A self proclaimed hero whose own alter ego suddenly gains a mind of their own. Now their secret identity is their own worse enemy.

Loved the joke and the humor, great work!!

To the guy who replied and deleted: I appreciate you looking out. Glad you enjoyed the story and got the joke after posting. :)

I was born screaming. That wasn't particularly noteworthy; apparently orc infants cry just the same as human infants. No, the part that was noteworthy was that my last memory before crowning was that of being incinerated.

I used to be a 26 year-old barista. I had a college degree, not a particularly useful one, but a degree all the same. I read in my spare time. Mostly shitty fanfiction, but I deluded myself into thinking it was better than TV. Then a blinding flash, a crushing heat, the melting of my skin, and I was gone.

And now, I was an orc child. Isekai, reincarnation, self-insert, whatever your chosen form of self-indulgent day dream, I was living it. My escapist fantasies usually involved less raw meat and more cool magic, though. I used to be a vegetarian, you know. Just my luck to be reborn into a species that gifts knives on naming days and expects any self-respecting teenager to hunt their own food.

They thought I was delayed. It took me too long to learn how to work a mouth with bottom canines that jutted out past my lip. I didn't quite get the hang of the growling, snapping language until I was six. And my new parents didn't give a flying fuck that I knew what calculus was.

At least I wasn't alone. Everyone born from a year before me, to three years after me was similarly odd. I had an especially stranger brother, just a year younger than me. Rolk cried a lot. I found out why not long after strange children stopped being born. He was reincarnated, of course. I'd figured out the gist of my circumstances very young. The first reborn children had a full year to compare notes before I came along.

But Rolk had been seven when his first life ended. And only six when my first life ended. I'd heard stories of reborns living a few pain-filled hours before succumbing, but he'd made it three weeks. A nuclear bomb, he said. Radiation poisoning. He celebrated his seventh birthday in a hospital, fully aware that he was dying.

I grew protective of him. The adults, the real orcs, thought it was just a side effect of his oddities. Of course I'd be protective of my younger brother who rarely spoke, cried at the strangest times, and never seemed to relax. I learned to soothe him, to spot his triggers before he did.

And when he was fifteen, I got our parent's blessing to travel with him. There were whispers among the reborns. Whispers of a city, made up entirely of those who remembered a life before. A city where he'd be understood. He hoped that we'd find his first parents, killed nearly instantly in the blast. I just wanted him to be safe.

Their journey was meandering. They were pointed in the general direction of the major cities of the land, but without a clear end, there was little reason to move linearly. Rolk did most of the hunting. He knew I hated it. And he didn't look at me strangely for cooking the meat, even if he'd adapted to eating it raw.

Our first hint was from a soft-spoken reborn in one of the larger dwarf villages. She was happy with her new life as a religious scholar, having been a lonely history professor in her first life. She said that elves were known to accept refugees of all species in their vast forested territory. Their forests were the only place on the continent that'd be able to handle an extra city's worth of people, and which weren't ruled by someone who'd be threatened by such a settlement.

[deleted]

Alex Miller is Certain that he is being spied on by a secret government cabal.

If it does not surprise you, lowly readers, that my kind roam these lands, then you certainly would not find it unusual that we tend to stick around for quite some time. I am no exception to this fact and to be completely frank, we have been around for just as long as the rest of you, maybe a fraction younger than your own kind, but we do certainly have some perks of which you could only dream of.

However, it can be quite a boring life. It was much easier a few centuries ago, that I can assure you. No one really paid us much attention, well some of you did, but luckily for us those who noticed were shunned enough to keep away the prying eyes to our doings and what have you. One could easily find prey in the earlier centuries, vagrants and ne'er-do-wells were quite easy to come by when your species was young.

A quick side note, I never really enjoyed separating us by species. I am not ignorant to the fact that we are different enough to make such a distinction, just that without you, we wouldn't be enjoying this life we have grown accustomed to. Anyway, enough of that.

No one so much as even realized, let alone cared that such downtrodden individuals would end up dead or butchered, stuffed in some back alley or left to bleed and fester in the heart of towns and cities. But you have become more vigilant to such happenings. As we power through this chunk of the 21st century that we find ourselves in, we have noticed that you have grown...granted, not by a huge margin, but grown nevertheless. We have a vested interest in such growth, you are much more plentiful these days, a good comparison may be those awfully branded, pick and choose sweet shops you have strewn about the place. And as we all know, vampires and humans alike, such abundance can certainly lead to gluttony, and it affects our society as much as your own, albeit much differently.

Now, you may be asking, "why is this godforsaken creature telling me all this?" Well, firstly, 'godforsaken' is a bit harsh don't you think? Look at some of you. And secondly, well, my usual methods have begun birthing some intriguing and unprecedented results. Now, we all know the problems you have had through your existence, the earliest being murder, then came drugs and the like, you even recently had that near catastrophic illness pluageing you for a while. You do have my sympathies, we may not get sick like you but my lord did it become challenging for us to feed, that's I can tell you. At least, however, you have those order to door people rushing about. I urge you to attempt to order blood by the gallon through those things. But, I digress, where we were.

Oh yes, I am not so inclined to hunt any prey I see, I am a bit more selective. Alot of us, too many quite frankly, still hold onto the false benefit of virgin blood and all that nonsense. There is not significant a difference between restaurant and store bought wine, honestly. Me? I have gone through the decades killing those who you deem to be deserving, not because of any form of love or obligation but simply because you don't care. If those who kill and profit of the misery of other dies, you celebrate it. If you do not believe me, what happened to The Ripper of London? Anybody? No? Well, let's just say there is a reason they didn't catch him. Also fun fact, his name certainly want not 'Jack' in fact...no, hold on, what is it you say these days? "No spoilers"?

Well, in the last few decades, you seem to care a bit more. So much so, you have taken notice to these criminals missing or showing up dead. For years our modern exploits have been successfully turned in to simple forms of media to cover the sent, that 'Blade' fellow was based on quite the annoying hunter from a few decades ago, thank the Lord that didn't get out in any significant way. Now, my methods are going unnoticed no more. The nosiest of you have seen patterns, the holes I leave are becoming a sort of 'calling card' and as a result I have become a new form of legend or myth these days. Not dissimilar to those you find in comic book publications and the utter void of creativity that Hollywood has become recently. And if I am perfectly honest. I quite enjoy it. For the first time in my life I can temporarily stop hiding. Now, don't be stupid, I am certainly not going to drop the charade of my kind being nothing more but stories you tell children, but it is quite freeing.

You see, after 'Jackie-boy" I grew fond of London. I see that it has become cleaner and smarter compared to the days of dear old Vicky, but London still reeks of those you hold in low regard. Your authorities don't seem to be doing much to prevent them from springing up so I will happily get some lunch on the way home from a night on the town. So, keep up the bad work 'Bobbies', I do appreciate it so.

You know, your older generation can't really get there head around the new do-dads and attention draining technology you come up with, but it certainly is an amusing concept. You should see the fans I have. Unfortunately some of them I see pushing the envelope of fandom as it were so they tend to make it on my proverbial shopping list.

Now, I must go, frankly I have spent a little too much time writing this, some cartel bastards are making their way into town in a few hours and I am peckish. Stay vile, humans, it makes my life easy, and your lives that little bit longer. And if you are vile, well...I wish you luck, because the word has gotten out about how well this is going, a movement is starting. I just hope they don't ruin it, I have a good thing going here and anything that has the attention of my European brothers, it is sure to get messy.

I've personally only heard good things about the wandering inn. Uh just be warned it's like one of the longest web novels ever made.

The person who writes it is like a crazy person who writes 5,000 words a day, and is told in a scope of characters rivaled by very few. I think the story broke 10,000,000 words not too long ago. (That was the right number of zeros.) For example the entire harry potter series is a million words.

[deleted]

[removed]

Chuck him under the bed

Me: Who’s a good boy? You now!

Villain: (screams)

I have this one in my Audible wishlist. Are you recommending it because it's good, or because it's a good example of poor execution?

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Thank you. I felt the first person would help me capture his motivations in a story more easily and skip past describing the scene and environment etc, which I am not good at.

Welcome...and very nicely done!

"Good evening, My Lord," Han said following the nighttime ritual of hundreds of years.

Master Theon slides gracefully from the sapphire-blue silk bedding to stand at the edge of the Timna armored casket, his movements are smooth and of a single, fluid grace. Pale skin hissed softly against the cotton cloth lining as Han helps him into the beautifully worked day robe. Han pulls it closed, ties it at the waist and then moves around Theon, straightening and smoothing the robe, his hands running over the complex needle work of the fine garment with practiced easy.

The scenes depicted on the robe are bloody and cast a stark contrast to the sky-blue colour of the material the robe is made from; blood red, dark wine, and magentas dominated the images with silver and gold edging and trim. The detail imagery was a thing of transcendent skill but the subject matter would have turned the stomach of many.

Having finished with setting the robe, Han steps to the small table against the wall as the casket retracted into the alcove and secured itself. He lifts the silver plater with the single, old Venetian tradition glass on it. The glass is filled with a red fluid and its outer surface is covered in handed painted flowers and plants that would be at home in a summer field at noon.

Han steps back to Theon to present the glass. The liquid in it barely reacting to his movement.

Theon takes the glass and drinks. The blood is body temperature and slides down easily after the long day of sleep.

Finishing it, Theon returns the glass to the plater. Han, in turn, returns it and the plater to the table. Theon begins to walk toward and out the only door in the room.

The room was designed to be a grand piece of art but also to protect Master Theon from those things that are anathema to or might threaten the life of a vampire. A thick, Indian rug covers the floor to within a few feet of the walls. Around the room, set quite tastefully to make the room feel 'lived in', are a few pieces of furniture made from night dark Oak. Cloth covers are set across the flat surfaces and are all sky-blue with silver trim. The walls are covered in a powder-blue wallpaper that has depicted on it a forest of willowy, white trees with speckled black bark under a canopy of light green leaves. The image seems to have a depth to it, as it extending into illusionary distance. Each alcove has a security casket of identical make and model to the one Master Theon just stepped out of. Each on armatures that allowed the casket to be extended into the room for use.

Even the mechanism of the caskets are finely crafted and, while a brass coloured metal, did not seem out of place in terms of the rest of the room. The room is quite large , big enough that if all three caskets were extended, a person standing in the middle of the room could touch them all without extending their arms very much.

The room radiates luxury but had been designed for security. No windows to allow sunlight in or an intruder to use to gain entry to it. The room is located under Master Theon's main house with surveillance and defensive measures built into recesses or hidden away that can respond in an instant to any threat as needed. Those same devices extended up into the house proper and are monitored twenty-four/seven by bonded members of the household staff. Only Master Theon and Han, however, can enter the hallway leading to this room without being met lethal force.

In the words of the twentieth century security expert whom had designed the systems, "Master Theon owns anyone who enters his house."

This does not distract from the style displayed however. The entire house radiates wealth, power, and age. Each room is a masterpiece of design, function, and elegance married to a deep love of history. The hallways are reminiscent of an imperial palace of the sixteenth century; tall, long, and well lite. Paintings of a rare pedigree and furnishings of master craftsmen filled every corner of Master Theon's household.

All of this contained in a two block rectangle of the most populous city in the world.

Having walked through the hallway, up stairs, and then into the sitting room, Theon sits and picks up the day's newspaper. It and another Venetian glass of red liquid sits waiting for him on the table in front of Theon. On the paper, once again, is news of the city's protector and the drop in crime as told from the reports over the last month. Citizens are all applauding the hero who is cleaning up the streets of the city where the police are unable or unwilling too.

"Han, what do you think of this idea of me as a protector?" His voice is the controlled alto of a trained singer; strong, measured, modulated.

Theon knew that Han would be ready to serve him as he seemingly spoke to the empty air. He did not even have to turn to know that his servant would be standing by the largest door to this room. Not even if they were behind him to know that Han was there.

"You have ever protected your bloodline, Sir" Han nodded even as he spoke those words with respect. By that statement he meant any whom had been turned to the life of service to the Master.

"Yes, yes...but what do you think?" Theon asks with the tone of an pampered aristocrat, pressing the matter. Sometime Han needs a push to reply beyond the scope of Master/servant expectations.

Han did not even hesitated before replaying.

"Sir, if I may, does the farmer care for the opinions of his cattle?" Han is every and always the pragmatist.

Master Theon, a predator older than most countries, let alone the city he finds himself in in this century, smiles without humor. A smile that exposes the sharp, white teeth that lightly gleaming as he salivates at the thought of tonight's hunt.

"Indeed," he says.

"Indeed."

Like... the entire city all at once, complete with sewers? Or one person at a time all over the place??

Speaking of op look at op's username...

u/fishfucker69 sweating hard rn

When Mister Snickers first came back after being away for 17 days and 5 hours (yes I counted), I was relieved and happy. He had lost weight over the time he was gone and his fur wasn’t as shiny s always. But he was back and that was all that mattered. The next day when I came home from work I saw Mister Snickers sit on my porch. It confused me, as I thought I had kept him inside for the day. Also the collar I had put on him was missing. But heaven knows cats do weird things, so I took him inside. Imagine my surprise when I found Mister Snickers, with his cute little blue collar, sitting in the kitchen waiting to be fed. Even though I am a big cat lover, I did the responsible thing and called animal services to let them know I had found a cat. They told me no cat matching that description was missing. As my new visitor was cute, looking like Mister Snickers after all, I decided to keep him. I gave him a red collar, and in that moment I was happy I always had spare collars lying around. I named the newcomer Mr Twix.

As I was sitting in my armchair and reading that evening, I observed the two cats. They looked identical except for the collar. That and, upon closer inspection, I found that Mister Twix‘s white patch under the chin was just a tad bit more triangular. The two cats seemed to get along great.

The next morning, a Saturday, I woke up early for my morning run. Great weather. Back at home I found yet another cat on my porch. Looking like Mister Snickers and Mister Twix. I took him in and he quickly made himself at home. My other two cats seemed weirdly calm with him, both sitting in the kitchen and watching the new cats every move. I took the last collar I had, a green one, and gave it to the new cat, alongside with naming him Mister Peanut. His patch had edges just a little bit more defined than Mister Twix, but still, looking at the three cats together from more than twenty centimetres the only difference was their collars.

On Sunday the next cat showed up. It was at this point that I started questioning my sanity. After all, what is the chance of four almost identical cats coming four days in row? I didn’t have a collar anymore so I gave the new cat an old bracelet if mine and named him January. Even though I honestly hoped there would be no more mysterious cats appearing, I decided to make a few collars for potential use. And I took a Picture of each cat.

The next day another cat showed up. And the following day. It has now been 34 days since Mister Snickers came back and I have 34 seemingly identical cats roaming my house. I have no idea what is happening, why the cats keep showing up, or why they all seem identical besides their chon patch which gets sharper with every cat. Gradually, yes, but comparing Mister Snickers to Thursday I could actually tell a difference (after I went through all twelve months I switched to weekdays, not wanting to just number the cats. Following this I started with the periodic table, I mea no way there will be over a hundred cats, right?).
Something I still can’t quite wrap my head around is how the cats don’t seem to be that hungry. Sure, I now go through three cans of canfood instead of the one Mister Snickers would eat, but how to 34 cats share only three cans?

On day fourty - cat‘s name is Argon - something seems to be up with the cats. When o make myself dinner they’re all sitting around in one big circle, watching me eat. It is a bit creepy, so I raise my eyebrows at Mister Snickers and ask him what kind of catconvention this is.

“I’m bringing my brothers from dying universes over.“ I almost spit my food out. Did my cat just talk to me? I must be going crazy, seriously insane. “Yes, I can talk now“, tells me Mister Snickers. “Holy Shit.” Is all I manage to answer. March steps forwards. “We’re sure you are very confused about what’s going on now. Fourth cats and all.” I nod, too stunned to speak. “Across the multiverse people have bee building portals for travel”, Nitrogen takes over. “The issue arises from their instability. Some pretty nasty people have been abusing the portals to hop universes but when they break the space-time-continuum to often every jump makes the universe they travel to unstable.“
I have forty talking cats, and there is multiverse travel. Oh my. ”That’s where I first disappeared”, Mister Snickers chimes in again. “I went across the multiverse and met other versions of myself.” His tail twitches at all the other cats. “Cats travel the multiverse quite often, but I unfortunately got stuck in one so it took me longer to get back. Anyway a few of the ones o visited were unstable, so I told my other me-s they could come here if needed.“ The cats meow in agreement. “We didn’t all mean to come here and burden you, but we can locate each other. The more of us in one place, the higher the chance others will follow.” Mister Peanut takes over. “We are looking for a pocket cat dimension to which we ca travel, and we’re pretty sure we’ve found it. But we need to be 47 to get there.“ “Is that so”, is all I can answer. I look at Mister Snickers and finally manage a proper sentence: “Does that mean you’ll leave me?” My cat jumps onto the table and looks me into the eyes. “No, I won’t leave. You‘re my human after all. But eight more cats will come so 47 can travel. After that no more cat masses.” “We thank you for your hospitality“, some cat — I think it’s either Monday or August — says. “We know it isn’t easy with this many cats. But in eight days we will be complete, and then you’ll never see of us again. Single cats might travel though here to get to us, but Mister Snickers will guide them.” “That’s nice of you”, I say and pet my cat. “Yes.” He purrs.

Eight more days until alternate versions of cat can travel to a pocket dimension. Whelp, at least I can’t say my life’s boring right now.

This story made me cry. Thank you for the amazing tale.

I guess that makes me a police interrogator (bad cop) that commands lightning and electricity, while being the absolute best at comedy.

Agrajag from hitchhiker's guide.

Oh no