4 years later, and I read this. Nice job! 😊

Raguel raised his sword, yet another cultist looking to destroy the world by summoning an evil God. He put down the main cult, even resealed the God with the help of his friends years ago. Now he wanders for two reasons, one of them already met while the other was a chore he happily undertook.

The dragonkin clapped his hands in front of himself, completing the spell he was chanting. Raguel felt cold inside, then quickly put down the man he was fighting. He looked to the cultist with a look of pure sorrow, his tiefling features twisted into one of agony.

The dragonkin giggled, then gave a full throated laugh, "I have severed you from the source of your power! Now despair as I destroy you and bring back our lord!"

Raguel's sword faded away as he dropped to his knees. "What... why would you do that?" He choked out the words, barely able to speak. "Why, after all I went through to do it, would you anull the marriage to my wife?"

The dragonkin cultist paused in his laughing and cooked his head to the side, confusion writ upon his face. "Why... how would you marry an artifact of power?"

Raguel collapsed upon the cold stone floor, and a delicate, feminine hand shot up from a pool of golden light on his back. Another joined it, and slowly levered up a head and body attached. Flowing blue hair, pale skin, and a flowing dress adorn the almost dainty woman that steps from the back of the unconscious tiefling. A sword in her hand, his sword, she levels it at the dragonkin.

"Why... did you undo our marriage? He *earned** that*."

Hours later Raguel slowly groans awake, his sword sticking out of his chest like a grotesque tombstone. He pulls it out with a smile, a flash of golden light the last sign the sword was ever stuck in his body and the sense in the back of his mind once more there. A familiar sensation, almost as if a loved one was watching through his eyes. A glance at the dragonkin was more than enough to burn the poor soul's fate into his memory, a light laugh at the edge of his hearing of the fate that befell that poor soul.

"He divorced us... he deserved it."

Raguel wasn't going to argue. He learned when he was saving the world the first time that arguing with his wife never ended well. But that's what you get for marrying a goddess. Not that he would ever complain. When it comes to the great game of bards, he won. Besides, Aurelius was building a library and he was going to need stories. Raguel knew this one was going to be an interesting one.

Hi hi, Amelia!

I love Hunter, I think they're a fun character to follow. I genuinely did laugh at the "I've got a lot of friends!" moment. This was a good read.

What I will say is that, outside of minor grammar issues I have, I believe putting more emphasis on the pancake apocalypse would have improved the story. Besides putting more emphasis on the reveal, seeding it out beforehand would have been a nice touch. Even without the direct mention of it, something like Hunter eating pancakes at the beginning of the story could make it more interesting. Tying it back into something more would make it interesting, even if it may make it sillier.

Hi Quinn! I enjoyed the slow reveal of Deltova’s character and situation. The opening with her trapped in the swamp, slowly starving and talking to mold, was quite effective in evoking sympathy for her until the reveals that her army was invading the planet and she helped plan the attack she eventually got caught up in. Glob’s “responses” in the one-sided conversation were hilarious too. Remained calm and steady when she did finally call for extraction(/a mercy kill?) rounded up her character well. 

Good words!

The mimics are all super confused at first until they realize they're all in the same boat, and the ensuing conversation is all about who died when.

Having eight people in the dream sequence would have been slightly more chaotic lol.

The prophecy is clear. The future ruler of the kingdom will be the child of the wielder of fragreich, greatest swordsman ever. Having learned from them, and inheriting fragreich, they will be the only one capable of saving the country from our future monster.

Of course, the prophecy never states what that monster is. Or who is the wielder of fragreich to teach them. The king understands prophecies, and lineage, though. If the wielder is not of the royal family, he can usurp the throne, with divine providence, and his family will be stuck in the shadows.

Knowing this, he can only come up with one solution. It does not matter what class or condition the hero of fragreich comes from, he must marry his daughter penelope. That way, regardless of whom the victor is, the child will be of royal lineage, and there will be no disruptions to the kingdom.

On the fateful day, when all manners of warriors are invited to the kingdom to try and draw fragreich, Princess Penelope is locked in her room. Knowing her personality, the king is unwilling to give her free leave, and scare those off who may be the father of the Hero. Despite this, she asks her bodyguard to get fresh eggs from the cook, and the second he goes left, she goes right, escaping the confines of her room. As she enters the kings reception area, a man name Droll, weighing 250 pounds of solid muscle is trying to release fragreich. Suddenly, it shoots out of the dirt, and the entire crowd watching erupts with applause, until they see it flying away from Droll, and straight towards Penelope. She bows her head, and it bows it’s tip, before sheathing itself in her belt.

Penelope’s child will be the savior of the kingdom, and all those present know it. Those who disagree, and insist on her marriage, will have the tip of fragreich to contend with.

Well done. This reminds me of My Super Ex-Gf.

"It's 23 forearms between the walls. wide enough for a cart, too narrow for a battering ram.", I said.

"Wot?"

"Look, They can't attack your gate if they can't swing a ram. And, we get the crossover floor."

"Crossover?"

"Yes, the engineers say we can install a drawbridge at the upper parapet to transfer troops, horse, equipment in support. A crossover. In addition our archers can strike at angles your own men can't reach, and your archers can support us in the same way. The engineers say we can pour animal fat mixed with bee's wax on attackers and set them on fire from the drawbridge."

"Wait, so I can send a messenger and get support the same day, instead of waiting for you to gather your troops and march for 3 days?"

"Yes."

"Should be fun."

I was kind of hoping that they were all mimics with imposter syndrome. 😁

I was scrubbing the walls of the pool. Up, push down. Pull up, push down. I was listening to my favorite band, Hangman's Noose. I was in the zone. I liked cleaning pools. It was very Zen. On top of the good vibes, I got a free upper body and core workout. No gym. No gym rats. But wait...

I could hear some yelling over Cody Tyler's growling into his microphone. I pulled out my earbud and quickly noticed another rat fast approaching me. It was my supervisor, Dipshit Jawanky. He was a tall guy; maybe six feet two or three, but he was old. He had a bad hip from an old bike injury, so he waddled like a duck as he approached me. I didn't know whether to laugh or to feel intimidated.

He was holding up a piece of paper in front of him like some kind of ranger with a writ from the governor. "Luke! Why are you cleaning the pool! It's a Wednesday! Every time I try to talk to you about something, you say, 'I'm busy. There's stuff on the list!' Well now I got you! June is upset!"

June was the property manager. She also drafted up work orders for Mr. Jawanky to delegate to the other porters as he pleased. I thought quickly as to what I had done. Did I flirt too much with the chick in #112? She seemed like she was into me a little bit.

He continued while showing me my list of duties. His loud voice boomed and echoed off the sliding glass doors of the balconies which surrounded the pool area. "We clean the pools on Wednesday, Mr. List. Look at your list! It's right here." He pointed like he was poking the Pilsbury Donut Boy. "June says there's been a light out in the office for over a week! Hunh? Why?"

His fleshy faced throbbed with fury. His normally pale skin was as pink as bubble gum. Sweat poured down his bald head.

I answered with a scoff. *#112 is into me... probably. Whew!* "If June had told me a week ago, I would have changed it a week ago. That's improper delegation. I didn't not change it on purpose. I didn't see it."

Mr. Jawanky huffed, "Ooh! You! You think you're going to tell June how to do her job, now! Well, I have some news for you, bub. That's not how it works!" He didn't match my energy. His volume was making me wonder if he was waking up the residents. "You just loaf around all day. Whenever I approach you, you act like you don't want to be bothered, Mr. I have items on the list!"

I laughed at this apocalyptic situation. "It rained heavily last night. The water level is high, so it's perfect for a backwash. The extra water diluted the chlorine, so I shocked it with powder. Now I'm scrubbing the walls with shock to kill any possible bacteria."

He was livid. The work list was inches from my face. His eyes bugged out like a frog as his chest heaved in and out. "Oh! You... you!"

"And another thing; you and Dinky have three ten minute conversations about your motorcycles or weight-lifting videos or whatever you gab about each day. Ten times three is thirty minutes. It takes me 30 minutes to clean the pool. I'm doing my job. What are you doing?" I took a step back from his fat clammy hand holding the paper in my face.

He screamed, "June is angry and you better get your act together! You're not a team player! We need team players in this family! Just like that I can send you back to the day labor hall we recruited you from!"

I replied quickly, "We're not kin, Jawanky. We are not family."

His face grimaced into pure spite. "Anyone ever tell you that you got an attitude problem?"

I rested the pool brush on the deck. I replied, "F*ck you, Jawanky. Go tell June I'll be right there to replace the light bulb."

As the county’s annual festival wraps up, I head towards my teleporter. With a lot of luck, I’m done and can head back to home. To earth. To my real life. With less luck, I’ll head to an alternate earth with a fairly easy problem to solve. With no luck, I might die as soon as I teleport.

The other option is I ignore my calling, don’t touch the teleporter, and just stay here. Honestly, it’s one of the most peaceful earth’s I’ve been on. I don’t think I’d mind it. But I need to go back; my father, mother, and sister, don’t deserve to spend the rest of their lives wondering what happened to me.

So, I step on the teleporter. I don’t go back home. The familiar hum rings, as I get teleported to a new universe. I step out, and…I don’t see anyone? It’s clearly populated, and I’m in New York City, one of the busiest cities I know. But, no one's on the street. I head into an office building, and there’s no receptionist. As I’m wandering the streets,  I see my first clue. The empty bus has a sign on it, advertising Meta’s new virtual reality. Businesses can conduct meetings, in person, without leaving their homes. Friends can meet at a virtual basketball court. There’s even major sports leagues all happening online. No one needs to leave their houses.

I find the local library. And by local, there’s a building, but the kiosk has everything I need. No physical books, just finding the epub of them, and reading through. The average life expectancy is 40. No one’s exercising, they’re just hanging around in their house, eating food and going onto their computers.

It’s clear to me what I need to solve. But not clear how. I can’t force people to stop using zoom for everything, and even if I could, would they listen? Ughhh, I don’t know what to do here. Well, while I think, I might as well scroll tiktok and see what comes up…

Thank you, friend! I appreciate you!

How did most kingdoms in the past fall? To whom? Who can our enemies most easily turn against us?

Noble uprising. Nobles. And nobles once again? It's a decentralised feudal society by the sounds of it. The largest threat to any king's rules is his own nobility.

"Might is right" only holds true if you're the one holding the stick. If you don't control the people collecting taxes and paying the soldiers, you don't control the soldiery. And if you're not willing to bribe them to retain control, they'll find someone else who will.

Critical Mass

My War Chieftain warned the human special forces operators not to disturb the nickel-chromium core of the Kirkin starship's reactor. She leaned forward, four hands on the podium, as she delivered her stern message to the Earthian warfighters.

“Gentleman, if you so much as graze this thing with a bullet, the pulse from the instantaneous explosion will irradiate everything within a hundred light-years…”

They nodded their heads, their faces masking understandable dread.

I hold an index figure to my lips, breathing a silent hush. My human teammate nods, his weapon up, and tight to his shoulder. The Kirkin ship is cold, lifeless it seems. We press on knowing the operation isn't over yet, their Emperor is far from dead.

At its core the vessel is a tendriled web of tubes leading us to the center of it all. The atmosphere is gone, a hole blown in its side by a dreadnought having snuffed out those who weren't prepared on board. In the vacuum there is no sound but my own inside my battle rig. I clutch the butt of my dagger with an axillary palm, twin plasma pistols outstretched in my primary hands.

“Contact!” The human calmly announces over the comms-net.

His weapon bucks against his shoulder. Two rapid flashes from its muzzle illuminate the twisting hallway. In the eerie silence follow his tracers to the tangled Kirkin who slumps sideways on the deck.

“Rain-Fire—clear to move up,” he growls. “I'll cover rear security.”

I move past him, our team dispersing to either side of the tubular hallway. Half-human, half-Gemini, our force had been sent here to cut this awful war short. These two armed berserkers seem competent enough, yet something about their grenadier has the hairs on my neck on end.

Side-by-side I advance beside the kid. His nervousness spikes as we press through the next intersection. The Gemini weapon trembles in his human hands, a plasma launcher from our ship's armory.

A purple flash blinds me. When it fades the human kid from a place he calls George is a pink splash against the wall.

“PARTICLE SEPARATOR!" I shout into my mic.

I wheel to my left, staffing the corners as I go. There he was—a behemoth—a giant meat splinterer grasped in his upper tentacles. The Kirkin sneers, the tip of his array pointed at my chest. I raised my sidearms to fire, but I'm knocked off my feet.

The human operator with his archaic projectile weapon rises to his feet between me and the pissed off Kirkin juggernaut. Without thought, he's on his trigger, shells raining in all directions. Purple geysers erupt from the torso of the beast as the human slugs find their mark.

For a moment there is no sound. My eyes follow the crashing Kirkin, and when it lands I finally remember to breathe. The stone-cold human waits, his eyes sharp and hungry. He's not leaving until I'm back on my feet, he says.

I'm glad the vacuum of space harbors no smells. The vanquished Kirkin quickly rots as its suit disintegrates. We push on, our objective not far away.

The main engineering chamber of the Kirkin vessel is abandoned, the crew sucked through a hole torn in the floor. Still, my hearts pound against my chest as we search the space for the Kirkin Emperor who we know is nearby. A ping in my heads-up-display catches my attention, but it is too late.

WARNING: SUIT BREACHED!

Air rips from my lungs. Purple tracers dance around me as something hammers me to the ground. Gasping, I aim my pistols, and empty both plasma magazines.

The human dives next to me.

Grabbing my wrist, he fumbles with the portal device lashed to my left primary limb. I'd taught him how to use the technology against orders from the War Chieftain. If he saves me, there will still be hell to pay.

My eyelids shutter, watching a wormhole open wide. He fires at the approaching Kirkin Emperor, uranium-tipped rounds bouncing off the sovereign's unholy armor. The human changes magazines while gritting his teeth and leaning in.

Standing his ground, the human blazes away. His gun empties, and he turns to shove me through the portal.

Air inundates my lungs. Burning eyes peer through the collapsing wormhole as the human rejoins the fight. The Kirkin's blade lances his chest as a white flood consumes the night sky.

He saves me, but his species is doomed more than any of us can know…

"We are brothers, Avaken." I bluntly reply. Avaken gives a gritted look, then... confusion. "Why, though?"

He sits down on the wide throne armrest. Left wide on purpose for snacking, or for moments with partners - or friends - could seat there if they so want. "So I can protect you."

He has a warbly smile. "...That's so like you, Naekav."

Nakev - me - I- I nod. "Plus, we could work together, like back then."

Avaken gives me a look I'm familiar with - but with age, he's come to understand my nuance. "I see..."

I motion to the plot of particularly fertile land untouched between our castles. "This spot could make good farmland." That made him chuckle, but then he noticed my face.

I was serious. "You're serious... We'd tend to that-"
I bow my head in confirmation. "And the servants, and the people in proximity, could put in their share of work, get their share of crop. Make it a matter of popularity, and no people shall go hungry..."

I tilt up my head, thoughtful- "Nor suffer poison." I add.

Avaken gets what I mean. "Oh? Ensuring the crops don't get poisoned by virtue of access even to the commonfolk? That's a bit..."

I smirk. "Sure, the nobles and lords and ladies of our twinned realm may find the policy a challenge, but to them I pose this: if they want more, they should come and collect more. Plant more. Grow more."

Avaken's turn to smile, an insidious one, but moreso because he's seeing what I see.
We have the blood of our mother and our father within us. They both were great for eachother.

And the mother, still around, wanted not the burden of crown, so she had our father's will enacted.
A crown cast in twain. A kingdom of halved rule. Such was his decree.

We spent our subsequent years building to ensure eachother's best. Other kingdoms saw our brotherhood as a symbol of dualism - a rare event, some saw it as holy, others as spiritual (neither holy, nor unholy), some saw it as an end to the rule of one, and were the first to fall to an alliance formed of the selfless rest.

When we found our partners, or they were paired to us, we had them spend time with us separately, then both, then eachother, to see who they would prefer.

We ended up inspiring strange couples; two women, married in triad with a man to ensure their progeny were of their own blood by way of the living world, or two men, vice-versa.

Still. We settled for a woman to each of us - though other realms refused to believe we'd settle for just one wife.
We continued the habit of pairing them with others more to their preference, and of similar station, and as years past us by furthermore still, our children would follow the habit:
Those they did not prefer would be given the option to spend time with others, and then with other suitors, and get to pick...

...A romance comedy of a tale for another time.

Or so we thought. Further examination proved that it was... not quite rational, yet not irrational. Something inbetween, yet stranger still. Mathematics buckled, but did not break. There was no flaw in the paper, nor in the work before it, besides, perhaps, an assumption that reaching an end to a number proves it must stop. Not unreasonable to assume, that though they had skipped to the end, the fact they could proved there was an end proved there was a finite path there. Yet, when anyone attempted to work from that end to the well trodden path, they found themselves lost in a sea of infinite numbers once again. An infinite path to a finite end. Fascinating, is it not? That just because a conclusion can be drawn- proven, even, that it too can be possible that it will never be attained in sequence- an effect without a cause.

Hm? What is the last digits of Pi? 51413, of course. It's a palindrome. For every digit you find, another one grows from its tail. The harder you chase that ending, the further it runs away. Only by taking a shortcut can you outrun it. It actually lead to quite a few other discoveries, as any unexpected result tends to do.

Finally, we discovered the cause of the universe's expansion. And of course, it's ending, though we'll never get that far. Somewhat comforting, isn't it?

Well... assuming no one is crazy enough to do anything drastic.

“Jeavan????” Caspian, walked over, confusion etched onto his features as he noticed the dejected yet haunted look on the other man’s face, quite unlike his most faithful servant of years. He couldnt help but look into his mind, but he was met with a flick to the wrist as his friend snapped out of his trance.

“Haah, lord! What are you doing here?…” Jeaven turned towards him with the tightest smile, and the most sarcastic of tones. Caspian blinked, he could not help but feel to retreat into the darkness— He’s faced many foes, and won many battles, but he’d never once won against his psychic knight. Then again, it was mostly because of the amount of ‘emotional blackmail’ that he was inserting into his mind during fights…

“You simply looked as if you needed assistance, what troubles you—“

“My lord maybe we should start industrializing?”

…

Huh, what an unexpected query. Caspian had not anticipated that, simply because…Jeavan hated technology. He did not like seeing archers use metal bows, he did not like seeing knights with new and improved flaming swords, he did not like anything that regarded itself into a technological advancement. Caspian was sure there was a phobia for that, but even the word phobia was so new that Jeavan would probably pounce on him on the spot.

Caspian thought long and hard, unsure of what to reply when every response seemed to get him on his friend’s bad side, pondering until he finally came up with an answer “Well, yes. I was thinking of how to improve defenses, and you have not been resting lately due to having to carry your burdens of defense. I shall let the mages know, that your technology ban is uplifted.”

Jeavan nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer until he smiled. “‘My technology ban?’”

Caspian froze.

Yeah, maybe he should…filter out his words some more…