out, and surged down the hall after the pair.  Lanius turned and ran. 

   He looked around quickly as he emerged into the attic.  It was cluttered with old boxes and possessions, but he ignored them.  There was one window, on the far side of the room, and he could see the light of the moon in it.  Anna was already making her way towards it.  They would be out in seconds.

   But they didn't have seconds.  The crackling of the fire below intensified.

   Lanius ran.  He didn't break stride as he grabbed Anna by the neck, hoisting her onto his shoulder.  His arm reached out towards the window, and he focused.  Energy cracked through his arm, tiny points of light that grew to great shimmering bolts.  There was a sudden flash, and a very loud noise.

   The side of the house suddenly exploded, and two figures tumbled out onto the grass of the lawn.  Behind them, the dark tar that had engulfed most of the house surged forwards over the new hole, covering the house in its entirety.  A shimmering blue glow could be seen through the gaps in the tar, and a great creaking noise could be heard, like the very foundations of the house were in pain.

   An hour later, there was nothing left of the house but a few pieces of charred debris. 

   And the two figures were gone.

[hops]

Okay, I'm definitely not an excellent writer (I would say "not a good writer" but according to some people I am) and I'm not good at giving critiques, but due to the lack of any writing competition lately I figured I'm a better candidate than silence. I mean, silence is always such a meaniebutt! >:C

Short-ish Fiction Contest: Draigcorp Objectcorp Edition 2014
"Turns out it takes a few takeovers and assassins."

Rules
Your story must be greater than 250 words.
Your story must be less than 10,000 words. (Translated into average paperback pages, that's ~40 pages.)
Your story must be submitted before Sunday at whenever-I-start-grading (and preferably earlier) to be considered.
Your story must respond to the prompt (in some way) in order to be considered for grading.
You cannot win twice in a row. You may be ranked first, but you can't get the benefits of 'winning'.
You can submit a story either in the thread or by pm. If you submit by PM, your story will remain anonymous.

You Can
Submit stories from a larger body of work, as long as they fall within the word limits.
Write in any kind of style you feel like. I really don't give a damn and I've read pretty much anything.
Write poetry. Bear in mind that, like Draignean, I'm not exactly a good judge of poetry either unless said prompt is scenery. As before, poetry is exempt from the minimum word count limit.

You Cannot
Write stories of graphic sexuality. Forum rules, blah blah blah. Keep Reginald's quivering member to yourself. Sex is fine, just don't make it the centerpiece of the story.
Write nonfiction. I don't care if it's a spectacular history of central Asia that explains Kazakhstan's multi-vector politics AND somehow fits the prompt. NO. Bad brain!
Submit the exact same story twice, even if it fits two prompts. You must evidence clear and substantial revisions before you can re-enter an old piece.

How this Works

   Every week there will be a prompt submitted. You then have the rest of the week to work on your story. You can submit anytime between the start of the contest and the Sunday the week after the contest begins. The deadline for stories is the end of that sunday. (8-14 day window) If you post after that deadline then I won't consider your story for the rankings and you can use it another time.
   That sunday, or in the week following, I will declare someone a winner and rank the rest of the stories. I will provide critique along with each piece. It may not be substantial, but I guarantee you that I will read it and point out the parts of it that I think work best and the parts that need the most work. I will avoid being mean, but I will also avoid telling you something is awesome when I think it needs work.
   Then, after I declare a winner, that person declares the next prompt. Then the process repeats. If the winner doesn't post a prompt by the end of Monday, I will post one that night. The winner can also waive the right to make their own prompt, but I can't imagine anyone doing that. I may also veto the winner's prompt and write a new one of the occasion calls for it. Fanfic, since it you need knowledge to write in it, is a banned category for prompts. (Not, however, for stories.)

Prompts 1. Submissions open 5/1 - 5/11

Prompt:  Same, but different.

The story must take place in a world where humans and civilization exist and is similar to us, but with a certain fact of life taken for granted in our common day different. Other fantasy/sci-fi elements not relating to this "change" itself is discouraged, but not banned.

Spoiler: FAQ (click to show/hide)

Q. Will listening to you make me write better?
A. Of course not. That's stupid. I'm only fifteen and English is not even my first language (it *is* the language I am most proficient in, though).

Q. Would participating in this make me write better, then?
A. Yes, at least on the merit that you wrote something. Practice makes perfect.

Q. Are you going to be mean on your critiques?
A. I doubt it. I'm kind of mild-mannered, despite what my swearing suggest.

[WillowLuman]

I wish I hadn't been too lazy to do the last one. Oh well.

Spoiler: Same, but different (WIP) (click to show/hide)

Rob was annoyed when the sun went out; he'd just gotten comfortable. There he was at the bus stop, waiting for the 8AM, when the sun above him winked out, leaving him in pitch darkness. And he had really been getting into his boredom doodle, too. Why here? Why now? He looked to the end of the street where the other sun was. It was still on. And from the halo behind the houses across the street, the suns over there had to be on still, so it couldn't be a blackout.

So, that's how it was. Of all the suns in the city, the one above him at this very moment went out, leaving him alone in the dark. He couldn't draw anymore to relieve his boredom. And he couldn't just get up and walk around in the dark, what with all the cracks and bumps in the sidewalk there. He'd trip for sure. He'd have to wait for the bus to come along with its headlights, and who knew how long that would be, it was late already. He cursed himself for not bringing a flashlight.

Rob sighed, leaning back. The stars were out above him, but their light never seemed to do much, and during the day they were too faint too see anything interesting in. Still, he thought, it could always be worse. After all, in the dark anything could happen, especially in a bad part of town. He imagined what what happen to a young man, holding a briefcase, sitting out in the open when the lights went out. Then he tried not to imagine it.

[IronTomato]

I somehow didn't see this before. I enjoy writing, so I might make a thing later and put it here.

[GiglameshDespair]

Low quality but eh.

Spoiler: The Beastmen (click to show/hide)

“Cloudy day today.” I remarked looking out the window. A shorefront property, we had been spectacularly lucky to get it when we did.
My wife paused at the door. “Yeah,” she replied. “Well, I'm off to work.”
“Have fun,” I said. “Be careful of beastmen. I know you're short and all, so don't try to fight 'em.” I grinned cheekily. She was short for a woman and I was tall for a man: so she was barely half again my height, and teasing always got predictable results.
“Quiet, you,” Jane grinned back and stomped over to give me a quick peck on the cheek. “ I wasn't the one who believed in beastmen until I was six. Anyway, I really have to dash. Bye!”
The door closed behind her and she was gone. I relaxed back down on the soft bed for a while as soft blue light played in through the window.

The slam of a door reverberated through the house. I sat bolt upright. Carefully, I got to my feet and drifted through the house – if there was a female intruder, I had little hope of fighting her off. It didn't take long to find her sat in the living room, flanked by another woman – a huge soldier, spear leant carefully against the wall. My wife was sobbing quietly, her eyes traumatised. The soldier looked up at my approach. “Mr Hayth'yc?”

“That's me,” I said, and my wife looked up. Without a word I was drawn into a crushing embrace. “What happened?” I ask gently, sitting down next to Jane.
“Beastmen,” Jane mutters. The soldier nods. I incredulously repeat the word.
“I'm afraid your wife had a hostile encounter with an unknown species of landfish. Her partner was killed during the encounter.” The soldier said until Jane lifted a hand so she could explain herself.
“I went onto land, right? It's my job to gather plants, or hunt the beasts. That's what landfishers do, right?”
“That's right,” I mutter soothingly, easing her along.
“So I saw a figure walking about ahead of us. We can't talk on land, of course, so I rang the bell on my belt. And it turned to me, and I... I saw it. A beastman.”
She stopped for a moment and shuddered. Before I could say anything she continued on.
“It had the strangest face. Half of it was covered in hair like other landfish, but it had no scales. It was some kind of horrible pinkish-white, like raw flesh. It had no gills either – just a beak and another mouth below that. It was carrying a different kind of landfish and a spear, but as soon as it saw us it dropped the landfish.

And it starting making sounds.

Me and Kate were pretty confused, of course, it we were bigger than the beastman, so we weren't too frightened. Then something hit me in the arm.”

I noticed for the first time her arm was wound about with healing slime to seal the wound. I let out a cry of dismay. She gave a quick smile. “Don't worry, it's not too bad. It was this.” She pulled out a tiny spear from her pouch. On one end was a stone head, on the other a bunch of what looked like...
“Landfish fins?” I asked, trailing a finger along a fin.
“We call them feathers, actually. You can find them on the landfish that fly. We think it helps the tiny spears go straighter when they throw them on land.” The soldier interjected. “Anyway, Mrs. Hayth'yc, please continue if you can.”
“Right, where was I?” she murmured. “Once they'd hit me, I realised there was more of them hiding in the land-coral. We ran back to the ocean, betting they couldn't breathe outside the air, being bombarded with these mini spears the whole time. Kate got hit by one in the gills. It stuck right in and she just... fell over. I couldn't drag her back, honest I couldn't.”
“It's ok, it's ok,” I mutter into her scales, gently stroking her uninjured arm.
“It's just... intelligent life on land. Who would have thought it was possible?” she cried despairingly, and as I breathed another breath of water through my gills I had no reply.

[hops]

Low quality but eh.

Spoiler: The Beastmen (click to show/hide)

“Cloudy day today.” I remarked looking out the window. A shorefront property, we had been spectacularly lucky to get it when we did.
My wife paused at the door. “Yeah,” she replied. “Well, I'm off to work.”
“Have fun,” I said. “Be careful of beastmen. I know you're short and all, so don't try to fight 'em.” I grinned cheekily. She was short for a woman and I was tall for a man: so she was barely half again my height, and teasing always got predictable results.
“Quiet, you,” Jane grinned back and stomped over to give me a quick peck on the cheek. “ I wasn't the one who believed in beastmen until I was six. Anyway, I really have to dash. Bye!”
The door closed behind her and she was gone. I relaxed back down on the soft bed for a while as soft blue light played in through the window.

The slam of a door reverberated through the house. I sat bolt upright. Carefully, I got to my feet and drifted through the house – if there was a female intruder, I had little hope of fighting her off. It didn't take long to find her sat in the living room, flanked by another woman – a huge soldier, spear leant carefully against the wall. My wife was sobbing quietly, her eyes traumatised. The soldier looked up at my approach. “Mr Hayth'yc?”

“That's me,” I said, and my wife looked up. Without a word I was drawn into a crushing embrace. “What happened?” I ask gently, sitting down next to Jane.
“Beastmen,” Jane mutters. The soldier nods. I incredulously repeat the word.
“I'm afraid your wife had a hostile encounter with an unknown species of landfish. Her partner was killed during the encounter.” The soldier said until Jane lifted a hand so she could explain herself.
“I went onto land, right? It's my job to gather plants, or hunt the beasts. That's what landfishers do, right?”
“That's right,” I mutter soothingly, easing her along.
“So I saw a figure walking about ahead of us. We can't talk on land, of course, so I rang the bell on my belt. And it turned to me, and I... I saw it. A beastman.”
She stopped for a moment and shuddered. Before I could say anything she continued on.
“It had the strangest face. Half of it was covered in hair like other landfish, but it had no scales. It was some kind of horrible pinkish-white, like raw flesh. It had no gills either – just a beak and another mouth below that. It was carrying a different kind of landfish and a spear, but as soon as it saw us it dropped the landfish.

And it starting making sounds.

Me and Kate were pretty confused, of course, it we were bigger than the beastman, so we weren't too frightened. Then something hit me in the arm.”

I noticed for the first time her arm was wound about with healing slime to seal the wound. I let out a cry of dismay. She gave a quick smile. “Don't worry, it's not too bad. It was this.” She pulled out a tiny spear from her pouch. On one end was a stone head, on the other a bunch of what looked like...
“Landfish fins?” I asked, trailing a finger along a fin.
“We call them feathers, actually. You can find them on the landfish that fly. We think it helps the tiny spears go straighter when they throw them on land.” The soldier interjected. “Anyway, Mrs. Hayth'yc, please continue if you can.”
“Right, where was I?” she murmured. “Once they'd hit me, I realised there was more of them hiding in the land-coral. We ran back to the ocean, betting they couldn't breathe outside the air, being bombarded with these mini spears the whole time. Kate got hit by one in the gills. It stuck right in and she just... fell over. I couldn't drag her back, honest I couldn't.”
“It's ok, it's ok,” I mutter into her scales, gently stroking her uninjured arm.
“It's just... intelligent life on land. Who would have thought it was possible?” she cried despairingly, and as I breathed another breath of water through my gills I had no reply.

This doesn't look related to the contest, but I'm not sure.
If it isn't, I can provide some feedback. Possibly.

[GiglameshDespair]

Low quality but eh.

Spoiler: The Beastmen (click to show/hide)

“Cloudy day today.” I remarked looking out the window. A shorefront property, we had been spectacularly lucky to get it when we did.
My wife paused at the door. “Yeah,” she replied. “Well, I'm off to work.”
“Have fun,” I said. “Be careful of beastmen. I know you're short and all, so don't try to fight 'em.” I grinned cheekily. She was short for a woman and I was tall for a man: so she was barely half again my height, and teasing always got predictable results.
“Quiet, you,” Jane grinned back and stomped over to give me a quick peck on the cheek. “ I wasn't the one who believed in beastmen until I was six. Anyway, I really have to dash. Bye!”
The door closed behind her and she was gone. I relaxed back down on the soft bed for a while as soft blue light played in through the window.

The slam of a door reverberated through the house. I sat bolt upright. Carefully, I got to my feet and drifted through the house – if there was a female intruder, I had little hope of fighting her off. It didn't take long to find her sat in the living room, flanked by another woman – a huge soldier, spear leant carefully against the wall. My wife was sobbing quietly, her eyes traumatised. The soldier looked up at my approach. “Mr Hayth'yc?”

“That's me,” I said, and my wife looked up. Without a word I was drawn into a crushing embrace. “What happened?” I ask gently, sitting down next to Jane.
“Beastmen,” Jane mutters. The soldier nods. I incredulously repeat the word.
“I'm afraid your wife had a hostile encounter with an unknown species of landfish. Her partner was killed during the encounter.” The soldier said until Jane lifted a hand so she could explain herself.
“I went onto land, right? It's my job to gather plants, or hunt the beasts. That's what landfishers do, right?”
“That's right,” I mutter soothingly, easing her along.
“So I saw a figure walking about ahead of us. We can't talk on land, of course, so I rang the bell on my belt. And it turned to me, and I... I saw it. A beastman.”
She stopped for a moment and shuddered. Before I could say anything she continued on.
“It had the strangest face. Half of it was covered in hair like other landfish, but it had no scales. It was some kind of horrible pinkish-white, like raw flesh. It had no gills either – just a beak and another mouth below that. It was carrying a different kind of landfish and a spear, but as soon as it saw us it dropped the landfish.

And it starting making sounds.

Me and Kate were pretty confused, of course, it we were bigger than the beastman, so we weren't too frightened. Then something hit me in the arm.”

I noticed for the first time her arm was wound about with healing slime to seal the wound. I let out a cry of dismay. She gave a quick smile. “Don't worry, it's not too bad. It was this.” She pulled out a tiny spear from her pouch. On one end was a stone head, on the other a bunch of what looked like...
“Landfish fins?” I asked, trailing a finger along a fin.
“We call them feathers, actually. You can find them on the landfish that fly. We think it helps the tiny spears go straighter when they throw them on land.” The soldier interjected. “Anyway, Mrs. Hayth'yc, please continue if you can.”
“Right, where was I?” she murmured. “Once they'd hit me, I realised there was more of them hiding in the land-coral. We ran back to the ocean, betting they couldn't breathe outside the air, being bombarded with these mini spears the whole time. Kate got hit by one in the gills. It stuck right in and she just... fell over. I couldn't drag her back, honest I couldn't.”
“It's ok, it's ok,” I mutter into her scales, gently stroking her uninjured arm.
“It's just... intelligent life on land. Who would have thought it was possible?” she cried despairingly, and as I breathed another breath of water through my gills I had no reply.

This doesn't look related to the contest, but I'm not sure.
If it isn't, I can provide some feedback. Possibly.

It was, yeah, but obviously not well enough. What if people lived in water rather than on land.
Basically this:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

[hops]

Well, I initially planned for the prompt to be characterized by lack of something more than subtle changes, but now that I think of it maybe I should just update the prompt to be more broad.

[LARD]

Sorry, not a submission, but a story I wrote recently. Ridiculous science is used and God is discussed.  I thought it was okay.

Spoiler: Limited Omniscient (click to show/hide)

   “It's a machine,” said Jeremy, “that analyzes the forces acting on a particle. The particle we chose was naturally a hydrogen nucleus, just for simplicity's sake.”  He was explaining to their supervisor what he and his lab partner Alexander had been doing for the past few weeks.    
    “But how is it useful?” asked the supervisor, “I mean how can we sell it to people?”
   “Well,” said Alexander, standing nervously beside his partner, “We were mainly thinking about refining theorems about gravitation and measuring how different particles affect each other.  We need to run some tests for a bit though and check that it is at least somewhat accurate.”
   “Well get to it. I don't have time for any more of your useless pet invention projects.”

   The truth was, many of Jeremy and Alexander's inventions had gone into this one machine. The double doctorate in quantum mechanics and astrophysics and the doctor of computer science and molecular physics did work for one of the best funded physics laboratories in the United States, and the fact that they had managed to isolate a hydrogen nucleus was impressive enough.  Now they faced the relatively easy task of interpreting the data that their machine was giving them on the forces affecting their captive proton.
   “Ander,” Jeremy said, calling Alexander by his rather odd nickname.  Someone had made the point that Alexander was too abnormal for his name to be abbreviated in the normal way.  So they had taken the other half of his name and called him Ander.  The name stuck, although why Alexander was odd for a research physicist had not been resolved. 
   “Ander,” Jeremy said again, bringing Alexander back from his daydream. “This computer just keeps giving me an error message.  I ran all the normal bug fixes on our code and it all seems to be working properly, but it still isn't making sense.”
   “Here,” said Ander, “let me see.” He fiddled with a few things on screen. “Ah,” he said. “It seems our program is set to calculate all forces.  We need to set a minimum.  Otherwise the computer won't be able to handle it all. The error message you got was sort of a safety cut-out.  The computer isn't letting us break it.”  He worked for a while at the screen again and then said, “Okay, run it again.” The computer started churning out long lists of numbers and angles.
   “Hey, that can't be right.” said Jeremy. “We built this thing to take the strongest forces first.  Even if it's only measuring gravitational forces, none of those numbers are even close to being the force  of earth's gravitational field.”
   Alexander sighed and sat back in the padded leather chair. “You're right. I say we call it a day. We're already an hour past sign out time. You want to grab a drink on the way home?” Jeremy agreed and they went to a bar just down the road from the lab. 
   After sitting in silence for a while, Jeremy spoke, “Ander, I want to reopen a can of worms. That one that we agreed to disagree on.”
   “Are we talking about the reason you gave me my nickname?” replied Ander cautiously.
   “Yeah. That one. You are a research physicist and one of the most brilliant people I have ever met.  You are only thirty-two and already you have done things with your mind that I didn't think were possible. You see how the world works and still you cling to the superstitious and ridiculous beliefs that our ancestors had to give them the answers that you are now finding out. I'm sorry.”  He paused. “I forgot you don't like your beliefs being called superstitions. I just don't get it.” He paused, not knowing what to say next.  He pulled a pack of gummy candy out of his bag and grabbed toothpicks and started building structures with them. This would have served to cover an awkward silence, but Alexander spoke.
   “Jeremy.  I'm not going to try to evangelize you. I know you don't like that. I have also given you all my reasons for my believing that there is a God.  I know you remember them.  You have the best memory of anybody I have met. I don't see what else there is to say on this between us.  I have told you before that I would love if you would believe what I believe. But if not, then at least you allow me to associate with you and continue to influence you.”
   Jeremy snorted, causing a bit of his drink to spill. “Influence? Yes, I suppose so. But you are not free from my sacrilegious, atheistic influence either.  You always were one for the gentle humour. I suppose that I can tolerate your influence on me if you will do likewise.  Remember the old butterfly idea?  A butterfly can cause a hurricane. I think people are like that too. We may only be the sum of all our interactions with other people. Sorry, I'm not drunk, just rambling. I know we have already said all that needs to be said, but it pains me to see you, my good friend, wasting so much of your time on something so obviously incorrect.”
   Alexander slapped him playfully on the shoulder,  “Come on, we've already agreed to disagree. Are you disagreeing with our agreement about disagreeing? Look. When something huge happens in either of our lives, that will be an opportunity for another discussion of this sort. We can see what resources our views have for dealing with that huge event. Until then, however, I don't know what else can be said. We should get home, and besides, you're never going to be able to build a buckyball out of toothpicks and gummies.”
   “That's what they said about isolating a single proton.” remarked Jeremy.

The next day Ander walked into his lab to find Jeremy glued to the computer screen with obsession in his eyes. “Ander, get over here,” he hissed.
   “Why? What's wrong?”
   “Nothing, except we may have built something more dangerous than the H-bomb.”
   “You're kidding.”
   “Look. The machine we built analyzes all forces on an object, but since it is moving at a constant speed, there is no force but gravitation acting on it.  We wondered yesterday about how an object as large as the earth could produce no large gravitational reading on the machine. That is because the earth itself does not produce a single force on our little proton.” He was getting agitated, and speaking faster and faster, “Remember yesterday how we discussed how one person cannot make a move without-”
   “Yes, yes,” said Alexander, “But how is-”
   “Every proton applies a force to each and every other proton.” Jeremy's agitation was reaching a fever pitch. “Using the mass of a proton, our gravitational constant, and the values our machine gives us,” he paused to gather what was left of his thoughts. “We,” he said, speaking slowly, haltingly and with more than a hint of insanity, “have the means, to know the location, of every, single, proton, in the whole of the universe.”
   “No.”
   “Yes.”
   “But Jeremy, that's impossible.” said Alexander cautiously.  Jeremy motioned to his right at a perfect buckyball made of toothpicks and gummy candies.
   “I had this brainwave at three this morning, I came here and found I could do nothing with our little bit of code. There are too many values to make any kind of sense out of. So I got sidetracked.
   “What do you want from this machine, even if it does what you say it can?”
   “Ander, this isn't like you. You're being obtuse. It isn't that difficult a concept. We know where other protons are from the direction and magnitude of the gravitational forces they exert on our proton. That is all. But that little bit of information gives us access to a real time, three dimensional model of the whole, damn, universe, down to the very proton itself.” And then it clicked for Alexander.
   “Of course. But I don't think even you understand the implications of this.  Doctors in America could tell what is wrong with a child in Africa, without him knowing a thing.  We can see inside black holes,  reach to the furthest edges of the universe. All we need is a program to interpret this data.”
   
   The interpretation of the data turned out not to be all that difficult, only time consuming. The two physicists drew from existing molecular modelling simulators and eventually put together a crude program that would render in 3D one cubic meter of space focused around the machine itself. The results were perfect. 
   After they had turned it on, they could see on the screen a perfect model of their machine and everything within a meter of it. There was one error message on the screen but Alexander soon realized that that was the proton trying to comprehend itself. The real excitement came when Jeremy put his hand into the frame of measurement. They saw it on screen, zoomed into it and looked into his sweat glands.  Jeremy looked at Alexander and said, “You know when Eve ate from the tree of knowledge? That is what we're doing.”
   “That was the tree of knowledge of good and evil, and you know it.  A more pressing question now is: Who do we tell? Only God knows what our government would do with this. What kind of evil could it be used for? Do we want to be known as those who gave the world the key to the knowledge of everything? I don't want to go down in history as the man who started something terrible.”
   “I don't know.  I think it's like you said yesterday. We can't know what to do now. We can only wait and see if anything huge happens with this device. Only then will we be able to see if the benefits of revealing its information outweigh the risks.

   For months, the two lab partners worked like madmen, adding capabilities to their program.  They found out how to write in atomic differentiation, where the program could tell from the clustering of protons what element it was.  Thereafter followed compound differentiation and afterwards colour calculation. They discovered that they could expand the field of vision if they didn't ask the program to calculate all atoms and interpolate instead.  It wasn't a great feat either to centre the field of vision on a different point other than their captive proton. They looked inside each others' stomachs and watched their own hearts beating.
   “We could be billionaires,” said Jeremy one day, after they had used the machine to read the files in Alexander's filing cabinet in his house.  “Think of how much anybody would pay for this. Espionage abuse is one thing, but think of how many lives we could save if we put these in hospitals.  Imagine the good that could be done with this technology.”
   “I just want to stall longer,” said Alexander, his brow furrowed as he added lines of code into the computer. “The truth is that I have no idea what the world will do with the unlimited information  this little machine will provide, and I'm scared.”
   “Scared of what though? Of what we might discover? Or disprove? Come on. If we were to disprove that some God exists, and you saw it beyond the shadow of a doubt, would you come around?”
   “You're a scientist.  You should know that proof doesn't exist. Now when science “proves” something, it's only a bunch of us agreeing that what we think is very probable and makes the most sense. Some of our most basic physical laws could be wrong and based on astronomically improbable coincidences. There is no such thing as proof anymore outside of mathematics. There is only coherence.  We have to go for what makes the most sense of the evidence.”
   “Are you suggesting that religion is the most coherent worldview that you have come across?”
   “Yes.”
   There was a long silence, so Jeremy decided to change the subject.  “Our lab has a quantum computer, you know.  I don't know much about it, but supposedly it has a ludicrous amount of power.  If we rig our machine up to its processing capabilities, there's no telling what we might see. After all, I did my thesis on a supposed focus of the universe, and I would like to see what it's like at that specific point in space.” 
   “If you think it is worth it, then I will trust you. But I won't let you forget the gravity of what we're playing with.”
   “Ah ha ha ha!” laughed Jeremy in an over-exaggerated way. “Gravity, our machine, get it?” Alexander sighed and shook his head, chuckling.

   Before long Alexander and Jeremy stood before the computer.  Jeremy, normally the calmest of spirits, was visibly shaking as he hooked up their hard drive and began setting up the program.  After an hour, the two had finished and all that was to be done was to enter the coordinates of the supposed “focus of the universe.”
   “Are you ready, old friend?” asked Alexander.
   “The fact that you call me old friend worries me,” said Jeremy with a nervous laugh. “Ander, you know that I respect your opinion, and if you think that we shouldn't do what we're about to do, I am prepared to step away from this.”
   “Don't be ridiculous. I wouldn't stop you from finding the answer to the question you worked four years to solve.”
   “Okay then, on our own heads be it,” Jeremy replied, and entered the coordinates. 
   The next thing that they both felt was somewhat akin to being the first man in the world to climb a particular mountain, only to find a sofa at the top.  At the focus of the universe, there was a gold cube with writing on it. If Jeremy wasn't mistaken, it was the font Times New Roman as well.  All it said was, “Look back toward your home.”
   So Alexander fumbled with the terminal for a bit, expanding the field of view to encompass a few light years of space, put their point of view on the golden box and looked back in the general direction of earth.
   Both men had seen and done things that most people would consider impossible. Both had watched fusion reactions happening in the center of the sun.  But this was too much.   There, printed in the stars and planets, bold as if it had been drawn by a sharpie on white paper, inescapable and unacceptable at the same time, were words. “Congratulations, my children. You have found my signature. - God”
   “God in heaven,” breathed Alexander.
   “That's one hell of a coincidence,”  said Jeremy.

Ander isn't supposed to be a play on Ender, but a reference to the Greek Andreas or Man.
Appreciate comments

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Sorry for the kind-of necro, but I'd like to PtW to read any writing submitted, and perhaps post one of my short stories if I ever get around to actually finishing them.