Best part?

It was natural causes

TW - Some dark descriptions. Suicide.

I toss and turn on my bed. I look at the clock. 4 am. Yep. Figures. No sleep tonight.

I head to my home gym. I used to go to the public one. But someone recognized me there. Someone whose life I had… impacted. He had attacked me. I didn’t try to defend myself. But the guards were able to quickly pull him off me. I didn’t thank them. I just walked away. One call and the city provided me the equipment I needed at my home, no questions asked.

I’m exhausted after my workout and look at my bed. A bed should be the most comfortable place for a person. A place to power down, let go off your problems, relax and let your mind wander freely via dreams. For me… i loathed it. My mind wandered. I just didn’t like where it ended up.

I put on the tv. There’s some old Asian movie on. Tiles of fire it’s called. Seems to be about some sort of a game. It isn’t great but it’s better than nothing.

In an instant the farmer’s son is replaced by a young teen. The teen has a hole where her heart should be. She holds it out to me, blood still dripping. To my horror I take it. She smiles, nodding encouragingly. I throw it on the ground. I’m crying. But not her. She’s still smiling as I stomp her heart. Her smile cannot hide her pain though. By the time I finish stomping, the heart, once driving this young girl with her whole life in front of her has been turned to mush. A whole lot of nothing. There is a whistling sound in my ears. It gets plunder and louder till blood starts to pour from my ears. I look at my bloody hands and try to scream. No sound comes out. I look down and realize I’ve stomped on my own tongue unknowingly. I look at my blood hands and shoes and I scream silently again. I scream and scream and…

I wake up with a start noticing that my phone was ringing. I am struggling to breathe. It’s the superhero line. No. Not today. God damnit not today.

I reluctantly pick up the phone.

Sarafina’s voice breaks through my brain fog. “Trolley man? Are you ok?”

I’m fond of Sarafina. She has told me the story of her name a few times. Her mother had died during childbirth. She was a big fan of the “his dark materials” series of books. Her dad, a brute, who had read nothing longer than a 3 page menu at Denny’s, but still loved his wife had tried to honour his wife’s memory by naming Sara after a character. Of course, he couldn’t remember the name exactly and had butchered the spelling. But Sara didn’t mind. She claimed it showed that he made an effort and that’s the best any of us could do. Her dad had died a few years ago. She herself had contracted a rare form of cancer. Her survival had been a miracle. I wonder if I’d ever be able to admit anything to her. When I had gotten the call from her, gushing about her recovery, I had been sitting on a rooftop, with an innocent kid in my rifle’s scope. Would I have gone through with it? I dont know. I just knew one thing. I was a monster. I knew it. She knew it. Everyone knew it. But I was also their trump card. And thus they all ignored so many of my murders.

They could. But not me. I still woke up at nights trying to wash the my bloody hands of the blood only I could see. I was haunted by the ghosts of their memories, the lives they would never live.

“Please don’t call me that. Just call me anything else.”

“That’s your superhero name.”

It was also the name that existed to remind me of my nature. “Just call me a man. Let’s skip the trolley.”

There was an urgency to her voice. After all this time I could pick it up. Even if I had talked to her for a while. “We need you. Code red.”

I raise my eyebrow. “That bad?”

“Worse than anything you can imagine.”

“This is the last time Sara. You promised.”

“I did. I intend to keep it. But you need to be here right now. We don’t have much time.”

I look back at my lonely bed. I always told her it would be the last time. But the idea of being alone with my memories scared me. I knew I would probably end up killing my self if left alone without a purpose. I know it’s not a nice thing to say but it is true. So I sigh and leave. I could kid myself that this was the last time but I knew well enough that it wouldn’t be. I was too much of a coward.

The sun is being blocked by something. The people are running back and forth. It’s always amazing to see how different people react to something like this. What “this” is, I don’t know yet. And I don’t care. For me, the true monster was inside me. This thing, supervillain, monster whatever it was, was no match to the MeMon, as I fondly called it.

Sara is standing inside the facility with a dossier. “We are in deep trouble. We are dealing with a…”

“I don’t care Sara. Let’s get it over with.”

As I pass her she puts her hand on my shoulder. “You are a hero. You’re doing a good thing. You should know that.”

“Am I? Then why does it scare me? If I’m a hero why do I want to go run away screaming in the other direction?”

“Why haven’t you been talking to me?”

My tongue. Smashed under my foot. She’s beaten death. I am death. It’s impossible. “I want to be alone for some time. Please respect that.”

She walks briskly keeping up with me. She asks me more questions. About me. My health. If I was going to therapy. I ignore all of the questions. At this moment I’m wound up tighter than a 8 day clock. At any moment my insides can explode out destroying everything.

I walk into the room. It’s empty except for one person who’s sitting on a chair. She seems young. She’s praying.

God. What an idea. If a god had created me, he was no less than a devil.

The girl looks at me. She’s smiling. I close my eyes tightly as I flash back to my dream.

I turn my back to her.

“Sir. I’m glad to be…”

“NO. NO YOU AREN’T.”

She’s taken aback by my outburst. “I am! If my life can be…”

“Oh just stop it.” I spit on the ground.

She looks at Sara, her eyes welling up with tears.

Sara walks up to her and gives her a hug. “It’s ok Ramona. He’s just…”

“WHAT THE FUCK. WHY DID YOU HAVE TO SAY HER NAME?”

I take out a gun and shoot at the young girl Ramona. It’s a clean shot right in the middle of her forehead. Sara catches a lot of splash on her pristine white pantsuit.

I turn around and walk out. I can hear Sara calling for me from behind but I have no desire to talk. Outside the shadow has lifted and the sun is beaming down on everyone in the town. Everyone except me. The permanent shadow that is always over me, is darker than ever.

Sara catches up to me, out of breath. She again holds my shoulder turning me around. “She only had 3 days to live.”

“That she never will because of me. Those 3 days could’ve been the best of her life. But no. I cut them short.”

“You are a superhero. You have saved countless lives today. Thousands. Maybe millions.”

“You don’t know that. I’m not a hero Sara. I’m… Sara?”

I look at her. Her eyes are bulging. She’s struggling to breathe. She motions to her purse. “Epi… epi…” is all she can say.

“Are you having an allergic reaction? Do you have an Epi pen?”

I take her purse and turn it upside down, all the contents raining down on the floor. No Epi pen. I look at her with horror.

She’s smiling at me.

No. No.

“Don’t smile. Be angry god damn it.”

I look around. There’s no one around. The unit has hardly any employees and the entrance is well hidden. The employees that are here are probably taking care of disposing off the body.

She holds out her hand.

I shake my head. “I’m not gonna watch you die. Not you. Not another person.”

I take out my gun and point it at my head. “I can’t watch more death Sara. Forgive me.”

Time slows down as I feel pressure. I feel a whistling sound in my ears. It feels very familiar. As the consciousness departs my body I still have enough left to see that Sara has gotten up and is rushing towards me. She doesn’t seem sick at all.

That means…

I was innocent. I am innocent. I keep repeating this mantra as my only path to salvation.

I have a smile on my face as I feel something stomping on my brain.

[removed]

Oh my, that ending was unexpected. Crazy how the human who'd been protected by the narrating entity decided to betray them just for money.

lol, I was not expecting that ending. Fun take on the prompt!

Your description of the main character sort of made me think of John Constantine. This vignette definitely raises a lot of questions. Like, who is the obsidian man? What relationship does the main character have with the soon-to-be-dead man?

It isn't that difficult to convince the average adventuring party you're a wizard. It's all in the acting and clothing, and I became rather adept at that tidbit because when a mob hears the word warlock, someone will wind up hanging from a noose. Of course, you can't keep that kind of secret forever, so the eldritch sort of magician seldom lives to old age. It's usually a case of running till you can't any longer. I’d been out in the farthest recesses of civilized society, so I didn't think it was possible to run any farther when I ran into the company. A memory of that moment plays itself back in my mind as I sidestep a glimmering bolt of lightning. The trace sparks and winding spider webs of the flash sparkled with the impromptu meeting while avoiding the gangly fingers of the inquisition. That alleyway would be piled with bodies before they gave up. I knew I would have to throw in with the friends who saved my life. The brilliant beam of the blinding bolt’s passage fades, allowing sight of the narrow cavern and horde of bandits pouring out of every tunnel around our group's modest three-tent encampment.

They’d need the numbers if they hoped for anything other than buying time. A sweeping arch of blood traces the air as an ax cracks open an approaching bandit’s jaw in a vicious assault from somewhere in the shadows opposite the cave. I can’t see Disappearance, the team rogue, aside from a dim shimmer in the distance, as they lurk like a damn predator behind the horde, decapitating stragglers back to front. A distant howl of rage heralds the fleeting sight of the savage Jim the Brick, Kane, and his towering longsword deep amongst the cyclical hellscape of the party’s frontline. In a broad arc, that clever cast-iron metal rips roughly halfway through a red-cloaked hooligan’s rib cage. The dying criminal clings to the wound as the mighty barbarian places a leather boot against their chest and pulls the sword free with the sound of warped flesh as it passes along the jagged blade. Nopparage, the party druid, tends to the flock of charging raiders as the stone beneath their advance sharpens to rip the heedless men and elves’ feet to ribbons in the deadly trap.

The sharp crack of a black-powder musket breaks the din of battle from the bandit’s line as the party's glorious leader Dunalong’s Chi-wrapped arm swats the bullet into a bandit who’d been sneaking up behind Nopparage. The foreigner’s visage is set with a grin as the combat drags onward in a flurry of spraying blood, decapitated heads, and chaotic violence bent from lances of purple magic originating from the scroll in my hands. And yet, as the engagement continues, the number of bandits is seemingly endless, as the moderately sized cavern floods with hundreds of poorly armed, exiled knights. I wouldn’t be honest if I said; they appeared to be confident; instead, they seemed to be utterly out of their minds, smiling with unhinged glee even as their head was cut from their neck with an open-palm chop and thrown into a warrior’s chest with enough force to cause an explosion of gore.

Amidst the chaotic din, communication becomes impossible as the purple spirit running the length of my plate-mail flickers with an unnatural vacuum that swallows all it touches. The distant scream of Dunalong’s pained yelps prompts me to act as all other options remain to spend one after another, keeping the horde at arm's length. All light within the cavern is slashed away as a void of rippling tendrils extends from with the slightest beckoning of one sweeping arc along the corrupted magical conduits of my plate. This Holocene of gathering energy passes, the brim of the right shoulder plate demonic laughter echoes through the canyon as lashes pick off the bandits. An enemy's quarterstaff breaks over that same pauldron before shattering into a bloom of wooden shrapnel as the cackling madman rips towards the roof before being disfigured by the horrific abyss of eyes and jaws hanging to the ceiling.

This abyssal horde doesn’t care for the number of enemies as the ambush turns into a slaughter as blood rains thick as a waterfall. The mangled excellence overtakes my being, and I can’t help but scream in ecstasy from the carnage as the rest of the party looks on in horror. I’m not myself as Dunalong sprints across the divide, dodging between the falling bodies of dying dissected body parts. A peal of unhinged laughter rips through my extended jaw, irrespective and uncaring of my attempts to regain control of my carcass from the partial possession of the demonic servants of my god. “The Great Unmaker Shall Claim The Souls Of This World; Death To The Mortals; All Will Die In Zorg’s Firey Embrace!”

This bout of horrific nightmare fuel rages as the tendrils, now deprived of targets, slither along the walls toward the party, mere feet away before a flaming fist shatters the fragile hold of the demon. The pain is immediate as the ground dents the brim of my Sallet. The trailing moments are a blur in tandem with lingering anguish as I return, cradling my head as the group argues overhead. Their speech is impossible to hear what they are saying but judging by the amount of aggressive gesturing, it wasn’t anything good. I’d either be dead or done with the situation in the next few minutes, so I can’t honestly be bothered to care much. After a brief contest of vomiting, I rose irrespective of the ongoing argument; Once more, my boots touched the cavern floor, staggering slightly before slurring my words. “I’m fine, just a demonic mild possession.”

Disappearance (if that was even his real name) hooded form grabbed my shoulders and began shaking my already failing stability while screaming, “What the hell? You were a fucking warlock this whole time!”

The group erupted into another chaotic discussion, worsening my mind-bending headache. In no moment, I’m entangled in the half-brawl and half-part conversation. “I assumed it was obvious!”(Warlock) “Why didn’t you tell us? That’s awesome! Dude, who’s your god!”(Barbarian) “Everyone stops; calm down!”(Monk), “You thought it was obvious, you dress like a damn arch-mage; fake badge and everything!”(Rogue), “Hey why don’t you sit back down.”(Druid) A small dribble of blood runs from my right eye as I break the grapple and gain some distance from the party. The group's general composure turned melancholy as I made the ground. “Okay, so you will not kill me, right?”

“What the hell kind of question is that? Bro, you’re one of us!”(Barbarian), “Are you planning to go traitor, if not we're good?”(Monk), “Do I look like I care about the kingdom’s laws, I don’t have many friends as it is!”(Rogue), “What, why?”(Druid).

Without a thought, I leaned over and wrapped a hand around the small spell book on the ground before throwing the useless chunk of paper into the corpses piled in the center of the chamber. “Just checking; if I’d known, I would have told you all earlier. Alright, I think I’m good; what’s the plan now?”

The sound of squelching flesh wreaked the silence as Dunalong set his still bloody arm, hand, wrist, and shoulder onto my left knee; “We’re going to track down that bandit chieftain, and you’re going to lead him to the deepest layer of hell for us.”

Ah, rip. XD

Markdown sometimes messes me up, too

It’s funny because when I wrote it I thought short and sweet would do it more justice for how the narration of it was going to go.

Tbh I didn’t know all the way that it was going to tie in properly but it did towards the end.

But all’s well that ends well I guess #thanks4reading

Ooooo, this is an interesting take on the prompt! I'm not sure how the narrator was supposed to protect his friend from the cockroaches, but this is definitely a cool idea! Good words!

It's fun that you decided to do a poem response! Also the narrator's tough love attitude is quite funny. Thanks for writing!

Ooo, a response in second person! Second person POV can be quite fun to explore. Good luck if you decide to continue!

Rabbit Isles Naval incident

American squadron commanded by Admiral Julius Cristo defeated the French squadron commanded by Admiral Gaston de St. Croix. Rabbit Thief captured by French Socialite Madame LaFontaine and imprisoned on Paradis De mer. Major Tactical American victory, though Paradis De Mer remained in French hands and Americans failed to capture the rabbit Thief. Admiral Gaston St Croix, Captain St Croix ( admirals younger brother), ships Le Mercure, La Moulin Rouge, Le Grand Vanquier captured. No American loss of ships.

1791: A portal to another world opened within the Bermuda Triangle, a whole other ocean was discovered therein where sea monsters and strange creatures previously thought to be myth exist. The Strange Seas as they are called became contested by The US, France, Spain, Pirates and the Cursed.

One such area a group of islands was contested between the American forces and the French, with the fortress of Thompson's Island serving as the American hq one side and Paradis De Mer serving as the French headquarters on the other. At the same time a rabbit Thief who had angered both sides was spotted in the area with both sides vowing to capture the thief.

Haha, the man goes through all the trouble of summoning someone, only for the summoning to not really have any effect at all. Fun story!

Ah, very interesting take coupled with intriguing writing

[removed]

[removed]

"Yeah, so I think there's like, thirty-four of them now? I tried labeling them with sticky notes but Steve #22 likes to eat them for some reason. The post-it notes, I mean."

"Bro, what the fuck? Like how?"

"Dunno man. I think it's something to do with this weird portal thingie Ned built in the basement cause I remember Steve #1 going down there like a month ago the day he disappeared. Yelled at Ned that his dumb nerd shit ate Steve and Ned said he'd go find him but he hasn't been back. Whatever, me and the Steves are chilling."

"Dude, that's kinda cool. Unlimited Steves. Think we can throw some kegs in the portal?"

Someone is running up the stairs, panting heavily. All Steves scuttle under bed in fear. The bedroom door is thrown open, revealing Ned, disheveled and holding another Steve.

"I finally...found your...dumbass cat!"

"Oh word! Welcome back bro. Here, slap this sticky note on him and put him with the others."

"...#35? The others? What the fuck?"

"Yeah, just chuck him under the bed."

"Whatever man. Just keep him out of my shit." He sets Steve #35 down and nudges him under the bed, then leaves.

"..."

"..."

"...Bro, do you think there's gonna be another Ned tomorrow?"

"...Ah fuck."

"Should we tell him?"

"Eh. Not our problem. C'mon, let's go outside with the Steves. They like to potty in the neighbor's roses and it's hilarious."

His eyes widened when he heard his alarm blaring. His phone was placed near his head.

Dangerous.

Immediately, he rolled out of the bed. Within seconds, the phone battery exploded, scattering shards of the device.

Wide awake, he looked around frantically. His senses were honed after going through this every single day. He rolled to the as the shards somehow nudged the bowling ball on his shelf. It missed him by the ear.

The bowling ball was probably placed there by one of his parents.

Of course.

Taking a bath was problematic. He had to check that there were no exposed wires from the shower heater. He had to remove the shower curtains as the bar was unstable. Ah, yes, an unfortunate slip would be disastrous.

As he was wiping his face, he sensed a chill down his spine. He immediately placed his towel between himself and the mirror. At that moment, the mirror slid down the sink and shattered. Glass shards shot towards him but the towel caught it.

He couldn’t even relax while getting dressed. His pants legs would keep trying to get caught with each other. An attempt to make him stumble. He also had to jump back when getting his shirt because the cabinet collapsed. Again.

At breakfast, his parents looked at him eagerly as he ate. He groaned.

“Damn, poison immunity,” his dad exclaimed.

“Curses aren’t working either,” his mom sighed.

That’s right. His parents were both heroes from another world. Well, partially. His dad got transported to another world. As a hero, his dad saved that world and married his mom. And now they returned to Earth.

“Can you two stop trying to send me there already?!”

“My, my. It can’t be helped. The goddess is requesting help,” his mom said with a lovely smile. If only they haven’t been trying to kill him “accidentally” since his coming of age. For some reason, it had to be by accident. His heroic abilities have been growing because of it but it was still a hassle.

“Whatever, I’m going.” He rushed to head out as soon as he finished. Immediately, he got hit by a speeding truck, even though it made no sense.

At least, it would if he hadn’t seen that occur several times. Of course, he unlocked some skills already, so the truck hit a wooden dummy instead. He already appeared right across the street.

He turned the corner, and a woman was screaming about her bag being snatched.

A dodge to the right because, of course, the culprit had a knife. And they thought of stabbing the next person in their way. A leg out to make them stumble, and a swift chop to the back of their neck.

“This would be so cool if they stop trying to kill me,” he sighed and stepped to the right. Of course, someone accidentally dropped their really heavy plant pot.

On the next street, he had to dodge a drunk driver. Yes, this early in the morning. Then avoid the falling pole from the crash. And then roll out of the way of the live wires that would have precisely landed on him.

Another normal day.

That last line was glorious. It was fun how the random drunkard turned out to be a powerful person. The punctuation was a little odd though, which did make your story kind of hard to read, but you still managed to get the plot and the funny bits across. Keep up the good work!

Oh, this... This is amazing. I want so much more.

It had been years.

Being trapped in the Silver City is not all that heinous and even the thought "trapped" is an embellishment.

It is a place of Beautiful, Unending, Unchanging Perfect. And that is mind-numbing. I remember a quote from someone I once knew; "it is better to rule in hell than serve in heaven." It has taken an Eternity for me to realize the truth to those words. Perfection is not evil, but it is suffocating. Thats why Humans being able to choose, allowed to experience fills me with jealousy. I am unable to change my nature, existence or residence. Except for very narrow exceptions.

This Boon grants My Human My Radiant Protection when they wish to summon Me. In Return, I may experience life in the physical realm for brief moments, that are eternities of change and new experiences and happiness.

This is the thought that comes to Me in the sliver of time before being Called and Becoming.

I Become part of the Physical and take in the room, narrow and dark. Unsurprising, given how My Human, who gives Me all I could want, glimpses into Being, enjoys experiencing dangerous situations. Of course, I do not dissuade My Human from such a life, adventuring and the fearful dilemmas My Human puts himself into necessitates Me Being. So I do not complain.

This time is different. I hear an awful, visceral shrieking sound, feel a strange sensation in my throat and My eyes. But that is nothing compared to the fire in My chest. I realize I has screamed, My....My throat was raw with the effort of shrieking, tears prickling at the corner of My eyes, threatening to bleed out. I feel another sensation, another burning in my lower abdomen, and another, still I shriek. I finally remember to Unbecome....but can't, my wings burn and soon, just where my wings were burn.

I see one last thing, one last Change before passing into the Void. My Human, receiving a pouch, and walk away without looking at me

I did lol. Just forgot to double hit the enter button to make more space. But thanks for the feedback 😄

I feel the stone pathway solidify under my feet. If I am being technical, my feet were solidifying on it after I had been unceremoniously yanked from my kitchen thousands of miles and a dimension or two away from here. I glare bitterly at the jam covered knife in my hand; my sandwich had not made the journey. It would surely be soggy by the time I make it home.

With one last thought for my ruined lunch, I whirl around to see who had brought me and I bellow, “Who dares disturb me?”

Humans. Maybe a dozen. The tallest of their group barely reaches my knee, and yet they brandish their weapons at me. As if they could do damage. Most of them stare transfixed at my jam knife. I suppose to them, it could be a massive sword. In the low light, the strawberry goop does look somewhat threatening. None of that explains how they brought me here. I look around the group and my eyes settle near the middle. Her. She is kneeling between two tall men, each with a sword at her throat. When we make eye contact, she shrugs. I knew I would regret my pledge to keep her alive.

“What is the meaning of this?” I lurch towards the group and wave my knife in a dramatic arc. A large dallop of strawberry jam flings from it and flies towards the nearest humans. They dive out of the way with a scream. That’s dramatic; it’s only strawberry.

The first handful of humans runs down the corridor out of sight. I raise my arms above my head and yell, “Roar,” at a few more. They flee, dropping their weapons as they run. Now, only the two with swords remain.

One lifts his sword from her neck and points it at me. “We do not fear you, devil. We will never relinquish the Horn of Arth’ron to your hellish minion!”

They always go to devil. I mean, sure, I have red skin, horns, and cloven hooves, but really? That’s like calling all vampires ‘Dracula’. It’s just ignorant and rude and I have no tolerance for bigotry. I lean over, close to his face and whisper, “Boo!”

Both men drop their swords and sprint out of sight. I roll my eyes and look to the woman who is getting to her feet. “Really, Rebecca?”

“Sorry, Uncle Darkilith, but I heard I rumor about the Horn, and who am I to resist?” She was already behind me, opening an ornate box on an altar. “Besides, you promised.”

“When I married your aunt and said I would protect her family as if it was my own, I did not mean scaring humans so that her niece could rob them.”

“Right, I said sorry.” Becca wasn’t listening. She had the horn, ivory and covered in gems, and was already scoping her path out. “I thought I could get in and out without them noticing, but mortal danger summons you and all that. Tell Aunt Robin I said ‘Hi’.” She scaled the wall, waving as she disappeared through a high window.

With a final glare at the window, I pull my bathrobe around myself before materializing home.

The relationship between the hero and the demon(?) is quite interesting! One small thing to note is that I think this would probably be easier to read if you broke it up into paragraphs?

Also the idea of a hero sending a demon books quite amuses me.