well thatsa mindfuck thanks for the new source of existential horror good and kind sir :3

I'm very new to writing and this is my very first post here. I'd love feedback, but please be kind! Thank you!

“Damn!” Jaxon cursed and ducked as his sledgehammer head snapped off and flew toward his face. The wood of the handle had cracked from the force of his last blow, wood splintering, the head crashing into a pile of scrap metal leaning against the wall. Jaxon pushed himself back up, careful not to lean on any equipment in the doing.

He was still getting used to his hugely muscular, new body after the fateful day that Sorcerer Jerome had stopped by. Jerome had needed a metal sconce fitted to the end of his staff to protect it from the eternal flame he wanted to install to “strike fear into the hearts of my enemies!” Jaxon enjoyed this task and approached it with enthusiasm. It was rare that he was able to design a work of such beauty. His typical customers were poor folk who could only afford the most basic of necessities, like cutlery and pans, though he kept more intricate pieces on display outside his shop in hopes of attracting more wealthy patrons. The piece he designed for the wizard curved up and around as if it and the flame would be locked in a timeless embrace. The mage was so impressed by Jaxon’s craftmanship that he blessed him with the strength of ten men so he would never grow weary in his work. However, Jaxon thought Jerome may not have considered the inconvenience that “the strength of ten men” could cause a blacksmith who was only used to the strength of one. This was the 12th hammer he’d broken in the weeks since the wizard’s visit.

He went to his tool cabinet to grab another, one of the many he’d spent a day making after breaking his 5th. He returned to the butcher knife he was working on without realizing that he’d cut himself in the accident. A single drop of blood fell onto the knife as the blow landed. A blast threw him across the room, extinguishing the lanterns and leaving only the forge for light.

“What in the blazes-“ he sputtered, coughing. He waved dust and smoke away from his face and his mouth dropped open as he saw a blue glimmer around his anvil. As it abated, he pushed himself back up and approached cautiously. The smithy was lit only by the glow of the forge now.

“Normally one would finish hammering and sharpening a blade before imbuing it with life.” A voice spoke from the darkness. He whipped his head around, looking for the speaker.

"Who's there?!"

“Don’t you know your own voice when you hear it? You gave me your own lifeblood, after all.”

“My own – what? Who are you? Show yourself!”

He heard a thunk and the blade he'd been working on stood upright in the firelight.

Jaxon stumbled backward, knocking over a counter, and denting an anvil thereby.

“Who… what are you? How do you speak?”

“Ah, well. Isn’t that the question? It seems you have some magic in your blood. Have you ever been cursed or… blessed? All magic has a price, my friend, didn’t you know?”

Ah. Jaxon’s head began to spin. After his third hammer broke, he’d started to wonder if his blessing might really be a curse, but he’d never really believed it. Now he was forced to consider what other ramifications might come from his association with Sorcerer Jerome. He had never known any magic wielders before and thought the gift to be just that. A gift.

“I thought the price was my work. I didn’t take his gold.” Jaxon was a man of few words and hadn’t asked many questions of the mage. He had never considered regret to be worth his time either. But now, he felt the full force of his mistake.

“Ha. Do you think a bauble is payment enough for a wizard’s spell? Jerome was no fool. There is no such thing as a ‘gift’ when it comes to magic. ‘Blessing’ is a word wizards use on fools. You are indebted to him. To be released only when he claims his payment or meets his end.”

Jaxon considered this. “What kind of payment?”

“Ah, yes. Well, he placed his magic in your blood, so it seems he has named his price already. The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

Jaxon was silent for a moment. Then he rose and gathered his tools and the assorted cutlery he’d already forged. He chose a knife, reopened the cut on his hand, and squeezed a drop of blood onto each blade, fork, spoon, and tong. Then, he lifted his hammer…

“I’m going to build an army.”

Amazing how his internal monologue changes and you know what happened before it's revealed - perfect example of show don't tell!

Well, we are alone in the fact that we choose to eat it despite the chemical defense working on us. Birds simply can't feel it, as they don't have the receptors for the chemical.

I think its because they have no permeability on their tongues. Meaning moisture cannot penetrate it, so the calcium cannot penetrate and hurt their nerve endings. Or maybe its the lack of moisture overall, since they have no saliva, so they have no medium to carry the capsaicin to the inside of the flesh on their tongues. Fun fact: that's why the expression "it's glued on with bird saliva" means the thing is not glued/nailed/screwed on properly and could fall appart at any moment.

OH GOD this is amazing man!

"Did you....?"

He looked down at his hand.

"I guess I did."

Her face went white. Slowly, timidly, she stepped towards him, gesturing to the chair she just got up from. She helped him sit down. Everyone else stood frozen in place, not believing what they'd just seen. He appreciated them not freaking out, but somehow this was worse. The dim hum of the projector, the pale glow of the PowerPoint they had been presenting. Those were the last things he would experience?

Some brave soul from the back ventured a suggestion. Should they call emergency services?

"I think there's no use," she said. "He drank, like, half of it."

He didn't like that comment, since it made him sound stupid, but it was accurate. Half the beaker was now empty. It was pretty tasty, though. He could still taste it. The thing he couldn't believe was that he'd taken several sips without even noticing.

He looked back at his hand, no longer holding the beaker.

"How long?" he said, his voice now starting to quiver.

She furrowed her brow. Something was off, she thought. He should be dead already, not that that was something she wanted. Just strange. She told him so.

"Then how am I still alive?"

"Honestly, I have no idea. How do you feel?"

Someone in the back said something again, possibly the same guy as before. She told him to shut up.

"Open your mouth."

He did.

"How are you just fine? You drank way more than a drop."

Her tone was more one of bewilderment than relief, he noted, but he was still thankful for her words. He licked the inside of his mouth. It was kind of sticky, but the taste was beginning to fade. She kept looking at him like he was some sort of alien microbe on a microscope slide, but he still felt fine. Someone said something in audience once more, which they both promptly ignored.

"You said a drop of this could kill a whale?"

"Not could," she reiterated, "would. Definitely would've already."

"I drank, like a half a beaker. Like 50 milliliters. How many drops is that?"

"What?" she asked, not understanding.

"You said a drop would kill a whale. How many drops did I have? 50?"

She pondered this for a second.

"That's not how it works. You can't drink more poison and get less of an effect. That doesn't even make sense."

"And yet..." he posited.

There was silence once more. Well, except for the hum of the projector. He faced towards the crowd again. The high school gym, full of students. He suddenly felt very self-conscious. Everyone was looking at him.

"Anyway," he said, springing up again to continue the presentation, "this stuff is really dangerous, huh!?"

More... I need more...

Foly Huck thats good

Ouroborus but with my sanity :3

[removed]

I love this one. Can see Breath of the Wild mechanics here.

"NO!!" Everyone except Damian shouted out loud.

"B-but wai-" Damian stuttered as he heard everyone's response, he didn't expect things to turn out like this, usually people with powers band up and make their own superhero team.

"In all honesty dude, none of us want to be here." Said Alex, smoke poured from his left arm as it returned back into its original state.

"Guys! We just took down a f*cking eldritch dragon. WHY NOT?!?" Damian pointed at the vast undescribable corpse lying on the ocean bed.

"We? I'm sorry but are you forgetting that I WAS THE ONE WHO CREATED THE FCKING TURRET?!?*" Thomas yelled from atop his large stone construct.

"Yes, yes. We all partook in our personal fights and proved each of our individual skills." Damian spoke calmly while raising is hands to prove his point.

"All I did was open one f*cking door." Jane retorted with her arms crossed.

"Besides, we are just a bunch of kids." Alex said with a factual tone. "The only reason we decided to help you was because you promised to do my homework for the rest of the year."

"AND YOU BETTER KEEP YOUR PROMISE!" Shouted Thomas as he tried to carefully climb down his creation which was starting to decay at an accelerated rate.

"Come ooooooooon!! We could make a good team! Like look at the sweet powers we have: Jane basically has infinite adaptive strength, Thomas can turn anything he touches into a machine, you can turn any part or even your entire body into fire—"

"And the team leader can turn plastic into alien plants." Alex interrupted Damian which led out a snicker from Jane.

"HEY!....I can jump really high and phase through solid matter too." Damian snapped back.

"Yeah, but that only works on things that are moving too fast. You may be immune to bullets but a random thug also managed to beat your ass." Alex said with a chuckle.

"Ughhhhh, FINE!! Screw you guys, I don't need you, I can just go solo instead!" Damian said annoyed, he turned around and jumped, instantly disappearing from sight as he shot across through the air at superhuman speed."

"..."

"Anyone up for Taco Bell?" Alex spoke.

This gives me very strong Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy vibes. I could totally see Arthur Dent doing this exact thing.

lemon-lime seltzer probably

Sprite lore dropped

Imagine they decide to bring someone over to hangout, and the friend gets creeped out by all the nude statues.

The only difference between Australia and Kansas is ocean front property and an imbalance of deadly animals!

They don't have the receptors that capsaicin binds to, and thus are entirely immune to its effects.

Feels strange. Playgrounds and so are all perfectly fine in Europe and most are covered by city taxes or institutions that work similar like the church

I hadn’t heard from Carl in years. He was my best friend in university, and all the best stories from that time involved him. Like the time he mixed drinks at a pre-finals party and everyone turned lemon-yellow and got a pass on the vector calculus. Or the time he gave Cindy, the self-proclaimed “Biology Bimbo”, some sort of confidence booster before her big presentation that she aced. She took great pride making sure Carl couldn’t walk for the week after. Or the collection of beaker-shaped coffee mugs, and the misunderstandings those caused. So when I got the email inviting me to his parent’s mountain retreat, I couldn’t book time off work fast enough.

The Canadian Rockies are amazing -- tall, jagged spires of rock clawing triumphantly at the blue, Albertan summer sky. When he wasn’t at the research institute on the Pacific Coast -- something to do with whales, I think -- he spent his time at his parent’s old cabin. I grinned remembering the ragers we threw here. Carl and I made a great team back then -- he was the brains, and I was the charm.

Carl welcomed me with his trademarked shy smile as I pulled up the lane to the cabin. It looked completely different than the last time I was here. Originally, it could have charitably been called a shack, ramshackle and fresh out of a horror movie. Now, it was an almost palatial lodge; multistory and open with tall, glass windows.

“You came, Tom! I’m so happy, please, come in, come in!” I hugged my old friend -- I was one of the few he afforded this luxury. “Carl, my man, it’s been too long, you look great! What did you do to my cabin, you’ve ruined it!”

“I’m sorry, Tom. As you can see, I have some good news, and some bad news.” We shared a laugh over our inside joke almost older than our friendship. “I… uh… I needed some extra space. I loved the view. So, I made a few changes, nothing major… Uh… come in, I’ll show you around. I… I’ve made a breakthrough.”

My feet kept following Carl to his chalet while my mind stopped. He said, “breakthrough”. Carl’s failures were far more successful than anything I’d consider a life victory. But he always called them “failures”. He’d never used the b-word before: refused to, in fact. It courted disaster, he claimed.

After a quick trip to the kitchen -- I was dying for a coffee before even getting here, and he still had the novelty mugs -- we ended up in his laboratory. Of course, Carl has a laboratory in his remote, mountain retreat. It wasn’t the first time I accused Carl of being a mad scientist in jest. But the b-word kept my mouth shut. Absently, I put my mug down on the laboratory countertop and waited.

“Uh, so Tom, you may not know it, but uh I’ve been working with orcas. Lovely creatures, not the killers everyone thinks. I’ve been working on a formula to increase their intelligence. Most of them, even one drop of the solution, caused immediate death of the whales. But this one, this beaker holds the breakthrough.” The brown-black liquid sloshed in the beaker in his hand as he triumphantly waved it.

Swept up in the moment, I grabbed my coffee mug; it was fuller than I thought. I raised it to toast his victory. “Congratulations, Carl! That’s amazing!” I took a deep swig, the pleasantly sweet, lemon-lime liquid coursed down my throat. The caffeine roared through my mind, awaking me.

The look on Carl’s face froze me. His eyes were wide with fear; his mouth falling, falling open; the rest of the colour draining from his pale, gaunt face. A healthy face, though, with not even a trace of the facial scleroderma that killed his father.

“What? How did you turn my coffee into lemonade?” I checked my mug, the brown-black liquid swished around the graduated flask. Oh. Carl’s novelty mugs didn’t have precision measurements of a real Erlenmeyer flask. The refractive index of the borosilicate glass should have given it away as well, or the heft, or even that this glass was room temperature instead of piping hot.

“Tom, a drop of that beaker was enough to kill a whale!”

I already knew that. In my mind, I could see the chemical reactions in the orca’s biochemistry as its brain tissue surged and expanded, as the creature’s encephalon grew, as the Vitamin A became toxic to their enhanced minds and killed them. I could feel the terror as their last thoughts knew how and why they were dying and how powerless they were to stop it. I could tell by the swish of the liquid in the beaker that Carl -- poor, slow, dumb Carl -- was still years away from his breakthrough.

“Carl, I have some good news, and I have some bad news”.

Well, we don't define species by words but by holotypes.

Humans aren't alone in that, though. Birds aren't susceptible to it either, and love dried peppers.

That was hilarious! I had a mental image of a band of ghosts, some of them showing up at the HOA president's door as full apparitions. Together they stand as if they were 18th century cops planning on evicting them. "YOU WILL PAY FOR YOUR CRIMES!"

What was in that first one