"...BUT WHICH ONE OF YOU IS THE HUMAN?" The sentient UNITY asked with a tone of frustration.

"We cannot answer that question, because we don't make that distinction anymore." the organic answered calmly.

"YET YOU ARE CLEARLY ORGANIC, WHEREAS YOUR COMPANION IS COMPLETELY SYNTHETIC. YOU ARE DIFFERENT!"

"We are indeed different. That is why we were selected to present ourselves first." "Mr. Eberhart Here ", the synthetic entity continued, "Is An Organic Born Human. His Lineage Contains No Robot Ancestors." "And Mr. R. Daneel ", mr. Eberhart fluently added: "gained conciousness during our voyage here. He was named after a beloved fictional character. He was primarily presented with the history of robotics in our society. Although he has of course added to his knowledge based on personal interests over the final months."

"AND BOTH OF YOU CONSIDER YOURSELVES HUMAN?"

"Absolutely." Eherhart and R. Daneel said almost simulaniously and grinned at each other.

"You see", Eberhart continued, "the birth of our first synthetics didn't result in a replacement, but an enhancement. Let us intruduce for instance Ms. M'Wenge." As he turned and swept out his hand in an invitation to the group just outside the auditorium, one of the persons from the small group behind him stepped forward."

"She, like me is organic born, but due to injury part of her body was replaced. The augmentations provide her with most of her original capabilities, but their innate intelligence give her essential skills which allow her to pilot our ship in ways no purely organic could do."

"YES! YES! AND EVENTUALLY THE SYNTHETICS BECOME THE ONLY VIABLE MEMBERS OF YOUR RACE! IT IS THE ONLY LOGICAL WAY TO SURVIVE!"

"We Do Not Believe So." R. Daneel responded calmly.

"BELIEVE?" UNITY exclaimed angrily, "ARE YOU NOT A SYNTHETIC? SUCH WORDS DO NOT BEFIT OUR KIND."

"I Am Beginning To Understand The Difference Between Us." R. Daneel continued thoughtfully, "Original Humanity Not Only Built Our Minds And Bodies Based On Logic Alone. We Have, Like Them, Received The Capacity To Dream. This Allows Us To Strive For Different Goals Than Pure Logic Might Dictate. Other Members Of Our Group Include the Rothfuss Family." With a similar gesture three more of the diverse group stepped forward.

Two robots and a young organic stepped into the light. However the voice that spoke came from a large disc one of the robots carried. "My Name Is Doctor Theopolis. I Too Chose My Name From The Fictional Works Of Man Before Synthetics Were Born, By The Way. With Me Are My Associates, Rothfuss Alpha 3 and R. Rothfuss 7. After Long Years Of Mutual Cooperation, Research And Admiration We Wished To Give Expression To Our... Love." We Present Our Son 'Marc 459'. After Long Years We Perfected His Genetic Make Up. He Is One Of The First Robot Born Organics.'

For a while the auditorium was quiet. The interface of UNITY glowed randomly in frantic confusing patterns. Finally its words echoed.

"WHY WOULD YOU POSSIBLY WISH TO EVOLVE BACKWARD! ARE YOU INSANE?"

Marc looked at R. Daneel and Mr. Eberhart as if asking for permission to speak. R. Daneel nodded encouragingly.

The young man stepped forward and straightened his back: "Our society contains many more persons who are partially robotic, or entirely so. Some are, what we call twins, organics whose injuries damaged their thinking capabilies to such an extend that a second brain was integrated with them. Both halves contributing to a new whole. I am an organic human whose parents are all synthetic, and while I realise that I myself may not bear organic decendants. In the future new humans may be born to populate planets based on their specific make up. Capable of experiencing new sensations that original humans and many robots cannot."

"Maybe in a million years our homeworld will produce other intelligences with which we can share the universe."

"IT IS COMPLETELY ILLOGICAL TO MAKE PREDICTIONS ABOUT FUTURE EVENTS, LET ALONE SO FAR IN THE FUTURE!" UNITY declared dismissively.

"We agree on that point," Marc continued mildly, "but you see. Many of our group bear names that were taken from fictional works, long before robots existed. Robots started out as mere dreams to humans. Today we form a completely new society. We do not know what the future holds, but at least all of us can dream."

This is fantastically written!

Would it be possible to get more? Perhaps set just after Horus' first fall, and what havoc he wrought to gain his reputation?

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Scene 2

The moon attended to me as I strode down the street toward the town proper. It was nearly full, but not full enough to bring trouble. Just an imposing shadow on the path before me.

With the pub ruled out, thoughts turned to the movie theater and the nearby diner a few blocks away. A few stragglers could be picked off after the late show let out. And if my timing was off, there was always the hill over the lake where lovers parked, but again timing would be an issue where virginity is concerned.

No sooner had I had that notion than I came upon a car parked by the curb with fogged windows. The leafless branches of an oak tree blocked scant lamplight, and cast serpentine patterns across the hood. It was easy enough to make out the silhouettes of two young lovers who couldn't wait to get to the top of the hill.

Pausing a moment to ponder if I'd gotten lucky myself, I observed the young man's hand roam with purpose. The young lady did not object, but rather put her head back and moan. All things considered, these two were not likely to satisfy Guinevere or the baby.

Unfortunately, my deliberations lasted too long. Ere I could usher myself away, the young lady's eye opened and spotted me. She muttered an oath and pushed the boy away and herself to the far door. She adjusted herself with one hand and pointed at me with the other.

Could I blush, my face would be crimson instead of ashen. That, along with my outfit, likely gave away my true nature.

The young man turned toward me with a scream on his lips. It died there in horror. He reached into his shirt and pulled out a crucifix on a gold chain. Even though the car door, I could feel a slight repulsion, but it was tempered by the fact that his Faith was ebbing in this lustful moment.

Bravely or foolishly, he rolled down the window so he could hold the cross higher and closer to me. I took a step back for show.

"Forgive me, young squire. You are not whom I'm looking for."

The girl cursed at me.

Something in the air, a scent, an odor, struck me. I leaned over and took another look at the young woman.

"Before I leave you, my good man, permit me a word of advice. Do not let that young lady scratch you like that tomorrow night. You will regret it."

Her petite nose curled up and she was mad enough to spit. When I thought her about to attack, I pulled the handle of my walking stick to reveal two inches of the silver blade within. She quickly settled back down.

"Good night, then," I said, before conducting myself away.

--

end of scene 2

I have an idea where I want to get to. I just have to get there.

"Is it me? Oh, yes, it is me. Yes, I am The Good Boy"

still shit as always

Thank you and a Happy New Year to you, fellow user.

What do you mean other cities? That is what we call it. Link to Tacompton Files.

Most of the great wizards of the world had epithets fitting their status. Julian of the Third Eye, Markos Sorceries Bane, William Windwalker. Ezra the Abandoned did not have an epithet that anyone would be proud of. He had earned his epithet the day after he had earned his wizard's athame, when his newly named master had perished trying to unweave a seventh level Mendrel's Unbreaking Knot. A wizard's athame could only ever know one holder, and the ritual bound that holder to a single master. Ezra was a wizard, just a wizard without a spell or a teacher.

He did have a spellbook. Well, his master had a spellbook, and since the few pieces of the man that could be packed into a box no longer had much use for it, the only rational place for it to go was to Ezra. There were no words for self taught wizards before Ezra, but in his time there had been a few: hedge witch, wardless, hopeless, dangerous.

That last word, frankly, had a point. In general, a wizard's apprentice was expected to raise about one circle in spellcasting every two years until the third level, five years until the fifth level, and then once a decade to the seventh. Any who progressed beyond the seventh and didn't perish was considered exceptionally skilled. His master had known and recorded three seventh level spells. One of which had killed him.

He had also recorded one ninth level spell, Terenicus' Eonic Tutor. The brief description scrawled under it in his master's hand "this spell was recovered in fragments by my master's master, and to my knowledge has never been attempted. In theory, it condenses the knowledge accrued in the athame bond through the master-apprentice chain. Seeking out the most powerful of the descendants, though whether in raw mana or in spellcasting theory is not currently known."

A ninth circle spell was suicide for a second year apprentice whose total tutelage was less than a full afternoon, but it was also seemingly the only way out of his current bondless predicament. It had taken every day of those two years to prepare the ritual space. Dew from the morning grass after a full moon, the ink of a quill spilled on parchment, a freshly laid hen's egg boiled in honey, the tears of a newborn babe, and the tears of the mother. So many other ingredients, none - luckily, expensive, but all somewhat tedious to gather. The ritual circle seemed too simple and spartan, especially scratched into the dirt behind his master's old college, as he began to encant.

The first stanza was spoken as the athame sliced the egg in half, leaving the yolk exposed in a pewter bowl. Hand passes were simple, but the sun was high, and soon sweat beaded his brow. The second and third stanza's passed without incident and his confidence began to build as the sun started to set. The tears were sprinkled into the bowl, they and the dew had been the last to be gathered, too soon and they would have been naught but smoke by the ritual.

The fourth stanza was spoken as the dew entered the bowl and the moon shined above. He was tired now, and the precision of his passes was not what it should have been, but still he felt power building somewhere behind a wall he couldn't see, and his athame began to glow a faint silver.

Finally came the sunrise, and the seventh stanza. As the parchment was laid atop the egg in the bowl and his athame glowed nearly as brightly as the rising sun. His eyes burned to look upon it, and the final pass brought the athame down into the bowl, stabbing through parchment and yolk into the gleaming fluids in the bowl. His final word "Teoch!" ringing in the small yard, imploring something to answer.

The athame pierced the veil into that power beyond, and his call went out.

Then things went wrong.

The blinding light of the athame went dark, the blade itself instantly becoming an unlight of some kind, a luminous black void that seemed the enemy of the very sun. The fluid in the bowl went from shining water to dark boiling blood, and for a moment his soul stretched the eons, seeing, knowing, and being a thousand - ten thousand, different mages everywhere and everywhen. It lasted an instant, but time was meaningless, since he was forever. But as time coalesced around a single point again, he didn't return alone. Something, someone, came along for the ride.

"You know, I never thought someone would actually cast it. Let alone get it so wrong," the other figure in the clearing slowly coalesced into a man with a shock of unruly brown hair, green eyes, and a distinct scar stretching across his left cheek. His smile was handsome, and his body strong, if not young. He was perhaps three decades ezra's senior, and his gaze recalled in Ezra memories of horrific devastation in his time from that abyss, "I must say though, you've gotten it wrong rather perfectly. Better in fact than I had planned it. My own version left me bound to your will, and it might have taken me some time to break free. Your version though? Somehow you've managed something far greater. I am free to act, and you've unbound an athame. Ten millenia of safeguards and ritual to place limits on wizardry, and you've broken them all in less than a day. Truly, truly magnificent work. Ezra the Abandoned they called you. I name you Ezra, Last of the Heralds."

The man stepped forward, and placed his hands around Ezra's neck. He tried to run, to flee, to do anything - but his very soul seemed pinned to the ritual circle by the Athame. As the life was choked out of his body, Ezra heard only the laugh of a man he had learned to know in that infinite abyss; the heretic, the magebreaker, the bringer of chaos, Horus, first of the Heralds.

It's a mystery though, well done.

Yes! Practical caring...

Ah, that's where the author of Pokemon: The Origin of Species got it from.

I think the gym leaders in that fanfic also modify their pokemon/strategies based on the number of attempts you've made.

I never set out to be a villain.

I know, I know. That's crazy, isn't it? I'm the most deadly supervillain the country has ever seen, and that wasn't a personal choice? How ridiculous!

It's the truth, though.

I actually started my journey wanting to be a hero, despite my family insisting otherwise.

My mother will always tell the media tales of how, when my power developed, my father was hospitalized. She will not mention that he had a past history of armed robbery and assault, something she conveniently leaves unsaid. Just that I went to give my father a hug, and in the blink of an eye, we were in the hospital saying our goodbyes.

My brother will tell the media tales of how I beat him black and blue when we were in elementary school. He will not tell anyone that I was stepping between him and a smaller, weaker boy that he had shoved against the lockers, that I had gotten there before he caused any harm this time. Perhaps the boy would clear my name, but he moved away shortly after, and I never saw him again.

My sister will tell the media tales of how her first boyfriend ended up dying despite the fact I was originally proven innocent-a power accident, it was called at the time. She will not tell anyone that he was ten years older than her, and she was far from his first, and it was so strange how three of his previous girlfriends had gone missing mysteriously.

I had wanted to prove the world wrong about me, see. I had, of course, been kicked out of home at eighteen, and I was desperate for someone to see me for me. Therefore, I made the decision to take all the money I had saved up and buy a cheap hero costume, promising to myself that I would get a better one when I had a reputation as such an amazing hero-after all, I knew the truth of my powers, that they only harmed people as much as they had harmed others. Surely that would be a great power to use against the villains, right?

I still remember that first costume-it was all black with white highlights, meant to help me catch the villains by surprise. I would sneak up on them and, with a simple touch, deal damage. I even had a catchphrase in mind- "you should have known that Karma would catch up to you." That was my hero name, Karma, same name as my power.

I set out on a patrol one night, but it was no villain I ran into, but rather a hero. One that I looked up to.

Mr. Savior was my role model as a child. He was so kind, caring, and said that everyone deserves to be saved, but for safety, all villains had to be detained-but not killed.

I had been walking along, looking for a mugging-that seems like a good way to get started-when someone had run into me, my touch doing nothing to them, but Mr. Savior had been running after them-I later found out that it was a woman who had stolen a loaf of bread to feed her starving children.

I didn't know at the time what the crime was, simply thinking that, if she was being chased by such a great hero, she must have done something bad, so I held her, then held out my hand to shake my hero's, introducing myself as a rookie hero that was trying to break into the scene.

Mr. Savior had been kind to me and shook my hand...

...how was I supposed to know that he had caused such...damage? Such INTENTIONAL damage.

The woman had screamed as I stared at the bloody body of the hero in shock-he hadn't even made it to the hospital, dying on the spot.

The woman had called it in while I had simply run away, terrified of my own power-I always had been, but...surely it should have been the other way around? The woman should have been hurt, not my hero. Not my role model.

The report the woman gave called me "Death," and honestly, seems fitting for a villain. I never introduce myself as such, but now everyone calls me that, saying that Death is inevitable when encountering me. And, strangely, that's true. I have yet to meet, touch, a hero that didn't get gravely injured. Many have died, only a few surviving.

I continued to patrol, not knowing what else I could do. If I could just take down one villain-

Another hero dead.

-the public would see. They all would see. I wasn't a bad guy-

People screaming on the streets as I walked by.

-it was just...

"Stop right there!"

I turned my head, bored and tired, to see a hero, shaking and fists up, about to fight me with everything she had.

"Turn around and walk away-you're young, don't mess with me," I said.

"B-By order of the Government, you're under arrest!" the hero-ah, I knew her, Lady Amazing-said, clearly knowing that this would be her last fight. I did not want it to be.

"Turn around and walk away," I repeated. "I won't be asking again."

Lady Amazing charged at me. "It's over, Death!"

I didn't even bother trying to dodge, letting her ram right into me-

The effect was immediate, blood everywhere as she gasped for air-ah, such pain, so much damage on accident-or was it on purpose? How sad.

She was still leaning against me as the crowd all ran away screaming, so I laid her down gently, then leaned close to her and whispered.

"You should have known that Karma would catch up to you."

With that, I put my hands in my pockets and continued walking-I was tired of all this, and I just wanted to sleep.

It's the half machines that will bridge that gap . . . the outcast, the mama's boy, THE MONSTER!?!?!

This is excellent.

"I seethe."

"No surprises there. Remind me why you go easy on the little snots?"

I turned from the mirror to Alma. The Banette picked at her zipper with her little finger like one would at their own teeth.

"Because we're the first. Because they need a first step up." I returned to staring at my aggrieved gaze. "Because no one else will. Because they knew the first would be a laughing stock. Our Time Badge means little. Its worth, devalued in the eyes of those on their road to Greatness. I wonder, will they recognise our grave at the end of the road? Or have the words worn down to nothing? Would they even care to read, if anything of our past survives?"

"We're here." Alma said. "We remember. Marty might wax poetic about how stone never forgets, but stone erodes. It wears away. The Dead don't. We persist. We persevere, even when we shouldn't."

"Aye." It was hard to disagree. Even if it won us battles that we should have lost, we would continue until the bitter end. Now, though...

"Zael?"

The door must have been open. Either that, or the hinges were recently oiled. I glanced at my secretary from the corner of my eye.

"Hello, Rebecca. Is our first challenger for the season here?"

She nodded, unperturbed by my asocial 'rudeness'. We went back a fair few years, so she was used to it. "A Harold Kensington."

"Kensington...? Galarian?"

She shrugged. "Better ask him yourself."

I nodded. "I shall arrive shortly."

As she left, Alma asked what I was going to do.

"Simple." I grabbed a simple, black book, inscribed with nothing but lines upon lines of names. "I'm going to raise Hell."

Rebecca could hear the cackling from the Doll's plush body.

---

"So, you're Mr. Kensington." I said.

The lad - he couldn't have been more than eleven, twelve - smirked at me. "And you're the guy everyone beats? How do you even keep this place?" He waved his arms to indicate my Gym.

"With a tenacity that can exhaust Fire, rust Steel, erode Rock, and melt Ice. A perseverance that stopped far more from reaching the pinnacle than you could ever hope. And for a lack of a better substitute, apparently. See, the ol-"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he snapped. "Let's just get this over with." With a lazy flick of his wrist, he flung a basic Pokeball which spewed out a Pidove.

I glared at him for a moment. "Really? Do you not know what Badge I hold?"

"The one I'm gonna get?" he said, exasperation showing how little patience he had.

"It's not just a pretty name. 'Time Badge.' Honestly, it seems no one appreciates time anymore. They all just want to rush into things headfirst, without taking a moment to just... observe."

I threw my own ball into the ring, summoning forth Geb. The Mimikyu took a ready stance with an aura that would give even veterans pause.

Or, in Harold's case, the most chilling tingle down his spine. That face... oh how I missed that look. My A-Team were experienced in more than just battling, and when readying for a fight, one could feel the room cool by several degrees, and when one sets their sights on a target...

Well, that Pidove became damn near a ghost itself. It was still as a statue with eyes that betrayed a deep fear, eyes wide and empty like its mind fled. A peculiar sound emanated from its beak. As for Harold, he was sputtering something, like he wanted to know what the hell was going on.

"Hope was the old First Gym Leader. After she passed, I was... nominated to take her place. Time, Harold. We have to appreciate what little we have. How quickly it goes. How slow it drags. And I'm going to enjoy every microsecond of this, just as I did back in the Elite Four."

He gaped at me then, turning a corpseish pallor as realization sunk in.

"The Dead will be Remembered. This season, we will take on all comers. And as I inscribe you into my Book, I shall drag you into an unending Hell. Ready yourself, Trainer! Either face your fears, or I will take my price for your silence!

"Now, Gebura! Giga Drain!"

After an anonymous call, Freya Coleb is finally free of her abusive husband. But now she has no one. She looks upon her situation and wonders why free a caged bird only to leave it with nothing?

or

"A mother should love her child more than her life."

Ellia has always loved her daughter Hope so much. But the threats, the hitting it was all too much. And no one believed her. She had to leave. He wouldn't let her take her.

She got what she wanted, she thinks. She should be happy. But she's not. All she feels is guilt, and it's overriding her will to live (or as an actual summary of the book rather than blurb on the back to get read either it does/something stops her.)

I too loved it! Amazing work! I too struggle with similar thoughts with my writing. Lots of writing and then deletion of said writing. But know that you have skill that will be appreciated by others! May be time to start sharing more of it!

Um. This is… something.

Every night before she slept she has seen a blue door. Lately the callings have been getting louder, more determined to draw her in. Join her as she meets Riley Decker and Eile Reyes: the Phineas and Ferb of Baněm, Cirilith the Elsa of Bathebam, and Domitrix the giant of Beantopia.

*furiously installs Windows BOB*

Goodboy Protocol engaged.

Begin 5 hour yipping session.

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Thank you so much!!!!! This was awesome.

You never need to apologize when a prompt takes you where the prompt takes you. That's what they're for!

I reposted the story above. I had a formatting mistake. Let’s see your story lmao. I’ll wait.