Harry had a horrible upbringing, too, but did he torture other kids for fun? No, he just learned how to run really fast and avoid being punched.

However, if you look at Tom Riddle - who was well cared for, if not given as much love and attention as a child should have since there were so many of them at the orphanage - what do we see? We see a kid who collects harmonicas and other odds and ends from his victims when he is ELEVEN. At eleven years old, Harry was looking forward to not having to go to the same school as his cousin. Tom was a clever, sneaky liar who assumed Dumbledore was a doctor sent by Mrs. Cole to look at him, possibly take him away to a madhouse, and then promptly told Dumbledore that Mrs. Cole was the mad one who didn't like him and that he never touched any of the other kids or anyone's pets, and that she'd made it all up. He was a manipulative, clever, and downright disturbed child.

''-Ugh.'' Gemma groaned as she opened the chest. Why did that stupid dragon HAVE to swallow it? It was all sticky and weird, and her teammate and her had to wait for ages for the stomach acid's effect to wear off. ''I really hope this is worth it.''

Instead of the gold and jewels they all expected, the chest only contained a sword, lying on a dusty cushion. There was some kind of complicated symbol graved on the handle. Gemma cautiously took it, lifting it from the inside of the metal container. To her surprise, the blade started shining a vivid orange as soon as the fresh wind blew over it.

''-Waaaaah... It's good to take a nap. How long have I slept?''

''-What the actual hell?'' the adventurer yelled, dropping the sword.

Clang! The metal hit the ground, and the light turned violet.

''-Aouch! Is that any way to treat a millenial sword? Wait... Am I millenial? When... What... What year are we in?''

Therry, the team's most clever member (That wasn't a lot to say, honestly), crouched down next to the chest and inspected it closely.

''-I'd say it's been forged nearly three centuries ago. Can I see the sword?''

''-Naah! Don't let that dirty green man touch me!''

''-Hey! First of, I'm not dirty, second, I'm a goblin, and third,'' he scooped up the sword, which was now radiating green light, ''I'd say you're as aged as the chest. Conclusion, you aren't millenial. Catch!''

He tossed the sword to Gemma, who instinctively caught it.

''-So, three-centuries-old-sword, what's your name?''

The sword emitted a noise that sounded like coughing, and dramatically announced:

''-My name, O unknown knight, is Jeff, forged by-''

''-Wait, what?''

Gemma almost dropped the sword again.

''-Your name is Jeff? Who even named you?''

''-I'll let you know, knight, that I belong to Enid the Great, Ruler of all lands. She, of all, named me the way I am.''

''-That's a weird name. Also, who's that Enid?''

The sword let out what seemed to be a gasp, even though it had no visible mouth or nose or whatever, and turned blue.

''-You don't know Enid? How?! She is the most known ruler of-''

''-Yeah, yeah, ruler of all lands, you said that alrea-''

''-I know Enid! I know her!'' Therry said, happily jumping.

''-Hah! See? The goblin knows her!''

''-The goblin probably knows more on anything that the rest of the team.'' Gemma sighed.

''-The goblin has a name!''

The other two members of the team shared a look.

''-Well,'' Emmy said. ''Gemma, since you don't have a sword yet, guess that's yours now.''

''-I mean, that's the best choice.'' Logan raised his shoulders.

The sword turned violet again.

''-I'm not going to be hers all of a sudden! Give me back to Enid.''

''-I case you haven't realised,'' Therry chimed in, tapping the ground with his feet, ''Enid's probably in the afterlife by now. She lived more than three centuries ago. No one survives that long.''

''-I-''

''-It's that or you're back in the chest.'' Logan cut the sword off. ''Which do you prefer?''

''-Uh...''

The sword started glowing pink and fell silent, as if it was thinking.

''-I'll come with you, if you try and find Enid.''

''-Deal!'' Emmy shouted before anyone else could say anything.

''-Emmy! Now we have to do it, stupid pointy-ear!'' Therry hit her in the arm.

''-Don't call me that, green-skin!''

''-Hey, calm down!'' Logan stepped between the two before the argument could escalate. ''We'll do it, okay?''

The sword shined gold and let out what seemed to be a joy scream.

''-Yeeeaaaahhh! Let's go, adventurers! Go on, O my swordless knight. Find Enid!''

''-Jeff, I didn't agree to find that unknown Enid just for you to refuse to be my sword! Plus, you can't say no, or we'll leave you in the chest.''

Jeff huffed.

''-Well, O my not-so-swordless knight, go find Enid!''

The goblin, the elf and the human looked at each other.

''-Is she arguing with a sword?'' Emmy started.

''-A magic sword.'' The goblin pointed out.

''-Anyways.'' Logan looked at the sun, slowly descending in the sky. ''Let's go, we need to be in town before the sunset.''

Possibly - but what kind of child enjoys hurting other kids like that?

The odd thing about this place between worlds was the color. It wasn’t translucent as one may expect, nor was it some drab comparison to the living world. Who would have thought Limbo would have such vivid shades of red?

The figure before our late hero was a counterpoint to its surroundings. It was all shades of grey, excepting the pale fire that shone in its eye. The specter of Death was separate from its surroundings even here, in this place of its own making.

Between them lay a game. As tabletop games went, Cones of Dunshire looked surprisingly amateur. A casual observer would wonder at the cheap paper forming the most prominent pieces. But then, at this place more than any other, origins were important. This was the original board.

Ben was enjoying this moment, this point of victory. He wasn’t a born showman but his long career had birthed a host of talents. Self improvement was always easier with support, and he smiled as memories of one of his old friends flashed through his mind. He was channeling Tom right now to great effect.

“I’ll play an action card, and build a Bell Tower inside your Citadel,” he said with a smirk.

MY SHAMAN CASTS A BURST SPELL ON YOUR PROSPERITY TILE, Death intoned. LOOKS LIKE SOMEONE IS OUT OF RESOURCE GEMS. It couldn’t smile, but it gave off a sense of dulled mirth regardless. It had grown bored of these challenges over the years, and beating people at their own games was the closest it came to a challenge. It found itself almost sad that it had won. Surely this man, husband of the world's most powerful woman, could do better. It was a shame.

Then, defying Death’s expectations, Ben steepled his fingers and laughed.

WHAT’S SO FUNNY? mocked Death.

“You’re a smart guy, you’ve clearly picked up some flashy tricks,” said Ben, leaning back in his chair.

Death took a moment to wonder where the chair had come from.

“But, you made one crucial mistake,” continued Ben. “You forgot about the essence of the game. It’s all about the Cones.” He cast the dice one final time. “I move my Abbot to the ocean hex, which moves my Brinksman to the Devil’s Lair. This pushes my Farmer - yes, my humble Farmer - directly into the central Cone.”

Both Ben and Death took a moment to focus on that vivid red cone. Then, somehow with both reluctance and glee, it was toppled by a pallid finger of bone. On this day, Death was defeated. Upon reflection, what else could he expect from the Architect?

xxxxxxx

Meanwhile, back in the world of the living, Leslie Knope stood flanked by the secret service. It was suddenly quiet next to her husband’s hospital bed. Ben’s heart had stopped beating for a little over six seconds before restarting itself, stronger than ever. He opened his eyes and stared up at her.

“Leslie, I’ve just thought of a way to pass the sewage bill we’ve been working on!” he exclaimed.

With a laughing sob, Leslie knew it was going to be all right.

And hair

What a beautiful story. Thank you

"Your insistence to conquer everything you set your eyes upon is grotesque"

"Maybe, but what else is there to do? You either impose your will upon the world or others will impose their will upon you. I have no desire to be a vessel for a strangers will. Why should I accept yours now?"

"You may best me indeed, but are you ready to best what lies after me?"

"If I beat you, the only thing I will have left to conquer is myself!"

"So be it, I will grant you the chance to conquer yourself."

A strong will can survive past death, but how does a living will change once it overcomes its embodiment? I have been bested by many strong wills, and I have seen the torment they all endure past me. The will indeed has no need of a body, it uses a body. Whether you inhabit the body that is a will-manifest or not is irelevant for it's persistence. If I am not your reaper, may God help you against what will be in my stead.

Living where?

Future Magnus Carlsen

Incredible story, thank you for writing it for us.

Long ago, the Jade Emperor, ruler of the heavenly realm, commissioned his finest smiths to make him a sword.

But to craft this incredible object is no easy task. The Jade Emperor is a perfectionist and only expected the best of results. So the smiths had to scout the far, far away land, fetching the most exotic and resistant materials.

They must fly higher than the clouds, capturing the gleaming sunlight of the primordial Sun Lord into a crystal flask.

They scattered among the four directions, retrieving the finest mineral from each local Mountain spirits.

They travel deep into the soil, seeking the scorching heat of the center heart of Mother Earth, where they will forge the weapon.

And after nine days and nights of working endlessly, it is here, the legendary weapon!

Do not judge by its simple design, young man, for this is not just any ordinary sword.

Perfected by the heaven’s smiths by the request of the Emperor himself, this is a powerful blade with a swift that can plunge a massive land into a roaring sea of his divine flames, vanish all forests and boil all rivers.

Hence, the name “Jade Emperor's Fiery Flood”. And only the greatest of all heroes, and wield it with absolute skill.

Long, wrinkled fingers reach out, gliding on the shiny metallic blade that perfectly reflects the shopkeeper’s hand, “But people nowadays call it ‘JEFF’. The name is not nearly as matching or extraordinary, but it’s probably for concise and convenient.”

The warrior had been sitting on a chair, listening intensely, clearly drawn by her story. His eyes widen with glittering sparks in it, and his grip on the sword only tightens after the story has ended.

“Ma’am, I would like to purchase this sword, please.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t expect you would…”, the shopkeeper seemed genuinely surprised, “It’s a magical artifact after all, I don’t think it’s appropriate to sell it away.”

Clash–

A heavy leather bag was placed on the table, right in front of the old lady, giving out crystal sounds. Without dropping a beat, she unties the rope around the bag’s mouth and opens it, only to be blinded by the amount of shiny gemstones stored inside.

The warrior insisted eagerly, “500 pieces of rare diamonds, I hope that’s enough.”

The old shopkeeper closed the bag once again, looking up her grin only grew wider, “I think this is just right. The sword is yours.”

As the warrior exited the shop and was soon far from sight, the shopkeeper sat back on her rocking chair, deviously counting the diamond pieces, “Young people are so easy to trick. With that worthless sword, I got this amount of rewards, a fantastic bargain.”

.

.

.

Far from the weapon shop, the warrior soon meets up with the rest of his adventure gang at the edge of the woods.

“Did you get it?”

“Yeah, I got it. Can’t believe she actually fell for the fake cash. And it was quick, too.”

“She’s old anyway, of course she has terrible eyesight.”

“Alright, we got a lot of fake swords to report to the guards. The ‘Hellreaver’, the ‘Spiteblade the Drinker of Souls’, the ‘Dragonstooth’, and now the ‘JEFF’.”

“Pfff– JEFF.”

“That old hag just JEFFpardized herself, am I right?”

Lol, imagine being human, can't be me... oops.

Today was the kast day. They were marching. The moon was high, and they were marching. All of the vampires, werewolves, witches, wizards, succubi and incubi, all of them. All of the supernatural. Dragons soar in the air, occasionally letting out streams of flame. Magic users waving their wands, casting their spells. They all were working together, to save us. When I pulled aside one of them, a vampire, he said

"You see sonny, I've been around for the past century. And I love you guys. I can't speak for everyone, but I don't exactly want you dudes to die."

So when I shared that with my higher-ups, we decided to march as well. The entire world was gathering at this one place, ready for the meteor. The Dragons shape-shift to their human forms, and everyone prepares. Then one spellcaster walks up. He looks wizened, but powerful. When he speaks, everyone listens, and can hear.

"Now everyone! I can get rid of the meteor, but I need your life-force to power the spell at this scale! Don't worry, with so many of you here, I only need to take about the equivalent of a few days off."

We gladly gave up those days to save the rest of our lives. He spoke quietly, but I could hear him. I bet everyone could.

"Ninth level. Wish. May the meteor go away, and never crash on this planet again!"

Spectral dice appear, and roll. His expression brightens at the result, and the meteor just... dissapears. We all burst out in cheers, when I walk up to him. I see another dice roll, and he looks dissapointed. I ask him what's wrong, and he replies.

"Boyo, when you cast a spell that alters reality, you have to feel the stress of using such a spell. A 33 percent chance to never cast Wish again. And guess what I rolled. A 1. Heh. I guess this is my penance for not helping humanity before now."

He seemed to take it in stride, it was admirable. Eventually, after 10 days of celebration, to counteract the 10 days of doomsday we were under, everyone left. Eventually, when I was discharged, I got a small apartment in New Orleans, as I always liked jazz, and my neighbor is a dragon! I always loved them, so this was welcome. And I always wondered what happened to the one who saved us. The one who lost his Wish...

Look like this is based on X-Com 2.

Great story, thank you for writing it for us.

Appreciate it!

awesome

It's been a long time since anyone came to visit. I can't feel boredom, not truly, which I suppose I am grateful for. Emotions can't be fully realized here, as I am, bound to this artifact. Nothing more than a ghost, stuck to a bracelet, buried deep in a cave.

My previous owner hid me well. In what, in my day, was known as the "Tutorial Dungeon," he carved a passage in the far back and sealed it up with magic and illusions. Nobody who could sense illusions would ever wander back here, and everybody else would be oblivious to the wall's oddities.

And so here I remain. Here I metaphorically sit. Staring at the blank walls, ceiling, and floor of my chamber. They were hardly carved out of the rock before I was left here. You could easily be fooled into assuming that the cave wore away naturally, if the pedestal with my bracelet wasn't there.

A noise caught my attention, and I glanced towards the entrance of my chamber. Footsteps. A new hero must be wandering around, looking for hidden gold or treasures. How strange. I hadn't heard anybody in a long time. The footsteps continued growing louder and louder, and eventually stopped.

And then they started getting louder still. Odd. The wall should have stopped-

Oh. Somebody walked into the chamber. Not a hero by the standard of those skilled in swords and magic. A... small girl. She looked somewhat sickly. Weak heroes in and of themselves were strange, but this went beyond anything I'd seen before. Have the guild-masters lower their standards?

I lowered myself to the ground in front of the girl. She stumbled back upon seeing me, which gave me a ghost of pleasure.

"Hello, young one. What are you doing back here?" She looked at me in confusion.

"W-what are you?" ...Strange. Did nobody tell my stories nowadays?

"A ghost." I said simply. I was hardly the first ghost an adventurer would encounter.

"But... ghosts don't exist!" I frowned. Ghost didn't exist?

"Then what am I?" I lowered myself a little bit into the ground, staring at the girl. "How do you think I can do this?"

"...Some... optical illusion? Some video player?"

"Video player?" ...Ah.

I'd been asleep for much longer than I thought I had been.

"Well... here." I flew up and back, smiling at the girl. "It's been a long time since I've had any visitors. Might I give you a gift?"

"A gift?" The girl seemed intrigued. This was a new age. No adventurers I knew would trust a random girl in a cave with a gift. I motioned to the bracelet, though I was unable to touch it.

"My bracelet. I've been alone for such a long time, and as my first friend in a while, I would so appreciate you taking this small gift from me!"

"O-oh. Okay." The girl stepped forward and, with barely any hesitation, took the bracelet and slipped it onto her wrist. "Thanks." She looked around, but I had vanished. "Hello?" But nobody responded. She huffed a bit. "Serves me right for trusting a creepy girl in a cave." She glanced down at the bracelet, wondering whether to take it off or not, but decided against it. It'd be a conversation starter, of nothing else.

The girl wandered out of the cave. Good portions of it had collapsed, but there were enough nooks and crannies that a game of hide-and-seek could last a long while. She walked outside, gazing upon the city she called her home. Sighing, she made her way back, dreading having to explain why her clothes were dirty again.

But I went with her. She had my bracelet. I glanced around at an unfamiliar world, one of steel and metal, akin to how swords were made but on a massive scale. I would transform the girl eventually. But for now... let's be her friend. Learn about the world. My rule would come eventually.

I'd already waited for so many years. What was a few more?

There were no good choices.

We were barely an army; at best we were a terror band, sowing mischief and mayhem across seven continents.

We 'won' because they weren't like us - the more we killed them, the more we figured that out. They were pretty much top-heavy in terms of momentum, command structure, everything - kill the slave masters at the top, and the pyramid goes down. And that's what we did.

So you'll understand what we were dealing with - there was no one to negotiate with, no one's hand to shake.

And it wasn't like they were ready to be our friends and huddle round camp fires singing kumbaya just because we'd fry-cooked their masters' heads with a plasma gun. Nah - they were pissed, full up of rage and hate and - for their first time in their lives - lacking anyone capable of telling them what to do. But they still had all the guns, all the high tech - all the gene-kicking superiority to run roughshod over pretty much everyone left in the world but us.

And, well... the other thing you've gotta remember is - well, we just didn't trust the rest of you. You gave up, remember? Turned over the keys to the world in exchange for the cure to cancer and a pat on the head. We couldn't let you choose, because if history told us anything, it's that you'd choose wrong.

We had to be sure.

We had to protect the species.

We'd proven we were the only ones that could.

I saw good men and women die from rejection syndrome when we stuffed their bodies full of steel to make them better soldiers. I remember the look on one girl's face after she watched her sister die in agony on the operating table. She asked what table was hers, and told the doctors to get on with it. She survived. She was one of the first.

We lost hundreds in a week without the bad guys even firing a single shot, because we had to catch up, and we didn't have time to do it safe. We didn't have time to do it right. The only thing we kept was our goddamn right to choose, and every last one of us who died went to the operating tables did it willingly.

That's not to say that some people didn't go there in chains. But that's what collaborators are for.

Do or die. Do, or everyone dies.

We were necessary monsters.

I gave the order every time, and I'd do it again. If I had my time back, the only thing I'd do differently is that I wouldn't have questioned it so much at the time.

Fair, equitable war is a luxury you have when it's ideology at stake. When you don't know, with absolute certainty, that the only thing that awaits you should you fail is everything you love being tossed into the grinder to feed an alien war machine. To prop up a dying species that had plagued the galaxy for centuries past its extinction date.

Some people say that they can't even recognise us anymore, but I can. My men, my women, they turned their arms to iron, their hearts to dust. I shaped them into machine and hate. I gave them mind-readers and magic. No road was left untaken. No sacrifice was left unmade.

We didn't have the cities, we didn't have the armies, we didn't have the time. We couldn't be sure we had the popular will. Prisons are what you make when you know you can contain things. We didn't. We had a handful of ruins and a mankind scattered to the winds in shanty towns and caves. They still held what few cities remained.

If we had a hundred years to fix things - a hundred years to make ourselves a civilization again - maybe we could have picked a more humane option. Maybe we could have figured out if they even deserved one. Or if they could ever learn to be anything more than killing machines.

But we didn't.

We had months, maybe, while we still held the momentum. If we waited, we'd lose everything. That we were here at all was the result of a thousand miracles, each one I had no guarantee of repeating.

So I gave the order, as I always had. I chose for the species, because you left me no choice.

Kill them all, wherever they may be found.

Kill them all, no matter the cost.

Kill them all.

Most delightful

Loved how you wrote that accent. I could hear the teacher clearly. The prodigy was also immensely emotive, and I could hear just how cocky he was in his voice and the tone of the words. Really well done.

How does one be edgy in a productive way?

With the advent of nuclear weapons and rising global tensions, who knew that World War Three would be the one to unite the world. The growing accounts of UFO sightings and very serious extraterrestrial considerations from even the most skeptical scientist hadn't prepared the world for it's first known alien invasion.

We were caught with our pants down. Multiple battleships blitzing into orbit with strange physics and impossible weapons caused a massive panic. Some thought this was the apocalypse, others likened it to a sort of biblical Armageddon, many had hoped that they were here with good intentions. When missiles rained, however, all hope was lost as panic swept the world. World leaders scrambled, military systems readied, and the populace prepared themselves as this may be last of our civilization.

However, what happened next surprised us all. Maybe we all instinctively knew. With all the infighting, nationalism, and racism that have plagued human existence maybe we should've known how fierce we are when attacked. "Us vs them" is very powerful when the 'us' is the entire human race and the 'them' is an attacking group of alien warlords threatening to end life as we know it.

The war lasted 5 long years as we fought with full power of the human race. World leaders finally putting there differences aside for the greater good. The alien scumbags weren't ready for the full force of human might. When the last of the warships were destroyed, there was a great celebration amongst all the races and people of the world and for the first time it may seem like the world might've finally come together as one.

A few years after the invasion another debate cropped up as the problem of the millions of hostile, stranded alien invaders that were left behind arose. There were many ideas floating around, some of the more extreme wanted to kill them all, but others opposed it as that would make us just as bad as them. There were many who wanted to talk with them, to learn from them, incorporate them into our way of life. That was a hard sell for those that lost family in the war. Also the language barrier as well as their unknown hostility towards human life would make that risky.

Someone had said, "Let's send them back to were they came from!" and for whatever reason that stuck. And so all the world's engineers collaborated together to re-engineer the alien spacecraft. It was a mighty feat, but after many years as the alien POW's were temporarily imprisoned, the engineers were able to get a few up and running. We packed in as many alien warriors in the vessels as we could and shipped them into the vastness of space. We had no idea where they had come from or where they were going, but it was our problem no longer. Our job was to boost our defenses, ready our troops, and hopefully human life may extend a little bit further.

Thank you! I'd LOVE to maybe turn this into a book someday

You know what? I actually agree with this. I promise I can write a bit more normally though. Just a bit