Ah crap, well I tried.

'and,' 'ancients'

‘The Canceled Savior’

—-

Sixteen candles blossomed bright as stars from a cake shaped like a car. In the center, a small dish held keys to a 2023 jeep.

Cher grinned, her near-phosphorescent white veneers sparkling in the candlelight. “For me?” She crowed as she blew out the tiny wax staffs.

“You’ve earned it, honey!” Her mom appeared to smile, although it wasn’t one hundred percent clear due to all of the Botox.

“We’re proud of you, pumpkin. Your grades have been top-notch.” Dad put an arm around her. “We’ll get you into Harvard yet.

“I-I was thinking NYU’s art school, Tisch. Maybe go into acting or something.”

“Nonsense! Don’t make me take the keys away,” her father teased. “You need to become a lawyer just like your old man. I mean, no offense to your mom, but arts degrees don’t pay off.”

The older woman winced but said nothing.

“See? Even she agrees, and she’s been living off of my money for years. You’re like my little high-growth investment, honey,” he said, leaning in to hug her.

Two years later and Cher got part of her wish: NYU. Stern, the business school, not the arts program. But still, NYU. Her father was proud of this as ‘business can be a good basis for law and NYU has a strong grad program.’

Running late to class, Cher sprinted through Washington Square Park past the older men playing chess and the weed dealers.

Despite her tardiness, she dropped five dollars into the unhoused Al’s bucket by his usual sycamore tree.

“Hey, Cher! Thanks”

“Gotta run, but I’ll catch you this afternoon.”

While Cher excelled in her classes, she didn’t like most of them.

In Corporate Finance, she’d grouse, “Why is the focus always on shareholder satisfaction and not stakeholders?”

Marketing led to its own problems. “Why do we sell things people don’t need that are designed to break even quicker?”

As the semesters wore on, Cher’s followers grew to a healthy 1.5 million. The outspoken young blonde woman became a campus and cultural darling standing up for the rights of those less fortunate.

No cause was left unvisited. From equality to opioids, Cher had it covered.

“I’m finally using my popularity for a good cause. Growing up, I was coddled by my family. Many others weren’t so lucky. So, it’s my time to give back,” she intoned on any podcast that would have her.

On YouthBeat, she slipped.

“You’ve done a lot of wonderful things, Cher. What’s next after graduation?”

“I think I’m going to continue doing good as a social welfare lawyer.”

“Wait—you’re giving up all of your causes for law school? What happened to ‘using your popularity for a good cause?”

“Well, I could just keep up with my existing efforts…”

“So, you don’t need a job like the rest of us?”

The interviewer’s smile shone brightly, half jackal and half wolf. “You heard it here first, folks—Cher is letting us down. No surprise with her obvious white savior complex. It had to come to an end. I’m hardcore misquemed. Let’s cancel her NOW!”

In tears, Cher burst forth into the world.

At the tender age of twenty, upon reflection, Cher wondered if her life was over.

—-

WC: 537

—-

Thanks for reading! Feedback is always very much appreciated

This was amazing!

Once, long before time struck its first hour, there ruled the mighty; The Undying. They toyed with their strengths, shifting the soils and dust, the ferrous liquids of the underworld, into their things. These Undying were stubborn, unyielding to the orders of the gods above whom moulded their very consciousness, who first observed in childish delight. It were not long before the feeling of cherished emotion turned to tire of their mindless frolicking. The Gods smit the Undying from their strength. No longer could they freely bend the code of Essence. In rebellion, the Undying promised to strike the gods with the very thing they loved more, their precious "Bodilies". With the Bodilies their vessels of destruction, they convinced the befleshed Bodilies to forge gems, imbuing them with the little strength of Essence they were left with.

The Blood stone, which would turn to the jewel that crested the sword of the first Holy Knight. The fleshed brick, which would guide the house of Turcs into their Golden period through conquest of the dying empires surrounding it. But most known is the Crown of the Summit Reservoir, of which, had been the centre piece of the long line of Popes.

These stones, these relics, these things, were called Corpses by its forgers and future collectors, since they tended to be found or re-discovered close to the derelict bodies of their former users.

Now, underground societies and unions persistently hunt for whoever wields the power of ancients, could rule the surrounding Life. Our little hero, Pyr, will soon see for herself the power of the ancients.

I think late night brain mashed Kerrigan with a zealot

Owl is probably the best storyteller in this sub. I'm definitely looking forward to more of your work after this.

I would love to see more. Id love to see them fighting the invaders and being saved

Yeah, I said to myself I would write part 2 if even one person asked for it. So I will write it later at night or tomorrow. Thank you for your kind words.

Holy shot, this was amazing.

For Queen and Colony!

Wow that's a story

this seems appropriate

"Do you even recognize your own prison?" I ask the dining hall of laughing professors. This conference is a waste of everyone's time. Having to prove the necessity of my research grants to these out-of-touch gatekeepers is a degradation to the entire purpose of scientific experimentation.

"Do any of you," I ask, "realize how tight the walls of your cage are? The limits of your observation?"

Their smiles are fading.

I try bringing it down to a grade school level.

"The rainbow. The entire spectrum of visible light. That marginally slim window we have to the universe around us, that splinter of wavelength that sits between 400 and 700 nanometers. Is that really enough for you?"

"Stop embarrassing yourself," someone yells up to me from the far table. "Give the mic back already!"

A few murmurs agree. I can feel the hand of the research panel's director on my shoulder. He's asking me to surrender the microphone and return to my seat.

"No!" I shout, pulling away from him. "Not until I've said my piece." But my voice has stopped echoing back to me. The little red dot on the microphone has gone out.

"You have." The director extends his hand towards the stage steps. "Now please."

I toss the dead microphone towards that hand and the clumsy director can't even catch it. Then I turn to the room of cranky, balding men who all look to have quickly grown bored with my voice. "What have you got against progress?" I shout.

"Let it go!" says my old professor.

"It can't be done!" shouts my old lab partner.

"Not by you, at least!" came a voice from the back, and this returned a few chuckles.

"No, not just by him," someone else responded. "Give it just a minute of real thought and the whole notion falls apart. The size of the human eye restricts developing any cone cells possible of-"

"It's not the eye, it's the mind!" shouted my old lab partner. "You can't just introduce new signals to the nervous system and expect the mind to re-calibrate itself to turn the static of new sensation into meaningful-"

"Hello?" joined another voice, "are you forgetting about all the progress in nerve-controlled prosthetics these past twelve years?"

"Oh sure," the argument continued from across the room, "because motor function is the exact same thing as light perception and visual cognition."

"Even if it were possible to introduce artificial cones into the optical nerves-"

"Whose talking about artificial? His report claims to be able to grow existing cone receptors to-"

"In human patients?!"

"Why anyone would even finance the research, even if animal trials proved successful, when the human eye is so different from-"

"Yeah right! Like this would ever even reach animal trials!"

"You pessimistic bunch of cowardly know-it-alls!" I shout from the edge of the stage. "I've already done it!"

I clutch my glasses, my new wire-framed glasses with no focus in the lenses, just a slight shade of pink that has been laughed at twice already tonight. I hesitate to take them off. It's going to hurt. But these wind bags must see. They must see what I see.

I remove the glasses and every light in the ceiling shines twice as bright. The whispers of steam from the seated men swirl in the air overhead like the film of a soap bubble. The remnants of chicken on scattered plates still glow. And every piece of bare flesh becomes a paintbrush as it moves.

I squint through the swirls of bright fog and see someone with an arm that gives off no heat.

"You, who mentioned the prosthetics. Is that because your arm is made of plastic?"

The man looks shocked, and so do the guests seated around him. He gave no indication that the hand was not natural, and I guess I've embarrassed him in front of his colleagues.

"You there, in the wheelchair!" I point. "You've just farted."

"And you!" I point to my old college professor who gave up on me immediately after I earned my degree. "You've just pissed yourself! I can see the warmth rising from your lap."

The room says nothing.

I lower my hand, still frozen in an accusatory stabbing gesture of my upturned finger.

"No need to say anything," I tell them. "The embarrassment behind you cheeks is enough. God, if I could just make you see. See the wave of new colors rushing through your faces as the warmth fills every available blood vessel. I can see the light of your hearts trying to pump more blood to your head so you can reason your way out of this without looking like an idiot. But I can see the idiot rising in the heat off of every one of you. It's beautiful."

I return the pink-tinted glasses, filtering the waves of light past 'red' away from my sensitive eyes. The director's hand returns to my shoulder, probably to turn me around so he can apologize like a gentleman.

Only it's not the director. It's the thick hand of a security guard grabbing my shoulder, and his other hand has mine wrenched behind my back so he can steer my down the steps of the stage and out the side door of the dining hall.

I'm thrown out like a bag of garbage. I guess I should have expected as much from such pretentious society. But I could not have expected to be helped up by my own lab partner waiting out there by the gutter. Somehow she knew to wait here instead of the front doors.

She finds my glasses in the gutter and returns them to my face.

"They didn't listen." she says. Not a question, just a statement. "Of course they wouldn't. Such a backwards organization anyway, still refusing to accept woman into their research programs."

"I'm sorry to admit," I say, "but I didn't even get to explain your breakthrough. They threw me out as soon as I made a display of your results. I'm sorry. I thought I would pull your name out at the end, like some big reveal. I thought if they heard it from a man first, they could take it seriously."

She gives me a sympathetic but pitying smile and links her arm around mine to walk down the street. "I'm sure Eunice Foote was told something similar. Maybe I'll join her and Rosalind Franklin's little club in heaven, and the three of us will look down on all your friends and colleagues as they eat their conference dinners and slap themselves on the backs."

"I thought you'd be angry."

"I am angry," she says, "but my anger's directed at so many other people, I don't have any left for you my little test subject."

She slips her hand in mine to stop our walk at the sidewalk corner. The doors to the dining hall are still propped open nearby. I can hear them laughing.

"What's it like?" she asks, for what's probably been the twentieth time that question has been asked since the procedure.

"I still can't describe it," I say. "The distinction between red and infrared is constantly getting clearer, but the hue is not like a deeper shade, it's just . . . new. It's a new paint on the palette. It has a way of mixing into all the other colors. I could put a name on it, but it wouldn't mean anything."

"And if you had to express the feeling of it?" She let go off my hand to wrap her arms around me.

"Warm, obviously." I look at the imprint of her hand where it held mine, the ghost of her interlocking fingers over my knuckles. "But like a lively warm, not some red-hot metal. A kind warm. It usually gets all drowned out in direct light, but when it seeps through a covered source it's like . . . " I point at the glowing light above her heart. "It's like here. Whatever you're wearing, whatever color lies on top of it can't hide the glow. And it shines through your cheeks when you smile. And it feels like-"

I don't have to tell her what it feels like.

She brings her mouth close, and shows me that she already knows the feeling.

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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HOLY SGIT THIS IS SO SMART.

At first it leaked out, held back, constrained, then as time went by it had seeped into its constraints and began a slow drip, drip, drip. But this wasn’t its true form, the shade was not right, the surface it fell on too hard, it forced it to bounce and splatter.

Eventually its carrier took it so far that the landscape changed and the drip fell onto course cold. When it fell it didn’t leap back up again, it just filled in the space, pushed out the air. It made a perfect circle with every drop onto the cold.

Crunch, crunch, crunch, with each laboured step the land hardened but softened if only for a moment under the fall, the carrier slowly falling in turn, but in an unseen, silent way.

Then speed, it had more added to it, changing its nature but not its appearance, the droplets would fly rather than fall. Many of them found a steaming warmth when they touched the ground, surrounded by something so foreign it was hostile, yet it was so similar the assault paused temporarily.

It truly was a beautiful sight to see, the steam rising, if only for a moment, on the hardening floor, soon apart from appearance all that laid on the floor would be the same, solid but movable, breakable when one disturbs it intensely enough.

The frenzy was over but the drip had progressed to a flow, constant but still unnoticed, unfelt, unheeded.

It didn’t steam like the others its companions had mixed with earlier, it didn’t fall, it held on, the best it could to the carrier. Yet it still slid down, down, down. Occasionally slowed by more constraints, but eventually it made it down onto the course cold once more. Dragged along there was more to mesh with the landscape, leaving a greater trail to follow.

Eventually the cold was escaped, and the flow was staunched, a lucky respite found in the frigid world, the unforgiving world, the hateful world.

Such fantasies cannot be dwelt in forever, and soon all had to flee as an intense warmth engulfed in the respite. The sins of the carrier, their unheeded pain had allowed others to follow them, angrily, hastily, mercilessly through their contrast to the rest of the world.

Each and every one, the innocents and the carrier were aligned with each other, flat on the unchanging world, it remained unchanged from one side to the other, their movements crackling the land underneath it.

The flow returned for a moment and again transformed into a torrent, it spread out onto the frigid world drastically changing it due to the volume from the carrier and those they doomed.

The torrent was over as suddenly as it began and with so many foreign companions to interweave itself with the land steamed for a long time.

One perfect circle was made, it stood out from the land so beautifully in its darkness compared to the light that threatened to bury it as the days past.

It was truly amazing, so long as you don’t get to close.

​

​

​

The Colour: Blood red on White snow

Bees have 3 genders none of which match human genders

Drone, Worker & Queen

Rage swelled through her body.

They had taken her boy. The news echoed and tumbled in her ears, bouncing through her skull like a ball in a pit. Her sun, her radiant beam had been extinguished. Her mouth gaped open, but no words nor strangled cry escaped.

Killed during his proudest moment.

It was of little consolation to her, even if it meant that her son had went down with a smile on his face, wrench stained with the blood of another corrupt politician. Terrorist, they had called him.

Her teeth gritted and grinded against each other, her grief violently tugging upon the layers in between-

It stopped. Though her anger had not ebbed, a psychic knife had came down upon her tether to the beyond. Slowly, it all stabilized, and only ripples remained of the waves that had formed upon the surface of the Infinite Sea.

The winds brushed across the neon-lit skyscrapers of Yukon. An unnatural aurora forming upon the horizon - a phenomenon atypical of the time of year. Reporters and journalists had gathered from all over the region to photograph the lights - strange, but calm.

And like her son's life, it was all shattered in an instant.

The cameras found the face of the up-and-coming hero - a visage that had often appeared on national TV for its near-perfect looks. Now, however, it was /ruined/. Norse's manicured hands clawed at his face, digging deep gouges into his skin and flesh. Trails of blood ran down from empty sockets, his eyeballs held in either hand. A crippling scream rang out from a jaw that was locked open. In its wake, the reporters found themselves rooted to the spot, unable to end their casts and helplessly left to try and decipher the perpetrator of this vicious attack.

They did not have to think long, for from behind him stretched a two dimensional plane of color - one that was incomprehensible to the eyes of its helpless audience, yet often so, for they had seen it before, always heralding the appearance of the Jester. Yet what stepped out from within was a woman - her stature normal, scarlet hair flowing out behind her. Its every strand was tinged with abstract, impossible shapes that clung to it like tortured fingers to a cross.

What happened next, they could not properly describe.

Norse was dragged into the earth itself, the redhead diving in after him to close a grasp around his throat. Instead of stone, he could see - no, this wasn't seeing, his eyes had been left behind. Yet, his mind witnessed a swirl of dangerous, indescribable colors, pulling his body, his mind, his very /self/ into a spiral. His mind fractured from the strain of trying to understand something else, something that he was not supposed to see, much less learn from. It tore apart at its seams, leaving him with only the most basic of ability for what happened next.

At the bottom, he could hear - his very mind could feel what awaited him. The tormented screams of his fellow heroes etched deep into his shattered consciousness. And when he reached the end, he was himself, and he was them. His body was no longer his, and neither were theirs to them. Their minds mixed and crumbled at the edges much like his had, his very /self/ being grafted onto theirs as much as theirs into his. Space fractured and twisted, rendering their bodies malleable to her vicious will. Their apologies and pleas were no longer coherent, for they now shared the same mouth, broken consciousnesses unable to coordinate any last words.

Space twisted for a final time, and reality ripped a hole in itself, dumping the mangled, twisted and singular body of five people. Their flesh had been churned into a neat ball, expressions agape as they attempted to understand what had happened.

They never would.

The rift was sealed, the chaos in the chamber subsided as the living nightmare ceased. The black dragon set the tip of his sword into the floor to steady himself. He waved off two of his footsoldiers who tried to offer assistance and walked toward the wreckage at the end of the room.

"Everyone... behold... your 'glorious' leader." The drake announced, grabbing Formosis and lifting him from the wreckage of his golden throne. "What say you; traitor, defier, most unfit for their power, what say you now!?"

The elder council head was silent as he affixed the drake with a glare from his remaining eye. He flinched backwards as the tip of the glowing Star Saber was put to his neck.

"Answer, not just to me, but to everyone here. You summoned this, you summoned Them."

"You are a danger to our way of life... you, your kind. A disgrace upon the fabric of the cosmos."

A grin spread on the drakes face, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Go on."

"It's the truth! You Chaos Jumpers, especially Dark Jumpers, you are all dangers to the universes we reside! We would be better off if none of you remained!" Formosis pushed aside the sword and arose, still shouting. Sixxus chuckled and let the sword free. The three component bots saluting him before returning to his pocketspace.

"You should have never succeeded your trial, you were meant to die! It would have been so easy, and nobody would have questioned it! Instead, you just couldn't accept your fate. You survived and brought question to MY rule, MY leadership! Never before since the inception of this council has there been such division in its ranks! I was pushed to these measures! Surely some of you understand!"

The dead remained silent, those badly injured looked on in pain and sorrow, the rest of the survivors had disgust clear on their face. Formosis faltered as he took in his surroundings, as if noticing for the first time the damage he brought. "Funny thing is... you might have once had a point there."

Formosis whipped back to face his hated enemy, the savior of the day. "Except: I'm not that bad (mostly), I can respect your existence, and I'm mostly willing to play by your rules. I just don't desire to be bound by them. Instead of living and let live, you decided to bring forth powers beyond most comprehension, powers so terrible the gods themselves could not stop them. Powers so vicious that the gods forged superweapons to defeat them. Superweapons which gained sapience and were banished once their jobs were done."

"..."

"Superweapons that made me. And Jobias over there, but he's not important. A bunch of superweapons made a habitable planet and a race to occupy it. A planet you condemned to death because you had some preconceived notion about how the cosmos should work." Sixxus sneered, waving his hands around to the room. "Tell me, HOW DID THAT WORK OUT FOR YOU!?"

Formosis squeaked as he was grabbed from behind, a large hand around his torso. He looked over his shoulder to the Gaurdian that held him, the badly damaged being looking on in rage and disappointment. "We have failed our duty, allowing your rot to fester in our Council of Light... I will now correct that mistake."

The last thing Formosis saw was the Chaos Jumper taking a sarcastic bow, as if ending a show.

Follow the adventure at r/PrimusWrites

Flying, buzzing away from the hive. Where is the big one's hive? This one weird rock? They go into it and moves? No, I can see into the rock, no big one. The bigger hive made from tree? Yes, big one in front of the glow, their smaller workers also in front of the glow.

I can see into the wood but can't fly forward. Invisible part of the hive blocks my path. Must keep bouncing there must be a break. Buzz, over to the other invisible wood. Somewhere a way in. Next invisible wood, I prepare for a bonk and I'm in.

I fly to the big one, in front of the too small forward facing eyes. It's strange that the big one has four, but two that come off. I do the dance of the hive. The big one picks me up. They are not wearing their exoskeleton. The smaller workers look away from the glow as I am carried.

We head to the hive. The big one quickens. The big one is making a honey. It smells sweet, then sour. It is not a good honey. Our hive would never want this. Why now is the big one making this honey?

The invaders. The wasps, they are leaving our hive for the sour honey. They land in the sour honey and cannot leave it.

The big one still hasn't gone to our hive. They are walking around their hive. Now to a neighboring hive. Another neighboring hive. Ah, the invaders hive. The big one is making a cloud and rain. The invaders hives defenders are dying. Their hive is crumbling and then is no more.

The big one walk to our hive. Many are dead. Our hive is damaged. The big one has honey, and hive. They are rebuilding the hive. I buzz off and help.

The sky darkens over the hive. A new light starts a new day. And a new Queen is born. Her pheromones are strong. The hive is strong. The big one in with all four of their eyes and their exoskeleton is moving parts of the hive and looking then putting them back. I buzz towards them. They saved our hive and destroyed the invaders. I land on the big one and dance in appreciation. The big one takes part of their exoskeleton off and gently touches me with the small part of their limb. Together we saved the hive.

[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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Damn, stunning. Thank you very much!

> For the hope of your eternal soul rests upon that peace. Now die

That was...wow.

Why does this always happen to me? I gave them strong bodies to have fun not to hunt each other down. I gave many large teeth so their smiles would be brighter not to crush the neck of my other creations.
They weren’t supposed to kill or eat each other. If only they thought for a second they would realise that consuming each other is unnecessary. I put a giant ball of energy close to the planet for a reason.
I created every creature with the ability to absorb the solar energy around them. Over time they changed and forgot their abilities. Unlike my Father I was never the best at creating eternal creations. Even the ones that don’t eat the moving creations, eat the steadfast ones that cling to the earth. There is more than enough food for all of them yet they are so barbaric.
What’s worse is that recently a hairless monkey species has been taking over. They are a bit smarter than the rest of my creations and have used that intelligence to take over the planet.
I should actually see what they’re up to right now. They have recently begun acting weird and doing strange experiments. They rarely work together yet for some reason they are way more coordinated now than usual. This was starting to eerily resemble another time. I move my astral body closer to the surface of the earth. The hairless monkeys are concentrated in areas with giant structures penetrating the sky.
My attention is drawn to a structure higher than the rest stretching far into the sky. The clouds a hairsbreadth out of reach from the tallest point. I peer into the room with most people. There are machines humming and beeping. In the center of the room there is a giant machine. It has rods and antennae on its top. Suddenly the machine starts beeping faster flashing lights go off. The hairless monkeys seem to be in a panic now. Ones that were sitting just moments ago are running around and making noise at each other.
This keeps on happening, they keep on failing! They use machines to discover my presence! Ascendance is achieved internally! It is a spiritual journey! For some reason all my creations just use machines instead and muck things up!
I look over the earth again. There are wars everywhere. All my creations are killing each other wherever I look. I can’t help but sigh, I didn’t want to do this but I guess I no Longer have a choice.
I snap my fingers. I guess it’s back to the drawing board. Moments later giant asteroids change course in the cosmos and head right for the planet.
Why does this keep on happening? First with those lizard people I had to get rid of 65 million years ago and now as well with these hairless apes. Now that I think about it some of those creatures survived. I need to be more thorough this time. I snap my fingers again sending a couple more asteroids veering towards the planet.