"Oh man, you made a party and I wasn't invited until it came to bloodshed?"

A arbalest bolt whizzed right past me. I almost flinched there! Would've been a shame to show weakness when THE Raphaël called me, a little ol' baron of hell.

"Greetings to you too, Beelzebub. Usually, I would attack you on sight, however- well, I think you see why I will not do that today."

The angel turned away from the landscape of war to face the smoking-hot demon, me. I mean, both figuratively and literally. There's no AC in hell- and how would you call someone that looks 28, is dressed in a fine black three-piece suit with assorted gloves? Smoking. Only missing the cig', but to be honest, I've got my hands in a thousand vices but i'm not touching this one. As for him- is it a him? You'd think so with the commanding voice- but it lacks gender-specific features. Oh, and the formless, ball-of-light-with-eyes-on-ribbon-around-it thing? Yeah, I'll stick to the simple suit and tie. Seriously, is there fashion up there?

"You seem pensive, demon."

"I mean, why wouldn't I be?"

I took my hip flask, and downed the rest of the whiskey. I had a feeling I'd better have a buzz for what they were about to ask of me. That, and I knew what he was going to say. Here it comes...

"I thought you were informed of the situation, with the millions of flies roaming around this place, feeding on the lost sheep that are rotting down there."

I sighed, took out the bottle of hand sanitizer from the same pocket I took my hip flask, and started cleaning my hands, the movement reminiscent of a fly patiently cleaning its front legs. Meticulous, mechanical moves. At this point, it's an automatism, I'm not even doing this on purpose. It calms me down. I needed this, because that guy's voice almost gave me a headache.

"And this is why you guys should have social media. You can't rely on a book whose original printing has been lost to time, guys. My domain isn't related to the diptera order of animals; but to everything related to pride, and most importantly, parties. But hey, it's a pretty wide term, so don't you worry your pretty little heads over what that means for that battlefield down there. Speaking of this, lemme guess: because of your stupid non-interference rule, you need me to clean after you, make sure those two armies stop painting the landscape red and maybe decapitate the tyrant that started this because he had a quote on quote «revelation» from your little daddy. Did I miss anything?"

"No, you are indeed a fearful demon, to know this much from this little information."

"Yeah, yeah, good thing you paid me in advance when you summoned me, because I can't stand to hear you talking. So, where is the crowned head you want to see rolling on the floor? Oh and don't bother telling me what a righteous act I'm about to do, I'm here because I got paid."

The angel, stunned by my response, only moved slightly, and a lower angel, with a body close to a human's, pointed in the direction of the white-clad army's command center.

I unsheathed my twin swords, which, to the untrained eye, look like a pair of wings... A fly's wings.

"Alright, party crasher, coming through!"

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These aliens decide to have a talk with the U.N. about settling a deal. Said deal will have the newly refugees make their home among the Hawaiian islands, portions of Africa, and the Dominican Republic. From there, they will work alongside the humans there to repair the damage from the yearslong battle. During the meeting, 1 of the Martian generals, Hoptek, is 1 of the few who speaks out against the deal. He makes claims that Earth started the war to obtain their resources to keep humanity from going extinct. Typical. Another Martian, Peony, wants to give the deal a chance to blossom into something greater: peace along the two classes. Her weakness, as Hoptek calls it, is wanting to care for the kids who lost their parents during said war.

    The interrogation room was bare bones: a steel table, two steel chairs, and a single incandescent light hanging from the ceiling. Detective Hugo Boone had brought in another snatcher and was sitting down across the table from him. They'd grown bolder since the near constant brown-outs plagued the city. This was the fourth one he'd brought in this week, they'd all flipped quick, these guys always do.

    "Name you gave the cops who picked you up is Nick, is that right? Which illegal power station is paying you?" asked Hugo.

    "Oh you got it all wrong, I don't work for an illegal station, nice try," said Nick, leaning back in his chair with a smirk on his face.

    "Is that right? Sex workers turn up dead in your apartment often?"

    "Just doing my job, just like you."

    "Yeah, well, my job is catching guys like you. You can give me the name of your boss now and get a nice plea deal, or you'll find yourself in a soul splitter helping power the city."

    "I already help power the city," said Nick with a laugh.

    "Where'd you get the soul splitter?" asked Hugo.

    Before Nick could respond, the door opened and two men entered in black suits and sunglasses.

    "Is this Nicholas Akers? You'll be releasing him into our custody," one of them said. He handed Hugo the release paperwork and their badges: Agents Miller and Dobson from the Ministry of Energy.

    As they walked him out, Nick turned and said with a smile, "Told you I don't work for an illegal power station."

[removed]

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

🆕 New Here? ✏ Writing Help? 📢 News 💬 Discord

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...who knows this guy's cousin...

Yeah

>that Death wasn't omnipresent and didn't know the "barista",

Omniscient? Omnipresent is all-places, omniscient is all-knowing.

Ant-Man?

It's amazing! You talk about issues in the book I struggle with. Like the fact that wizards do not evolve or that they reject all stuff related to muggles even though it could be useful. I find your story fascinating ! Love it!

Deathfist

I'm glad I was able to convey that style well, it was exactly what I was going for.

You could have posted that as a top level comment. (Rule is 100 word min, you well exceed that.)

I'm hearing Luis explaining this to Scott

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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Gotta quit reading stuff like this when I am cutting onions. Hit straight into the heart. Amazing writing.

People often misunderstand what makes humans so dangerous, they look at their weapons and say that is what makes them dangerous but every species has instruments of war of devastating power. They look at their ships and say that is what makes then dangerous but there are many species with much more advanced ships then humans who fear the humans just as much as everyone else does. They look at humans disposition and say it's their warlike temperament that makes them dangerous but we have dealt with many war races and none have survived long enough to be a real threat.

What makes humans dangerous is based around what most consider one of humans most glaring weakness, their lifespan. For the average species the 3 most common causes of death are; accident, homicide, and finally suicide. Most species are resilient enough against disease that it's a major news story when anyone in the galaxy dies from one and to the best of our knowledge humans are the only species without the gene that prevents telomere decay past maturity and is the cause of what humans call ageing.

For those unfamiliar with that term, due to the telomere continuing to break down it causes errors in transcription of DNA which manifests as muscles loosing strength and elasticity, weakened immune responses, slowed and limited ability to heal damage to the body, decreased mental capacity in both recollection and intake, and a unique category of disease called cancer where the error in replication that runs rampant and eventually kills the human. That last one is inevitable in all humans even if death through all other means is avoided through medical care due to how their DNA damages over time just by the act of cellular division.

You may wonder how something that only brings negatives and ultimately limits human to lifespans in the hundreds of years with the last 1/3 being in a state of extreme infirmity is a strength. The answer is simple birthrate, most species will have 1-2 children per millenia when they are actively trying to have kids. Humans can have a child and start incubating the next one in a single year and while they normally carry 1 child at a time they are capable of carrying multiple (2-3 seem to be the normal deviation but we have found records claiming up to 10 with medical assistance). Their gestation and development are also extremely fast. For most species the gestational period is around 10 years and developmental stage complete between 150-200 years; humans on the other hand have a gestational period of 9 months and developmental period of 16-20 years.

This rapid breeding is why all attempts to cull the human population have failed. War is rare in galactic civilizations because it's too easy to accidentally kill to many people for a species to recover when you can only add half your population again per 1000 years, a single planet wiped out is a major blow to any civilization but humans can recover from that in a fraction of the time it takes anyone else to. Humans can afford to fight wars of attrition without worrying about repopulation and they know that so they turn every war into a war of attrition. They will gladly take a 1000 to 1 losses in a battle knowing that they will have those deaths back within the year and the new soldiers fully trained and outfitted before their enemies have started to replenish their troops.

This kid has problems, I thought. Trauma laced childhood and desire to kill people, including all muggles and "mudbloods". Also he acts on his violent tendencies sometimes. Did I mention he's ELEVEN!? I also had some anxiety that maybe this kid could be the Dark Lord, a murderer, prohibited from being 5 feet away from muggles, or all 3. Yes, I am a hat, yes, I am at a wizard school, but I understand muggle Phd-level psychology and ethic decisions. There are jumping chocolate frogs and phoenix feather wands at your local charity shop (or as the Ilvermorny students call them, thrift stores), what do you even expect when you're a wizard? Or a hat surrounded by wizards, in my case.

Now the kid himself-Thomas Riddle-just screams Slytherin. But if he were to be in Slytherin, he could be much worse. His father used a love potion to conceive him, for crying out loud. He was born without love! He doesn't care about anyone! He was pretty intelligent, but couldn't be in Ravenclaw. He was brave, but couldn't be in Gryffindor. And Hufflepuff...well, their could be a curse upon the school.

But then I remembered-there was another option. A new house introduced just this year. It would be perfect. It could save him from going to Azkaban, or worse. He could make the first friends in his life.

I finally shouted my decision across the large dining hall, so loud even the squirrels outside ran away:

#"SPECIAL ED!"#

(I decided to go dark :)

"Who are you, really?"

"What, sweetie?" "Dad" asked, giving me a confused look, but I knew better. "It's me, Dad-"

"That's bull," I said. "I know you aren't really my Dad. His friends and coworkers won't know the difference, I'll give your acting that, but us kids do-I'm just the one brave enough to say something."

The lookalike gave me a surprised look, then sighed, sitting down in the armchair. On instinct, I tensed up, but I relaxed easily, knowing that he won't hurt me as I dared to take a step forward.

"I should've guessed you'd be smart enough to see through it," the lookalike said. "Very well. My name's Mark. I'm not your father, but-"

"I'm still gonna call you Dad," I blurted out.

He gave me a confused look. "... huh?"

"You're nicer," I shrugged. "You...you aren't gonna hurt me-you haven't even tried."

"Of course I-geez, what?" Mark asked. "According to my Intel, I'm acting just like him-"

I snorted. "He would've beat me black and blue for daring to speak like this, but you just sat down and decided to have a serious conversation-you aren't lying or anything, either. Intel, though? You some kind of secret agent or something?"

"...yes," Mark said. "A spy-your family is my cover identity for the time being. My mission is supposed to last a few years-"

"Then you're going home?" I asked.

"I'm afraid I have to," Mark said. "Your...would you be fine if your father was released after that?"

I shrugged-I knew the answer, but...

Mark clearly knew what I meant, and he sighed. "I see. Then I suppose, when I'm done, there will be an...accident of sorts." He paused. "Wait, is...is this why everyone's acting like nothing's different?"

"Oh, definitely," I said. "I've just never been afraid to take the beating-I punch back and know where to aim."

Mark smiled as he stood up, and I tensed up on instinct-

"Yeah, you're a tough kid," Mark said. "Can I give you a hug?"

Now...that's a weird question, coming from someone that looks just like him.

But it's not him.

I nodded slowly before just going for it and moving forward to give him a hug, and Mark gave me a gentle hug back as tears came to my eyes-this was so nice, I'd always wanted this-after Mom's "accident," I'd been the oldest sibling, even if just by a year, so I never got these protective, gentle hugs-I'd given them, not...

Not...

"You know," Mark said quietly as I sobbed into his shirt. "It's just you and your siblings...when your father's officially gone, you'll be alone. Would it be weird if you suddenly got adopted by a certain spy?"

This would be a ton of fun to read. Let me know if you decide to continue.

Thanks fellow user!

Thanks fellow user!

On a cold winter night, two figures approach one another in an abandoned train station, surrounded by snow and pine trees. The moon illuminates one, a pale woman, blonde-almost-white hair dangling out of her hood as she stops near the edge of the platform. The other figure, a man, appears from the shadows nervously looking her up and down as his eyes dart around the interior.

"Do you have them?" asks the woman.

The man reaches into his overcoat, his janitor ID card dangling from his breast pocket. It says his name is Jarl.

After rooting around a bit he pulls a small black cloth from his overcoat. He unwraps it to reveal small crystaline, ghostly white cylinders of varying sizes, no more then 2 inches long.

"Yup, fresh from the factory. They wont even miss them, we've got new-."

He's cut off by a train wooshs through the abandoned terminal, causing the pairs overcoat's to flap violently. Jarl covers his eye's, missing the woman reaching down, and tapping the talk button on her comm link three times.

Two cloaked figures leap from atop the train station onto the speeding train. It's a behemoth, each carriage, an identical brutal steel container. They work their way down the front of the carriage and peak inside the door. Hearing no one, they move in.

It's dark, save for some faint blue light strips near the top of the carriage. Once inside, they drop their cloaks. One of them is a woman, pale similar to the one on the plaform, the other a man, short dark hair and a goatee. Both atheltic in their black tactical gear, walky's, and a pair of side arms. They survey the carriage. It seems to contain uniform boxes, about six feet long. The woman, Zariel, moves up to one and puts her ear to the side.

"Poor things, you have no idea what's at the end of the line."

The man, Ryv, moves to another box and starts feeling around.

"Stop" Zariel shouts "any tampering and they will stop the train before we get to the shield".

Ryv pulls back.

"Sorry, I just wanted to see it, maybe save this one. Who knows if this will work".

Zariel stands. "It will. Mariel has been scouting this place for months. Once we're inside we'll be able to save all of them."

Ryv moves towards her and pulls her hand up to his lips and gives it a light kiss. They stay in that moment, knowing this might be the last time they see each other.

Zariel suddenly grabs the back of her neck. The hairs on it have risen. They both wince and begin to keel over. Quickly pulling out a syringe of gray liquid they stab it into their necks. After a moment the pain subsides.

Zariel nods. "Thirty seconds."

She exits the carriage, and climbs atop. The wind howling, but she doesn't feel it. She pulls out her pistols, and checks the cartridges. Bullets tipped with a ghostly white gas shine inside. Satisfied, she scans ahead. A bright flash near a snow back gives away the perimeter, she fires a shot. It ripples across the shield; no damage. She fires a pair of rounds. A slight shimmering dent appears, but it quickly heals. Letting out a small sigh, she looks down, imagining where Ryv would be standing, then begins to unload her pistols at the rapidly approaching shield. Each round making a progressively larger dent, but no crack. She charges forward, as the guns flair and dives into the shield. A white flash appears as her body disintegrates, causing a crack to form in the shield.

Ryv stands at the back of the carriage listening to the carnage above, he closes his eyes and holds his breath, expecting the end. The guns go silent. The end does not come. He let's out a sigh and touches his ear piece.

"Wow, I didn't think we'd get past. Your amazing. I love you."

He waits, but no reply. He's alone now. Though he doesn't get a moment to grieve the realization as the pale blue lights suddenly turn orange, and the train begins to slow. Ryv steps outside. They are no where near a station, so this can only mean that they detected the breach.

He pulls back inside and sits down behind one of the boxes in the centre Drawing his pistols, he checks the cartridges. They have the same ghostly rounds as Zariel's. He reaches inside his shirt, pulling out the skull necklace he was wearing, and putting his hand on the side of the box.

"Don't worry, I will at least save you."

After a few minutes he can hear the soldiers coming down the carriage. The clink of their automatic weapons against their plated armor. The door creaks open and two soldiers slowly move inside, checking the carriage.

Ryv takes a deep breath, leaps to his feet and fires a single round. It penetrates the first soldier and explodes against the second, blowing both apart. As their stumps slump to the floor, bullets start flying in from the carriage door, ricoching around the carriage. He ducks back behind the box. More soldier rush in and he can hear them moving to the other end of the carriage. There are too many of them.

The doors at the other end fly open and the soldiers start moving towards Ryv. He jumps back up and begins to fire in both directions. His rounds exploding, causing massive damage, but the returning automatic fire also finds it's mark. He slumps down, checking his wounds while a fresh batch of soldiers moves around the outside of the carriage. Gray goo oozes from a wound in his chest. He coughs up some ooze. This is over. Grabbing the skull around his neck as the solders begin to circle; he stands.

"In Morte", he shouts as he kisses the skull.

A bright flash moves through the carriage. The explosion even illiminating the now empty train station.

Jarl is startled by the flash as he trudges through the snow banks. Quickly turning on his comm link.

"What was that?" he shouts into it.

Though some broken static, the word "Reapers" is heard. Unfortunately too late for Jarl, whose shocked face rolls onto the snow. His slumping headless torso reveals Mariel, the woman he met earlier, with a bloody sickle in her hand.