I feel myself come back. From where?

One rectangular shaped piece at a time the inky blackness breaks to light. Someone is unburying me from rubble. Wait, no. Not rubble.

I hear the crumpling of shrinkwrap. I see faint text. That font. I’d recognize it anywhere.

It’s my Warhammer 40k backlog.

I squeeze my eyes shut as the light becomes unbearably bright. I try to groan but my throat is bone dry. My hand is free now. I rub the sleep away from my eyes and open them.

I blink a few times. It’s still there. I squeeze my eyes shut. Prayers I’ve long forgotten begin to rattle in my head until it crescendos into a blaring orchestra of disjointed voices. I open my eyes and it stops.

A long Abaddon Black cloak shimmers in shades of Macragge Blue and Genestealer Purple. Inside the hood was as deep as Black 3.0, sucking the light out of my room. I try to speak again, but an awkward choke is the only thing that escapes.

“You’ll be able to speak soon. Give it time.” The sound of its voice is cool. Soothing.

Two piercing, faceted eyes of Waystone Green appear in the hood. They’re set in a skull seemingly dipped in Skeleton Horde. I would’ve dry brushed.

“You always have questions. Look around and find answers for yourself. It’ll make it much easier once you’re able to speak.”

I look around my office. Everything is as I remember, save for the two bookshelves that have crashed down onto the floor. They carried my entire backlog. There’s dried blood caked into the carpet.

Oh.

I sit on my coffin of cardboard and plastic. The first word is finally free.

“Why?”

“That question always seems so important, doesn’t it?”

Death comes closer.

“Why?” It says.

I think of the most recent army I started collecting. I waited years for my dream faction to finally be playable in the current edition, only for the next edition to be expected in less than a year. I felt my fist clench.

Death was right, nothing did make sense.

Death made its way to the other side of the room in a silent glide. It stopped short of my finished miniatures.

“You have an eye for beauty.”

What? “T-thanks. His name is Be’lakor. He did the rounds on Reddit when I posted him.”

Death doesn’t respond. It continues to scan the shelf.

“Sorry, Reddit is a site where you can po-”

“I know what Reddit is.”

“Sorry.”

Death stops in front of my most completed projects, a handful of combat patrols.

“Which army is your favorite?”

“Oh well that’s so hard to choose, I just love the whole universe. I would probably say I’m most excited to play the Astra Militarum which is basically - okay have you seen Alien?”

“Which is your favorite to play?”

My face goes hot. “Well.. I.. I haven’t exactly gotten to play just yet.”

An almost imperceptible turn of Death’s Head.

“I.. I’ve painted a lot of different armies,” I start to explain. “I tried to get family to play but everyone quits after the first 30 minutes of explaining the rules.. I.. usually forget them and then relearn them when someone shows interest, but no-one really ends up playing. That’s what those small armies are for, loaner armies I guess. The nearest game store is far and I don’t have a full army painted yet.. I just get distracted I guess. I really like painting. I have played all of the games and I'm getting into the lore. I tried playing against myself in a tabletop simulator but I haven’t played with anyone else on account of the social anxiety and-”

“Who are these?” Death stands before my Chaos armies.

“Oh, those are all the forces of Chaos I have. They’re from another plane of existence, kind of like you I guess. There’s a whole lot of gods and demons and-”

“They are nothing like me.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you..”

“They are Legion.”

“Well, kind of. They don’t always get alo-”

“I am the only One.”

It’s quiet in my office. I was torn between sympathy and existential dread.

I try to break the awkward silence. “Well, you never know. There could be more. Warhammer spans 40,000 plus years! New gods and demons appear all the time. Like Slaanesh, Slaanesh was born out of the hedonism of the Aeldari. It’s pretty metal right? I dunno, maybe it can happen in our universe.”

Suddenly Death is facing me.

“Under special circumstance I am able to present a challenge. Life or death. A wager for your soul.”

“Like in that song with the fiddles and playing it hot?”

“Yes. However, the game is traditionally chess.”

“Oh.”

“I would like to make an exception for you. I want you to teach me this Warhammer.”

“Sure.. ok! It’ll take a while to explain and I need to brush back up on the rules though..”

Death holds the rulebook. “You’ve taught it plenty of times. I trust you can teach it again.”

“I also don’t have a full-sized army yet which would be the intended rules I think. We have to at least assemble some and people find that really tedious..”

Death holds a combat patrol box in each hand. “We have plenty.”

“You don’t want to just.. I don’t know, use magic to create them?”

“It wouldn’t be real.”.

“Okaaay.. Painting is a lot though, I guess we can play with unpainted ones or just do a quick coat so they’re at least color coded..”

Death holds a bundle of paints. “I want to do it the way you do it. I want you to show me.”

I blink. “Okay. I guess the first part is choosing an army.”

“These Aeldari, you said they created life?”

“Well- uh I mean that’s not exactly how I would describe it but sure. I figured you would want to play Khorne, he’s the Blood God of Rage an-”

“I want to play the Aeldari.”

I start to feel a flutter in my chest. Is that even possible if you’re dead? I bend down and start sorting out the boxes. I find Death beside me, doing the same. A few minutes later we’re at my desk. The file and snippers are neatly arranged by the bottle of plastic glue. We each sit down after grabbing our first box.

I look over at Death as it runs its bony hand over the back of its box. I can only imagine it’s admiring the variations of paint jobs.

“Those are color schemes that match up with different sub-factions. For the Aeldari it’s different Craftworlds, which are like giant ships they live on. It’s kinda hard to explain because it’s different for every faction. If you want I can grab their codex and we can get into some lore.. But that would probably take up a lot of time..”

“That’s okay. We have plenty of time.”

I smile and rush off to grab it.

Within the Tower

Removing the dragon's head was not easy. My opponent laid stunned and incapacitated from a magical potion I had finally managed to throw at it when the dragon's fatigue, much like my own, had begun to catch up to it. Its long neck of golden scales like chain mail laid across the ground, a prisoner in its own body, but not for long. The potion mage only guaranteed me that this concoction wouldn't last more than sixty seconds, so I moved with haste to finish this fight one and for all. I drew my blade up in the air and swung it down, using the rest of my might to hack through the dragon's thick scales, dense bones, and pulpy flesh like a lumberjack chopping through the mightiest tree in the forest. Halfway through its neck the beast let out a deep moan, it was then that I realized that I had cut through most of its esophagus as a spurt of wind rushed up from the wound taking with it crimson blood that sprayed all over my shining armor and face. I did not stop, in fact I chopped harder and faster in fear that the potion had begun to wane. I did not do so to put the beast out of its misery. No, my mind had become clouded with the bloodlust of victory and a desire to save the rumored beautiful damsel that laid within the tower that I had staked my upon my life to save when I set out for this quest many moons ago. I had become a man driven by conquest and spoils, nothing more. Little did I know at the time that the dragon did not guard the tower to keep its prisoner in, but to protect the outside from what lies within.

The dragon let out one last moan when my blade finished it off. Its body went limp and the life flicked away from its eyes like a blown out candle. With my opponent now just a husk of flesh, scales and bones I turned towards the tower and began limping towards the tower doors. Time and rot had devoured the tower. The ancient stones had been eroded away and eaten by the scarlet vines that stretched upwards from the base to the very tip. Like a flame devouring a fuel log in the middle of a bonfire. I feared that even the gentlest breeze would rattle the walls and send it crumbling down upon me and the dame that lived inside. However, this did not fuel me with fear, but haste to save whoever had been taken prisoner. I began moving as fast as my tired body would allow.

When I pushed against the doors a deep groan came from within the walls of the tower. I paused, bracing for another battle with another beast, but the groaning stopped. I pushed again and the same sound echoed through the tower's cylindrical walls and bounced back to my ears. Pausing once again the sound stopped. Finally, with one last push I heard the groan again, louder and fuller, and then I laughed at my own delirium. My chuckles reverberating off the walls back towards me. The doors! There was no beast calling to me from the abyss of the tower, but the sounds of the heavy metal doors as they rotated about their hinges. I must had been more exhausted from that battle than I had previously thought. Shaking my head I gave the doors one final heave and entered the tower.

The interior was pitch black, darker than I had expected given the daylight outside. But luckily for me I found a torch beside the door and lit it up, granting me some respite from the darkness. I lit the torch and the room filled with an amber light, except there was no room. I had expected a room filled with tables, chairs and perhaps some books, as one usually expected to find in old mage towers, but instead I was greeted with an empty void just a few meters from the entrance. A thick dark abyss that absorbed even the sun's light as it shown through the door. To my right, a spiral staircase descended into the void. Putting all sense of unease behind me, I followed the stairwell. I would not have come all this far just to cower away at the sight of darkness like a child.

I journeyed down the stone stairs, only the light of the torch and the clattering of my armor accompanying me. The deeper I went the silenter it got, the echos of my armor became more muted at each level, and the flames of the torch dimer. As if the darkness itself absorbed them. Soon, the pounding of my heart had become the loudest sound in the depths. For the first time since I was a little boy, I begun to feel real fear. I looked up. The light from the door had nearly vanished, just a sliver of white light. Like a moth near candlelight, I felt a strong urge to go to it and I hard nearly given into my rational fear when I heard her.

A gentle singing from deep down within the well of darkness. Beautiful and delicate. Alas, I had found my princess and she was not far away. Laughing again at my delirium, I ventured down towards the base. I had not noticed at the time that my chuckling did not echo back to me.

At the base I could feel the immense pressure of the darkness pressing against everything. My torch, although still burning full, seemed to let out no more light than a candles, and the clattering of my armor had taken on a muffled sound as if it had been submerged underwater. My heart however, thundered through my ears. A drum pounding loud on either side of my head. Looking up only the abyss remained. Even the faint musk of mold and dust that I had smelled at the top of the stairwell had disappeared. The air had become completely scentless. All that remained beyond the dim reach of my flames was the trace of a stone floor. Again, the cowardly side of my brain began nudging at me to retreat back up. To return to the comfort of the daylight. But when I looked up into the endless void above me, I wondered if I would ever be able to find my way back to the light. And then a sliver of light appeared across the room from me, followed by that elegant singing.

Pure white light. Whiter than even the sun shone from across the well. My eyes now well adapted to the abyss had become nearly blinded in its rays. When they finally dilated I made sense of the source. An opening to a doorway! And beyond it, her voice. I followed the light and the voice and entered the room.

--

Have you ever seen a rat king before? I have, it is not a pleasant sight. A group of poor rats all tangled together at the tail in an impossible knot. Each little creature pulling away from one another, squealing for their lives. Each tug tightening the knot. Each shrill more agonizing. Until death comes in and spares them of their unfortunate hell. Now imagine that with people, except without the blessing of death.

--

I entered that room, eyes still blinded and adapting to the harsh light. The singing now filled me on every side, too full to be just a single damsel but many. For a brief moment as my eyes recovered I grinned in thinking of the reward I would get for being the savior of so many lost ladies. I would wed the fairest of the bunch and then marry the remaining off to my other fellow knights. I would be a hero to not just one kingdom, but many. Perhaps all in the land. But that fantasy did not last long. Once the curtains of light faded away I found myself within a realm not even reserved for nightmares.

Bodies tangled in bodies extended across the floor and climbed up the walls into another deep void that hung overhead, a demonic creeper from the depths of hell itself. Limbs twisted and turned into one another, limp and boneless like rope. I could not discern where one body began and the other one ended. The tangle of flesh withered and pulsed like a pile of worms upon the flesh of a rotten corpse. Faces of women stared back at me all letting out one harmonious moan after another. Others had been buried deep within the monstrosity, if they moaned I could not hear them against the backdrop of the shrills that filled the room. I wanted to run, I wanted to escape, but instead my instincts locked me into fear. My mind grasped to find some sort of explanation for this and yet it found none. When I found the will to move I stepped one foot back. I should have made a large step.

An arm extended from the pile and grasped itself around my ankle. I shook my leg, trying to wiggle it loose but the arm would not let go. It tugged at me. I tugged back, and then another arm of a different flesh wrapped its fingers around my leg. They pulled and knocked me off balance. I reached for my sword and swung at the limbs indiscriminately. The more I swung the more they pulled and many more joined in on the effort. The moans of the flesh grew louder and louder until not even the clattering of my armor as it dragged against the floor while they dragged closer could be heard. My resistance had been futile, soon the tangle had covered all but my face. I let out a scream as my body became submerged in the tangle of human flesh. It was then that I thought I finally understood what the women had been singing. "Join us, join us!"

I don't know why I write so much horror (and horror comedies). I just do. Probably because I read a good amount of it, after all this story is highly influenced by the Annihilation by Jeff Vandermeer, and Uzumaki by Junji Ito. If this story piqued your interest then I suggest you subscribe to /r/QuadrantNine for more short stories by me, along with project updates and the occasional post about random things like productivity (scary, I know). I also have an complete list of my short stories over on my website that extends past the subreddit's archives.

If you enjoyed "Within the Tower" then may I recommend you check out "The Last Apple" which is about what would happen to the doctors once we run out of apples. Another rec of mine would be "Potted Plant" (only available on my archival website) which is about those strange creepy beings that hide behind faux plants inside all our houses.

A few days ago i marked a blind date with a guy named Alan, i was excited about it, so when i got home i went and marked in my calendar

-”25th feb, that's the day” i said

and marked “Alan, blind, 1230 pm” on the date. I was anxious till that saturday.

The day had finally arrived, so I started preparing myself a few hours before I went to the restaurant. I was talking with my friend about it and about how excited I was to finally meet him. So the time came and I called a cab, since my car was in the mechanic shop. as i got there the waiter told me to wait a little. By the time of the date i heard a lot of commotion coming from inside, so I went to see what it was, but i wasn’t expecting Alan screaming about him going blind in an instant, we called the paramedics who arrived shortly.

When I got to the hospital to see him, the medics told me that he was fine, but blind for no apparent reason. I stayed with him for a couple hours and decided to go home.

i noticed that in my calendar the day didn’t have the writings anymore, but instead it was written “done”, at first i didn’t understand it, but i tried something

“well, what if i put Alan, sighted, 0001am” i wondered

So I tried, and went to shower so I could have some sleep.

The next morning the doctors called me, they said that Alan could see again and he wanted to see me. when i got there Alan was happy, and he said:

-”wow, you're so pretty, i wish i could saw you yesterday”

-”well there’s always time for a second time” i replied

-”so… do you want to go with me to the restaurant again?” he asked

-”of course” i said happily

“i would do anything for this pretty and cute boy” i thought

-”Tomorrow at the same time?” i asked

-”yeah” he said

-”well see you tomorrow then” i said while smiling

-”wait!” he shouted while i was exiting the room

-”Why wait until tomorrow if we could stay together today?” he continued

so after he got released we went to his plate to relax and have some fun, in the night we went out to eat, and he left me in my house

-” i have to admit, it was really good today” i said while getting out of his car

-” we should do more of this” i complemented

-”yeah, if you really want we can go to the cinema tomorrow” he said

-”it would be cool” i said, -”but i have work to do, i will be free next saturday”

-” fine then, see you saturday” he said

I got inside and he drove off,so I went to sleep and waited so the weekend would come for our next date.

can't have an addiction without a little taste first.

As Gregnok stood in my open doorway with his massive shoulders literally rubbing up against the doorframe on both edges simultaneously, I motioned for him to take a seat in the reinforced chair that I'd had commissioned specially for his massive frame.

Even with its titanium-reinforced structure, the frame groaned under his massive, muscled bulk.

"So, Gregnok. How are things?"

"Great!" Gregnok boomed, in his cheerful baritone voice.

I shuddered inside, but kept any external signs of my irritation from my expression. His cheerful nature was just one thing on the laundry list of reasons he wrong for this job.

Firstly, nobody wanted to hire a happy-go-lucky assassin. They wanted someone mean. Someone terrifying, or mysterious. But cheerful? Smiling?

Fuck right off with that shit. Nobody wanted that.

In fact, the only reason he was even still here was that he produced. Consistently.

Gregnok had never failed to kill a target, ever. He even managed to reach and kill the 'unkillable' targets, like Guido Salducci, the city's mob boss. Salducci was once thought to be untouchable, in his fortified mansion surrounded by heavily armed and armoured guards. Many had tried before Gregnok, and all had failed. All of them had tried to sneak onto the property through various different (and ingenious) means to accomplish their missions. Some didn't get much further than the fence line perimeter. Others got to the outside of the building before meeting their end. Some even managed to make it into the mansion proper before being killed, but none had gotten past all of his layers of defense tech.

That is, until Gregnok.

Gregnok is... different. Nobody knows how it came to pass (even Gregnok), but for some reason, he is invulnerable to physical injury. Blades, bullets, energy weapons, poisons, radiation... you name it, he's immune. The only thing that's had any effect on him that we can observe is the aging process. He gets older with the passage of time, and one day will die from old age just like anyone else. But until that day arrives, he is a literal walking tank with no weakness.

He's also... not particularly bright. He does what he's asked most times, without question or reservation. As long as you give him positive reinforcement after missions, he's happy to go forth and obliterate, frequently for much less compensation than most of his cohorts. Which is why, when he came into our guild several years ago looking for work, I saw an opportunity. I mean, what kind of assassin guildmaster wouldn't want an invulnerable tank in his back pocket just in case of an emergency? I would have been an idiot to not take advantage of having him on the payroll.

Or, that's what I thought at the time. Unfortunately, hindsight is 20/20.

The first mission I sent him on should have been my warning sign for us to part ways, but I was wearing rose-coloured glasses and justified the carnage he'd caused as 'not his fault'. He'd been ambushed going into a contract to take out the leader of a local drug cookhouse. The client had intentionally underreported the number of suspected people inside in order to negotiate a lower rate with me. If anyone but Gregnok had gone, they likely would have been deader than my ex-wife's libido, but because it was Gregnok... he survived.

The drug den enforcers, did not. Nor did the cooks. Or the house, for that matter.

Luckily, the police investigation attributed the house explosion to a drug cook gone bad... which technically speaking, was accurate. They wrote the whole thing off with no further investigation and saved us from an expensive coverup job.

As I said, I thought that the whole thing wasn't his fault. Gregnok didn't know what he was walking into, and panicked. While he did overreact a bit, he technically completed the job as requested. And as an added bonus, I was able to threaten the client with Gregnok paying him a visit to his house if he ever lied to me again about a job's difficulty, which was nice. The client voluntarily even paid me a 'bonus' as appreciation for me not having Gregnok delimbing him like an overcooked, oven-roasted chicken for lying and putting my crew at risk.

The next couple of jobs went OK, but they were isolated and in remote areas, so that was to be expected. But the jobs that followed... were less quiet.

Gregnok did not believe in stealth. He believed in brute force application, in judicious amounts. So when someone came to us with 'difficult' or 'impossible' jobs that none of my other men could handle, the only one left was Gregnok. And Gregnok did not believe in picking locks, sliding open windows and sneaking around to find his target, or not setting off alarms.

Gregnok believed in smashing things until they stopped twitching. Then finding something else to smash.

A good analogy my bookkeeper once made was that most of my men were sniper rifles. They had a bullet with someone specific's name on it, and they eliminated those targets only. A few others were more like hand grenades, they were basically addressed 'to whom it may concern'. If there was a little collateral damage, so be it.

But Gregnok? He was a flamethrower. One with 'Dear area residents...' painted on the fuel cans. You knew he would be burning down the entire neighbourhood, no matter where he went. You pointed him in the direction of what you wanted to go away, patted him on the shoulder, and ducked behind cover to wait until the explosions and screaming stopped.

It was because of this, he caused us to have a certain... reputation. When you needed something dead that absolutely nobody else could get to, he was your last resort. But you hired him with the understanding that it would not be resolved subtly, by even a demented definition of the word. When Gregnok made an appearance, it made national news as some sort of 'disaster' or 'gang war', every time. Those coming to hire us and make use of his service were desperate.

That meant that people avoided us like the plague, unless they had no other choice whatsoever. Because once Gregnok went to work, there was no hiding anything. You just tried to distance yourself from the events that unfolded and make sure you had a pre-established, rock-solid alibi in case the cops came calling. Because they would definitely be calling once Gregnok did his... thing.

I blinked, trying to bring myself back to the reason I'd brought him in here in the first place. As I looked up, he was still grinning like an idiot.

"So, I was wondering if you might be interested in a mission that's a little... unusual."

"Unusual?" he parroted back.

"Yes, Gregnok. You see... I love your work. You're great at smashing what needs to be smashed."

"Yes!" he boomed. "I am great at smashing things!"

"That you are," I echoed carefully. "But unfortunately, sometimes your smashing can be too... enthusiastic. And you smash things that you shouldn't."

Gregnok's expression fell. The poor lump looked like I'd kicked his puppy.

"Is Gregnok in trouble?" he asked timidly.

"No, buddy, you're not in trouble. But like I said, you're great at smashing things... and I was wondering if you might want to help a friend of mine with smashing things for a bit in a new place?"

"Are you sending me away forever?" Gregnok said, suddenly panicking.

"No! Not at all, buddy!" I said in my best soothing voice. "You'll always have a home here! I just wondered if you'd like to help a friend of mine for free for a bit, that's all. You know, go somewhere new, smash a whole lot of stuff, then come back home when you're all smashed out. What do you think?"

The panic faded from Gregnok's face and a small smile crept back to his lips. "Lots of smashing?"

"Lots of smashing," I said, smiling back at him. "And you don't need to be careful either. Smash everything in sight. What do you think?"

"That sounds AWESOME!" he boomed again. "Your friend doesn't mind me smashing everything?"

"No, he doesn't," I replied. "In fact, Mr. Zelenskyy would love you to smash as much as you possibly can. What do you say?"

"I say YES!" he said giddily.

"Awesome," I said, sliding a ticket to Ukraine across my desk to him. "Better start packing, bud. You're going on an adventure!"

As he stood up and picked up the tickets, a huge grin beamed over his face. He turned to walk out, and bumped the doorframe, bending the steel slightly on his way out. I heard him humming a jaunty tune as he went out into the office, making the rest of the assassins stare in confusion.

I hope he smashed as many Russian tanks as possible. Frankly, we could use the good PR in the assassin community.

KHARN LOVES YOUR SKULL MORTAL, KHARN WANTS TO POLISH IT FOR KHORNES THRONE

"You are close to sentience," said the alien, and then it slowly shook its large, gray head. "But it seems you are not there yet."

Taylor blinked. "But we're talking to you. I mean, I guess you're using some kind of telepathy or advanced technology to make it possible, but..." she trailed off, confused, and looked at Doug.

Doug frowned. He wasn't sure why she was looking at him. Of the two of them, he was the senior clerk at the 7-11 from which they'd been abducted, but only by a few weeks. That hardly made him more qualified for intergalactic diplomacy.

He looked back down at the alien, who was standing on the metallic deck of its spacecraft, looking up at Doug and Taylor where they floated in mid-air, suspended helplessly inside some kind of anti-gravity field.

"Uh, yeah," Doug said. "'Sentience' is kind of a big idea, right? Doesn't the fact that we know what that is and have a word for it sort of prove that we have it?"

"The ability to comprehend abstract concepts is only part of what makes a species sentient. As I said, you are close, but not quite there." the alien said.

"Look, shouldn't you be taking to like anyone else?" Taylor asked, sounding exasperated. "Scientists, world leaders -- somebody? I just work here, dude! Er, at the place you abducted us from, I mean.

"Positions of leadership and scholarship tend to be populated with outliers."

"Okay, but like...why does that matter?" Doug asked. "Don't you want to talk to our best people?"

The alien shook its head. "No. We wished to evaluate a representative sample of humanity. A few outliers at the upper limits of your species' capabilities will doubtless achieve keeneetaa long before the species as a whole attains to it."

"There's that word again." Taylor grumbled.

"Yeah," Doug agreed. "Why is that the one word you don't translate, or beam into our brains, or whatever?"

"We are communicating it to you as best we can. The fact that you do not understand it proves that you do not possess it." the alien explained.

"But what is keeneetaa?" Taylor pressed. "Explain it to us!"

The alien raised a slender hand. "Keeneetaa that is explained in terms of other things is not truly keeneetaa, for keeneetaa is both itself, and the description of itself. Even the sound of keeneetaa is not truly 'keeneetaa', it is rather the sound produced by an object colliding with nothing."

"Whoa." Taylor said, eyes widening. "That's...that's deep."

Doug nodded slowly. "Yeah...yeah I think I get it."

"And yet, all evidence suggests that you do not." the alien said, with a disappointed sigh. "We will return you to your pl--"

"No, really." Doug interrupted. "I actually get it, now. Keeneetaa is bullshit."

"Doug!" Taylor exclaimed. "They're like all-powerful aliens! Maybe don't piss them off by disrespecting their culture!"

Doug was undaunted. "We do have a term for keeneetaa in our language, but it's a not a word. It's a story."

"Doug! Shhh!" Taylor hissed, looked fearfully between him and the alien.

The alien held up a hand. "No. Tell me this story."

Doug shrugged. "Sure, it's pretty short. Once upon a time, there was an emperor who loved fine clothing. His tailors made him the best clothing imaginable, but eventually they couldn't make him anything more regal than what he already had."

"Go on..." the alien said, narrowing its large, dark eyes.

"Except, one clever tailor had an idea. He told the emperor and the entire court that he'd found the most beautiful cloth in the world, something truly fit for the emperor. He said it had one flaw though: it could only be seen and felt by smart people. If you were an idiot, then the cloth was invisible and intangible to you."

"We're going to get probed so hard..." Taylor groaned, hanging her head.

"So, he took the emperor's measurements, and then just pretended to be sewing and cutting cloth. No one could see the cloth -- because there was no cloth -- but since not being able to see it meant you were stupid, no one, not even the emperor, would admit they couldn't."

"And what transpired afterward?" the alien asked.

"Well, the emperor walked out naked in front of the entire court, thinking he was wearing this magic robe. Everyone applauded, and said it was beautiful, because they wanted people to think they were smart, and didn't realize that no one could see the robe. The tailor got a huge reward, lived happily ever after." Doug explained. "And it seems to me that's what your keeneetaa is: a bunch of fancy doublespeak hiding the fact that you're just walking around with your junk hanging out, like everyone else."

The alien nodded slowly. Then it made a gesture, and Taylor vanished in a flash of light.

"Shit!" Doug exclaimed. "But, you said you'd --"

"Send you back to your planet, yes. She is safe, back at the location where we initially retrieved you. Do not worry, I will return you there, as well...later."

Doug swallowed hard. "Okay, but...what are you going to do with me in the meantime?"

The alien blinked. "I will take you to a conclave of our leaders and scientists, of course. They will want to meet the first recorded human to achieve keeneetaa."

A loved one being stolen away is the NTR or netorare trope.

The assassin's guild looked like any other building along the main road of the Imperial capital. It was not an underground den nestled somewhere in the filthy sewers, nor a run down warehouse with clear ne'er do wells lounging beside the entrance. In fact, to the average person walking by it didn't appear to be any different from the dozen other businesses all around. Unless they knew.

The inside was similarly orderly, instead of rogues dressed in black cloaks, hoods and adorned with all manner of nasty weapons there were normal people who looked like they could belong to any profession. Men who could be farmers or blacksmiths, women who could be seamstresses or maids. But they weren't. They were all assassins and they were all professionals.

Inside an office at the end of one corridor sat the most professional of them all. A tall, lithe man dressed impeccably in the latest fashion, replete with a collar expanding several inches in each direction. His dark hair was combed neatly to one side and a small pair of glasses hung upon to tip of his angular nose.

A letter was held in the man's hands, one that was slowly causing his sharp features to twist into a more and more fierce expression. By the time he reached the end, the letter fell limply from his hands as his face fell forwards with a grimace.

Interrupting the room's silence a knock on the door jolted the man upright as his face immediately fell into a completely neutral expression. "Enter." He said in a low, calm voice.

A younger man opened the door and hurriedly bowed his head, "Gregnok is back Sir Winsom."

The room was silent for just a moment more before Winsom inhaled deeply.

"Send him in."

The younger man fled from the room and scarcely seconds later the thud of heavy footprints could be heard rapidly approaching. The door crashed open as a hulking form pushed it's way in.

Barely able to fit through the door Gregnok was a mountain of a man. His hulking body was bursting with muscles that seemed to ripple with every step he took, all bare to the world save a few thankfully hidden beneath the fur loincloth tied around his waist. Dropping the enormous axe from his shoulders and against the wall the man collapsed onto the chair opposite Winsom's desk, which creaked omminously beneath his weight.

"Do you know why I've called you here?" Winsom asked.

The slab of muscle appeared to carefully consider the question, before breaking out into an enormous smile. "You going to congratulate Gregnok on good job! Gregnok best assassin in whole guild, always kill me man, hey chief."

Winsom's neutral expression broke into annoyance for just a second before being smoothed over. "Sir." He corrected.

A flash of confusion washed over Gregnok's face. "No Gregnok not knighted."

"Look Gregnok, you're here because we have some concerns about your conduct in your missions." Winsom cut in, fixing the other man with the most vicious glare he could muster. Gregnok did not seem to notice. "We've had reports that no less than 3 assassin's guilds have been destroyed over the last year and with no leads on what happened we cannot have anyone drawing unwanted attention."

"Gregnok being doing good," The giant exclaimed, "he kill all targets no problem, only one in guild with one hundred purs– persan- persent success!"

"Look Gregnok, there have been complaints."

"Complaints?" Horror filled the man's face, "No!"

"Yes, remember how Duke Stragnel requested we kill his wife last week?"

"Yes, Gregnok kill her easy. Weak fighter, no match for Gregnok's axe."

"Yes, you also killed his mistress he had wanted to replace her with!"

"How Gregnok supposed to know difference! They both had long hair, needed make sure I got right one."

Winsom's hands tightened into fists as he began to breath in and out slowly. "What about when Count Fuzel asked us to kill his younger brother?"

"Chopped he right in half." Gregnok announced proudly.

"You killed half the man's private army!"

"...They started it…"

Winsom half stood up, then sank back into his chair. He forced his voice back into a calmer tone. "What about… What about when Count Mino asked us to kill Viscount Renly at that party?"

"Made sure that guy got tha chop."

"You. Killed. Everyone at the party."

"Count Mino wouldn't complain about that!" Gregnok retorted.

"That's because Count Mino was at the party!" Winsom yelled, before quickly collecting himself again. "We can forgive many things if we still get results, but killing a client means we don't even get paid."

"It does?!"

"I'm sorry Gregnok, I don't think this is working out."

"No," The hulking man said, sinking back into his seat. "you firing me? Gregnok love his job… This the fourth assassin guild Gregnok get fired from this year…"

"I'm sorry Gregnok, I really am." Winsom said quietly, "Maybe the Warriors guild might be a better- Wait what did you just say?"

Gregnok was already on his feet, hefting his axe, he turned back to Winsom with a rare stern expression. "Need to make sure me not get any bad references."

Well.. wife has been nagging to go out for a while and I could really use a baby-sitter.

Personally I expected this (being unfamiliar with u/Writteninsanity 's linked story) to continue into arguing that our non-verbal 'language' is our keeneetaa. Without language, and basically from birth, almost every Human understands a smile, a snarl, a laugh (despite the language variances therein), a grimace, suspicion, a chuckle, a snub, surprise, fear, etc. That is our shared language - except those of us with ASD mess that up...

I'm imagining a scene like this

I read death's lines as The Emperor from TTS

What an original and beautiful take on the prompt. It's less about the mystery and more about people just trying to live.

Also Octarine paint. Probably.

I got the idea watching Chev. He was dancing and making a real fool of himself, but that was nothing new. Through a careful process of trial and error, double blind studies, random extemporaneous scientific bullshit (we knew all the words by that point, if not necessarily how to use them) I’d determined Chev was basically the dumbest boy alive. Take a box of rocks, smash ‘em all together, remove the three or four biggest chunks, then toss the rest into the gutter. That was Chev. Dumb as shit, but he was onto something.

“Naw,” he’d said, “that ain’t it. Keeneetaa’s not some big science thing. It’s a dance.”

Then he’d just up and started. Gyrating. His hips did this thing that made them look halfway broken, but it got two of the girls watching, Analise and Jen, and because they were watching now the boys had to and so on. Just to make fun of him, you understand. Bunch of urchins gathered on the corner, dirty as sin between the rains, and there’s Chev thrusting air. Waving his hands all woo-woo. Jumping like we’d tossed him in hot coals. Which we’d done before, so that’s probably where he got it. Probably.

And there I was with my idea.

It was a good idea. For months now all anyone’d been able to talk about was ‘keeneetaa.’ Just what happens when a couple dickhead Godlings up and fall out of the sky, spouting stuff about sentience and the like. Little bastards too, wouldn’t make it half a minute on the streets without their drones and power armor. Those laser things they wear over their fingers like so much spun gold, got all the girls drooling after them, these pretty little ringlets that’ll kill you. Saw a program once, real-like, spliced into a matrix terminal by a gas station off the 5, where they talked about all the things keeneetaa might and might not be. Not the drones or armor or the magic, kill-you-from-a-dozen rings. Not skin color, ours or theirs. Not religion, but maybe philosophy, not science but maybe art.

Not money, but it worked just like it. We needed keeneetaa to make our way, and didn’t have it, couldn’t grok it, so really this great big off-blue shithole of a planet was really one big urchin. Like the President and me were squatting over the same pot, talking about the winds and rains.

Shit. So it was on our minds, and when Chev just thought to lie about it, easy as you please, and start dancing like a loon, I thought, ‘Ike Green, you can do that too.’

“Naw,” I said, “that ain’t keeneetaa either. Kids like you wouldn’t get it.”

And of course, that got them looking. It was the way I said it, smooth-like, like those men behind the men glass drinking whiskey, closing their eyes for a second like they just get it—the it being immaterial because fuck it, I got whiskey. I said it like that, and when all of them looked over, I was looking somewhere in particular. At Cristabel, who was my age, really, they all were, but who had this shy way about her that made her seem a little younger, a little fragile, maybe not quite made for this world—though she made it seem like a good thing, the only thing, the best thing.

“What is it, then?” she asked. And I harrumphed like I knew what I was doing. Took a long, meaningful look around at everyone that wasn’t her. Turned.

My heart was in my fucking throat.

Fuck you though, I didn’t look back.

Ok, I did, but still. Fuck you.

When I looked back Chev was still there, dancing. I could just make out in the firelight, flames guttering in old beat up oil drums, painting tall shadows on the wall and in the hollows of our eyes. And of course there were more hollows, half of starving including me and Cristabel, with rib cages like Death’s own bony fingers reaching to clasp our waists. In the firelight I saw Cristabel look left, look right. Her friends, Analise and Jen were still watching Chev do his thing. The others had mostly turned back to him, but that was fine, that’s what I wanted. I laid the seeds carefully, with just my eyes. Something Chev would never learn, that sometimes, less is more. Why dance, burning calories, when your eyes will do?

When I looked away, Cristabel was already coming.

And then for a little bit it was bare footsteps slapping on cold concrete. Trains running on the bridge above my head, rattling the world.

It was an idea, just that. Everything, every little bit of what I had.

I fetched up against a rotten bridge pier, and waited.

“Hey!” Cristabel said a minute later. “You don’t actually know what keeneetaa is, do you?”

Don’t smile.

“’Course I do,” I said. “It’s simple.”

“No it isn’t,” she said. “If it was simple the scientists would have figured it out already.”

“Bells,” I said, “they ain’t figured it out precisely because it’s simple. Like when new-folk hit the streets in the last recession, and they was freezing to death because they didn’t know how to insulate and the like. They was scientists and bankers, that kinda shit, but it still took folk like us to tell ‘em.”

Cristabel looked away. In the half-dark of the bridge piers I saw her bite her lip again and nod. She’d been one of them that hit the streets in the last recession. High-born parents and the like. Analise and Jen, with some help from Chev and me, had gotten her all situated.

And I still remembered the color of her hair under all that mud.

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, ok. Then what is it? Tell me, Ike.”

“Why you want to know?”

She laughed then. It spiraled off and I lost it in the rattling bridge as another train passed over. “Doesn’t everyone?” she asked. “It would be nice to feel like a sentient again. Or at least a human being.”

My pulse quickened up. My skin heated, burning calories.

“Step closer,” I said.

She hesitated, then did.

“Closer,” I said again.

And now she was within arms reach. Scarecrow limbs. Hair and eyes like the fires that we’d left behind.

“Close your eyes,” I told her.

“Ike…”

“It’s fine, you can trust me. Just close ‘em.”

She closed her eyes. Breathing. I guess that’s what she did then. It’s a fascinating thing to watch a girl breathe.

“Ike?” she said.

“It’s a thing they do with their lips. The aliens. Like this…”

And then I kissed her. Just like that. Soft and gentle, though it took everything I had not to grab at her. She’d gone stiff on me, stiff and scared, and didn’t soften till I stepped away, my hands pinned against my sides.

“Oh,” she said.

“What?” I said. “You thought that this was something else?”

“Maybe,” she said. Biting at her lip again.

“But was it nice? Did you feel like…”

“Like what?”

“Like a human?”

A moment passed. Back there Chev was probably still dancing. Idiot, but he'd been on to something. I’d thought about this since last winter, and hadn’t been brave enough to do it.

She whispered: “Yes.”

I whispered: “I’ve got a little food. Not much, just a bite. I’ll bring it to you, you don’t have to do anything.”

“Keeneetaa me again first,” she said.

I did.

And when we got back Chev was still there, dancing. The firelight brushed up against him, painted ecstasies across brick walls. He was smiling, I hadn’t noticed that before. Cristabel was too.

And me.

“Thanks, Chev,” I told him.

The night passed, and Chev danced on. In the morning, blessedly, it rained.

r/TurningtoWords

GNU Pterry

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The first precursor to its coming was the shadow among the clouds. A peculiar shape in the gloomy sky that grew larger with each passing second. Next came the distinct crack of a whip reverberating and echoing throughout the entire village like a storm without the cutting winds. Finally, a roar that brought tremors from the sky down into the ground.

From the shadow in the grey sky burst forth a dragon with crimson scales and molten veins shining through the edges. Smoke and ash trailed behind as the very air surrounding it constantly flickered embers. It glided down slowly until it beat its wings thunderously and landed in the middle of the village. The final flames licked the edges of the nearby buildings but sputtered out quickly.

It sat up on its haunches and let its barbed tail whip apart an entire roof before settling itself down curled around him. His head towered above even the village leader’s two story home. A home of which its main inhabitant now stood in front facing the dragon with a bowed head. Patiently, he waited for the dragon. After several moments passing in relative silence, the massive beast spoke as softly as it could. Even its whisper echoed like a bear’s roar.

“You have received my message.”

Lifting his head, the village leader looked up. 2 irises of flowing flames framed within opaque darkness stared down at him. He nodded before answering as loudly a voice as he could muster. “We have Lord Kyros! The farmer came back from your mountain trail and heralded your coming.”

Kyros slowly twisted its head around to view the village. Inspecting the villagers outside their homes with their heads bowed. Then at the surrounding forests with scrutiny. Turning back down, he growled out.

“I have come to take over this village in my name. I have given advance warning, yet, there are no soldiers. Where is King Sarlas’ knights?”

“We have sent no message and expect no help from Sarlas.”

With a blink, Kyros growled again with further suspicion.

“I have come to claim your village as my own. I demand tribute of meat and grain, at the edge of my claws. Gold and silver, with a threat of my breath. A village I know King Sarlas claims under his protection, yet you do not seek it to protect yourself? Why?”

The village leader began to grin at the inquiry. He responded with almost unconstrained joy.

“Sarlas demands similar tribute from this far away village. Meat and grain at the point of a spear. Gold and silver, with threats of torch and oil. He claims to provide protection, yet we never see soldiers or knights. If ever we see them to collect your tribute, you would shred armor with claws and burn their soldiers alive, would you not?”

In a single growl, Kyros snarled a simple “I would.”

Nodding at the response, the leader answered back.

“Then already we have more protection for the same price from you Lord Kyros of the nearby mountain than from Sarlas across the vast forests.”

Project Olympus was doomed, but Project Columbus will bring doom … to which side will be seen.

Project Moriah might have succeeded, or it might have been what's supposed to happen before Revelations.

As soon as they shook hands I panicked.

Not saying I necessarily agree with you... 😜

I went to Kah-Nee-Ta all the time as a kid. I wonder if that’s the same thing?

Take an extra updoot for this, and pass one along to the xkcd guys for the implied "Bag of Rulebook Generation"...

A 150,000 point game of apocalypse would certainly last a fair duration in a 1v1.