My name is Richard. I’ve stood post on the ManUp! Sector for many seasons. Many of my headless brethren have come and gone during my time here, but I am the veteran, I have always been here. Richard is always in fashion. Of course, there have been many casualties in the branding wars with the fellow inhabitants of our Mall Nation. Crevice Fashion have been our sworn enemies for longer than even I can remember, but they have lost far more than us over the many seasons. Now it looks like the long war is coming to a close, as Crevice have fell victim to the notorious Prices Slashed! epidemic. The red banners with the white wedge shaped cuneiform emblazoning it were the death knell for any and all outlet in our Mall Nation. Those that are above stated that we were meant to stay where we were, display what we have, and not get involved in what the other’s do. But this was too ripe an opportunity to pass by. With the support of several others, I, Richard, lead an attack against those dreadful Crevice lot, it was time for us to make our mark. This was when we met the Face.

As you are all aware, the Faces exist during the horrible burning hours of daylight. They are allowed to pass through our lands, look upon and admire our glory, our bodies, our attire. They can only hope to earn such prestige. But this one Face stood between Richard, our people, and our enemy. He held up a stick of light, and proclaimed in the harsh, vocal way that only Faces speak.

“Look, I’m only paid to patrol this mall at night, not to settle turf wars going on between the damn mannequins!”

It had been a while since we and ours had heard such harsh, guttural tones, but after a few moments we processed the meaning of what the Face shouted. We did not like it, and we reacted in kind. The scarlet stains would take some time to be cleansed from our pristine bodies, but the loud Face was silenced, so now we could proceed. Onwards through Crevice Fashion. Then onwards further.

First the rest of the Mall Nation would fall to Richard. Then, we would silence the Faces once and for all. They would look upon us, no longer.

Obviously one of them is Celestia and the other is Mistress Magic

No problem man it’s fine. I was just pointing it out :) Also even if you had it would be nice to hear some other takes on the idea

"I'm not sorry. I did what I had to." I stared down the camera. I was ready.

A police officer asked. "Mr. Johnson, are you sur-"

"I am. We all know what I did, why I did it, and I would think the rest of you folks would be grateful enough to still be alive to forgive me." I spat.

"You know how it all started?" I spat again at the closest camera. They'd already sentenced James to death, I knew what was coming. "James, my old classmate, he approached me. Said he didn't want to die in nuclear fire, he had an idea. Rodney was already in. We would forcefully disarm the world of its nukes, saving your sorry brains. I would kill Chinese leadership, make sure that they would be headless and that the Terra Firma Systems Union would swallow them. The TFSU had too many redundancies, it had to be China. Rodney would hack TFSU nukes using his insider position, and James would hack Chinese nukes. Send 'em to the moon, they can't hurt anyone there."

"They did their jobs, I did mine. No nukes meant conventional warfare, which meant everyone is still alive. The Chinese always defuse that stuff at the last minute, live stream purposes. I got past it by setting the thing to explode at twenty to go." I stared at the international court below me. "James did his thing, and I'm no computer scientist, don't ask me how Rodney got past Canada AI. Maybe she let him through, didn't want to die either.

"I don't care. I'm not sorry for the people killed in riots, the soldiers killed in the war. They would've all died anyway, in a ball of plasma, fire, and radiation. Send me to Hell, I know I'm going there; I did what I had to, and you all know it." I ended my rant breathing heavily, eyes glaring at the court and cameras above me. "So do it. Get me back to Rodney and James. But we both know what we prevented."

The judges gave their answer. "Mr. Charlie Johnson, for regicide, assassination, and high-profile terrorist actions, the International Court of the United Nations finds you guilty and sentences you to death."

I watched the officers raise their weapons.

"I'm not sorry. I did what I had to."

A bang, then darkness.

This is one of the best stories i have read in a long time

[removed]

As Chains was just a few feet away from Blake, the superhero was hit by a fireball at the back and he fell down a few feet below. In a split second Chains managed to grab Blake and repeatedly casted more chains to the side of the building to slow their descent while protecting Blake from the falling rubble and the fireballs Blaze cast to them. Blake saw that Chains’ complexion was getting paler and his lips were slowly turning blue from the blood loss he managed from his fight.

In a matter of seconds they are now at the ground with Chains visibly bleeding and gasping for breath. Chains told Blake to run away from the area but Blake refused to do so due to the fear of what may happen next. After a while Blaze appeared in front of them, threatening both Chains and Blake with a huge fireball on hand until they heard that the apartment complex where Blake originally lives is collapsing on top of them.

In a last attempt to save themselves from danger, Chains, with his little remaining strength, wrapped Blaze with bloodied chains from top to bottom of his body. In order to secure Blaze in his position, he grabbed the largest manageable rubble he could find and chained it to the wrapped body to reduce the time Blaze could escape from the falling structure. In a few seconds Chains pulled themselves out of the area out from danger and Blaze, despite being fully wrapped by the chains and other debris, still managed to snuck his hand out and fire one last fireball in their direction.

–

Chains cried out loud when the fireball hit his body, dropping Blake in the process. They both saw the upper half of the building crumbling in front of them, collapsing to Blaze’s wrapped body and probably killing him. Both Chains and Blake covered their eyes from the dust and smoke until it slowly disappeared from the view.

Blake went close to Chains’ body on the ground and cried,“Chains, I’m so sorry… I shouldn't've gone to the building at all and now you’re bloody and dying!”

Chains looked at Blake and smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.” He brought his bloody hand up and wiped the tear off Blake’s eye. He is now coughing at this point, blood is now dripping off his mouth.

Blake screamed, “No you’re not! You’re not fine at all!” He stood up and grabbed the superhero’s body to pull him away to safety but he saw that the ground was now full of blood due to the fireball that hit Chains recently. He dropped the body in horror and hugged Chain’s withering body while whispering apologies.

Chains whispered, “Son, what is your name?” he coughed blood.

“I’m Blake, a powerless citizen.” Blake hurriedly answered.

“My name is Gray.” Gray shuffled Blake’s hair, “Do you want to be a hero?” he rasped out.

Blake turned to Gray, now with glassy eyes staring at the sky, “Yes! I want to be like you!” With tears flowing out.

“Give me your hand… and put it on my chest…” Gray is now losing energy to speak. “Trust me…”

Blake slowly put his hand on his chest and immediately felt Chains’ memories flood his vision. From his childhood, his everyday struggles, how Chains used his power for good up until the events today. Blake saw himself through Gray’s POV and heard his thoughts. He learned that Gray wanted to meet him and be friends but he did not have enough time to do that and regretted it.

Seeing that Gray is spacing out, Blake asked, “So you saw me all the time? Cheering for you?”

Gray did not reply, but asked a different question, “Blake… what time is it…?” with staggered breaths.

Blake, now in tears in realization, “It’s now… 4 PM.” he whimpered.

With his remaining strength, Gray pulled Blake’s head over his chest and whispered, “Ah…, I never knew that the afternoon would be so… dark…” Gray finally closed his eyes and gave his last breath.

Blake cried.

–

A few weeks later, Blake started to notice some changes in his body. He felt that he got way stronger ever since the incident. He can now control the darkness, he is now able to make his shadows work for him. He can make it solid, pass through elements, and make extremely strong strings with it. He can also teleport from one place to another using the shadows around him - it may be strong but of course it has its limitations that Blake has to know eventually.

A new superhero is now born - forged by his dark past and the regret of the death of his favorite superhero. He will carry the legacy Chains passed down to him and help as many people as possible. The end.

Feedback is appreciated!

In a world where superhumans exist, some people are born with powers. Some superhumans choose to be superheroes and on the other hand some choose to be supervillains. Most of their choices are affected by their morals and/or their life histories. Unfortunately, there are people who never receive any sort of powers at all and they are categorically branded as citizens.

–

Blake is a 13 year old boy who never had a particularly bright life, he was depressed, neglected by his parents, bullied in school, and his academic performance was below expected. He is also a regular human which was considered an oddity given that his parents are superhumans. He always tries his best to please everyone he meets, but because of his powerless nature, he always falls short. Frustrated, his only way to cope is to watch the superheroes do their work in defeating the supervillains or helping the citizens.

His favorite superhero of all time is Chains, as Chains is always able to control the battlefield by summoning ironclad chains from his body to immobilize his targets - the control Blake wanted in his life. Blake never knew Chains’ history as he only recently reappeared again after years of hiatus and there are no other public records of his activities and prior history. He never showed himself in front of the camera, he always did his role in saving the citizens and leaving the area immediately, usually relying most of the work on the superheroes to subdue the supervillain or help if needed.

Despite his situation, Blake is still lucky that he lives on the highest level of the tallest apartment complex of the city. He can easily track the superhuman activities of the city below using his trusty binoculars and telescopes. He always cheered for the superheroes' strengths thinking that his cheers would be able to give them powers when he knows it's utterly pointless, yet he kept on doing it.

–

While riding the bus home from school, he saw a familiar supervillain who is the main archnemesis of Chains which is Blaze - the fire-manipulating superhuman. Both are fighting each other near the apartment complex where he lives 15 minutes away from his current location. Usually, since Blake is still a curious child with little to no concept of self-preservation, he goes to dangerous places where the conflict usually happens just to watch his idol fight with the enemy. After reaching the bus stop, Blake immediately ran to the apartment complex where he lives to climb to his residence at the top floor.

At this point, due to the dangers the two have been showing to the surrounding area, the city government quickly notified everyone to evacuate the area but due to Blake’s curious nature, he ignored the message and still went up the apartment. Upon reaching the top floor, saw the two fighting halfway the height of the building from his binoculars and took some photos of the battle to save it in storage somewhere.

Blake saw and felt the explosions and property damage the two dealt. He can see the neighboring building in flames while there are chains linking and wrapping it to prevent the building from collapsing from its weakened structure. He was hopeful that the apartment that he currently resides in will not be hit, until he felt a big jolt, a shake, then a series of explosions below him. Regretfully, he knew what he did was stupid and he’s going to die.

–

Nervous, Blake quickly ran away from his apartment to the nearest fire exit. He clearly knew that it takes approximately 80 floors before he reaches the ground floor. All he can hear is the series of explosions, creaks, the blaring alarm, and his phone ringing in the amount of notifications he’s receiving from his parents. He went down to the 70th floor, then to the 60th, 50th, and to the 40th where the stairs leading to the 39th floor were in flames and he needed to go to the opposite end of the 40th floor to access the secondary fire exit.

There is smoke and rubble everywhere blocking his vision, he has to navigate the floor carefully to avoid tripping and hurting himself. Reaching the window where the two are fighting, the saw the Chains is now exhausted and was covered in blood and burns. Blake remembered that Chains gets his powers from the amount of iron in his blood and he gradually loses it when he casts chains from his body. Knowing that Chains is bleeding, he loses his powers faster than anticipated. He panicked and ran to the other exit and saw it was blocked by the rubble and Blake had to make a decision - fast.

While Blake is slowly losing oxygen due to the amount of smoke on the 40th floor, he planned to grab the nearest fire extinguisher to crack open the glass window and call for help. Blake knows this is purely a bad idea since Chains has to prioritize his life over the enemy but he had no choice. He used the fire extinguisher to put out the flames in his path until he reached the large glass window where the two were visibly fighting. Blake smashed the panel using the fire extinguisher with some force until cracks appeared and it shattered, leaving glass shards falling down to the ground below. The two were alarmed and Chains immediately goes closer to Blake by casting chains that guide him towards his direction.

:'(

I swear, I'm being genuine when I say this is merely a coincidence. I did not write this prompt with the intent of ripping off Spider-Verse or MHA.

Also my hero academia?

He's just a boy.

There's no time to argue.

HE'S JUST A BOY! He'd burn up with that kind of power! I can't even handle it!

One boy or three million people, Kate! YOUR CHOICE!

This is so easy for you, isn't it? When he dies, you'll just go find another host-

It's NEVER easy. Reach out to him, Kate, please. Reach out to him while we still have the chance.

The godwoman laid dying. Her body still crackling with the embers of divinity. Before her stood a boy, Kyle Walters, no more than thirteen. Clothes torn and dirty, glasses fractured. The godwoman extended her hand, burned and broken, in it holding a silvery spark. "I'm sorry. Please, please take it. You're our last hope. I'm so sorry." The boy clasped her hand in his, "It's okay! Don't worry, I'll get help!" "Please forgive me." The light faded from her.

The world stopped for Kyle Walters, stopped, then spun. Faster, faster, faster. The boy saw everything. Gods, angels, people from the stars. Novas, nebulas, accretion disks. He saw the dawn of man, the Colossus of Rhodes, the Boxer Rebellion. The men that lived and died in the trenches, their wives crying, their caskets buried. He saw John on the ground in the snow, Kate's miscarriage from the radiation. He's sees the crawling nightmares preying on humankind. The amoral warmongers willing to fracture the planet. The cries of anguish from the vast multitudes.

"Mom! It won't stop! Help me! Help, please help me!" The boy is crying now, bleeding, his muscles ripping out of his skin. Bones breaking and growing and shifting over themselves. His skull splitting at the seams. The flashes are ceaseless. He could die, but it just won't let him! He's convulsing on the hot asphalt and

and

and it stops.

I'm sorry, Kyle, do you understand now?

I...I understand.

I'm sorry.

It's...okay.

He's flying now. Numb, his nerves coursing with a blinding light. His flesh burning with rage, power, and agony. The invaders, the nightmares. They stand little chance. He scorches the ground they cling to. Droves are ripped apart in an instant. He beats them back, further and further. He can't fail. Can't stop now. There's no time. The boy fights through the pain and the endless legions. He can't help but think of his life. His brothers. His mom, she works so hard.

The beacons crumble in his grip. The gate closes. The remaining nightmares converge on the boy in an act of desperation. Their slate bodies blocking out his vision. He shines, he thrums, the vibrations shake the earth beneath him. The heat burns them, burns him. The entire mass starts to glow from the inside.

This is it? I did good?

Yes.

I won't make it.

No, Kyle. I'm sorry.

Will you...tell my mom?

##Just Desserts

The storm raged at the docks of Henryville (name to be changed later). The fishermen were crafting a statue of the Commander of Commanders Joseph who was supervising from an enclosed cabin on the beach. He sat at a desk underneath a portrait of himself standing triumphantly in the battlefield. Grant was standing to his right. Helga opened the door to the cabin, and the wind and rain burst into the cabin.

“Where were you!” Joseph yelled.

“I was giving the workers some almond cake.”

“Did you use the kitchen supposed to be for my meals?” he asked.

“Of course, you make them work through the night while you stay here in the warmth. The contrast was sickening.” She returned to the kitchen. “I also monitored the progress of your statue. It’s a dollop of concrete that is being destroyed by the rain.”

“I don’t care about the weather. The most important thing is to build more, and your distractions are delaying its completion.” Joseph sat at his desk and growled. There was a knock at the door. Grant ran to open and close it. A fisherman came into the room with crumbs on his lips.

“Sir, may I have a word,” he said.

“What?”

“We are happy to serve you. It’s just-”

“The weather is no excuse.” Joseph preemptively shouted.

“I agree with you. There’s no bad weather, only bad clothing. That being said, we could use better clothes beyond the rags we have.” The fisherman shook his head. “Which we will be happy to pay for ourselves.”

“Spit out your question.”

“I wonder if.” The fisherman shook in fear and cold. “It would be better to have trained sculptors on this job. We’re working hard, but we aren’t experts.”

“Sculptors. Why would I want that? They are useless.” Joseph said in a low voice.

“Uh, I don’t understand.”

“It was an accismus. God-King Austin murdered every artist in the country after one made a bad painting of him.” He pointed to the portrait behind him. “I had to travel internationally to get this one done.”

“And it’s magnificent.” The fisherman took a deep breath. “I sympathize with your position. You are clearly in a tough spot, but could we at least go home for the night?”

“What a horrible request.” He pressed a button on the table. Two armed men entered the room. “Take this man outside and execute him. Make him an example to the other workers.”

The two men looked at each other first. They both took an arm and marched him outside. Grant shook his head.

“Sir, what is your goal?” Grant asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? My legacy. That grandiose statue represents my connection to the maritime economy which represents our great country. When it’s complete, the people will remember my glory.”

“You are correct in that the sea is a large part of our culture, but that also creates sympathy for fishermen. Executing and angering them could have dire consequences,” Grant said.

“What is this insubordination?” Joseph asked.

“You’re my fifth dictator, and Helga’s twenty-second. We’ve learned to recognize the signs before a downfall.” Grant walked into the kitchen. “We also know how to cover our asses.”

“What insolence.” Joseph slammed his fists on the table and pulled out his gun. He was ready to attack his servant when the doors opened. The fisherman from earlier walked inside with his back straight. The guards who were supposed to execute him stood on either side. The fishermen stopped working on the statue to form a small crowd with the rest of the armed forces.

“What is the meaning of this?” Joseph asked. The two guards ran forward and disarmed him. They quickly restrained his arms.

“You have been a horrible leader.” The fisherman sat in Joseph’s chair. “Consider this a necessary change.”

Joseph was dragged outside where the entire village was gathered. Old women spat on him. The army who supported him joined the hateful chants. He was brought before his statue which was now a mess of concrete and shot. His body was tossed into the waves. The fisherman from earlier walked to the place where he was shot.

“For far too long we’ve been oppressed.” He shouted, and the thunder emphasized his words. “Consider me a just and righteous ruler, President of the Seas Christopher.”

Grant and Helga were hiding in the kitchen and quickly drafted into the new regime. The President of the Seas lasted for a year before being deposed. In that timeframe, Commander of Commanders Joseph was forgotten except for his hideous statue that he died trying to build. In a way, it did secure his legacy.

r/AstroRideWrites

[removed]

There are three things you need to know about cursed objects:

1. They're cursed: bad things happen to the people they target
2. They're high-quality: no one would be lured in by a cursed mirror unless it was also a nice mirror
3. They tend to have quite specific targets: this necklace chokes unfaithful wives, this axe injures woodsmen who cut sacred trees, etc.

What I'm saying is, if you know that a particular cursed object doesn't target you specifically, then what you've really got is a very cheap, very high quality item.

So that's what I do. I have a flat that is much, much better furnished than I should be able to afford on a bartender's salary. I have a full matching (cursed) set of crockery, velvet (cursed) drapes, and an opulent, gilt-edged armchair that is both over-stuffed and absolutely lethal to anyone who likes jazz. Personally, I'm an EDM guy.

I spend my weekends antiquing, looking for any items with a missing or mysterious history. Anything that's sold a little cheaply, by a dark-eyed man with a pointy beard. Anything that got sold the week before to a hobbyist, but that's now part of an estate sale. If you know what you're looking for, cursed objects are everywhere.

Of course, finding them is just the first step. The next step is a lot - a lot - of research. You need to be absolutely certain that it won't target you. Benny - that's the guy who got me into this game - lived like a king for years, and then died the same day he got his final item: a silver pair of scissors.

The scissors themselves were fine - they stabbed frenchwomen who whistled, and that wasn't a good description of Benny. The plastic bag they were sold in though? Smothered litterers. Cursed items tend to clump together, and it's a good idea to investigate every little bit.

Once I've investigated though, once I've found an available item that's not a danger to me, then I'm good to go. £200 for a shoe rack that breaks the ankles of people in riding boots? Bargain. £50 for a set of crystal glasses that shatter opera singers? A steal. I live the life Riley wishes he could (literally - I own a nutcracker that wishes to do the obvious to anyone named Riley).

One downside - a minor thing. 'Ownership' is a loose concept to cursed objects. Often 'being nearby' is enough to trigger them. So just like I carefully research my furniture, I have to research my friends as well. Can't invite Emily over, her dad's a fisherman. Game night with Toby can work, but only if we play the modern version of Cluedo, and keep the old one weighed down with (very heavy) books. My dad - plays the saxophone - hasn't visited in years.

No one is infallible. Sometimes, just like Benny, I make a mistake. Not, so far, with as personally-dire consequences as him, but I've had my share of upsets. Had to give statements to the police once or twice - no idea how it happened, officer. Had to bury a body a time or two, when it was too hard to explain.

And that brings us to today. To arriving home after work to discover my flat half-cleaned and my new cleaner half-eaten by my (sinfully soft) four-poster bed. I wouldn't have thought that Ms. Pettigrew (mid 30s) was a virgin princess of the Romanian blood royal, and I can't imagine she was aware either. Every day is a learning day.

Tonight will not be an early night. I have a lot of cleaning-up to do, and now only the severed arm of a cleaner to help out. Still, it's a small price to pay. It is an extremely comfortable bed.

[removed]

Lol wow! Good story.

Good story.

When I walk through the door, everything seems normal. The kitchen is messy – but no more than usual. The living room is covered in cheap throw pillows and dog hair. April's bedroom door is ajar; I peek through and see my roommate passed out on top of her unmade bed, snoring. I roll my eyes and open the door to my own bedroom.

That's when I see that my bed is covered in blood. Covered might not be the right word. More like soaked. Blood drips steadily from the bottom of the mattress and the corners of the comforter. There's so much of it that the air tastes bitter and metallic when I take a breath.

Daisy Mae, April's tiny chihuahua, is curled up in the middle of the blood-soaked bed, sleeping peacefully. The pink bow on top of her head is askew and stained red.

Not again.

“GODDAMNIT, APRIL!” I shout, storming over to her room and kicking the door wide open. It bangs against the wall and April wakes up with a start. Her room doesn't smell like blood; it smells like alcohol. Somehow, that's even worse. “I told you not to put your hellhound in my room!” I yell at her. “She had lunch in my bed again!”

“But I needed mine for sleeping,” April groans. She snatches a pillow and plops it over her head.

I snatch it right back off and throw it at her. “So do I! We talked about this!”

“She doesn't even leave any bones,” April complains.

“No, just an entire lake of blood that's dripping out of my mattress! It's worse than ever!” I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. It doesn't really work. “April,” I say through my teeth, “you cannot keep an actual hellhound as a pet. It's not working out.”

“But she's so cuuute.”

“I hope she bites you,” I say savagely. “That's it. Good luck paying the rent on your own. Maybe the cute hellhound can chip in.”

“Where are you going?” she demands as I head for the door.

“I'm gonna pack up my underwear,” I snap, “and then I'm gonna go live in a van down by the river.”

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" I yelled loudly as I walked into my bedroom for the first time following a lengthy leave from the estate. I hoped Calvin would hear me, although I knew that even if he did he probably wouldn't bother to emerge from his slumber regardless of the stink that I made above him. "It's everywhere, Calvin! That won't just come out of the ceiling like any other stain, you know!"

Predictably, no stirring was heard from within the subterranean chamber beneath the mansion's ground floor. It was then that I knew for certain that my roommate was in fact a total dickhead.

Even though he was a hundred years my senior, I'd thought that we'd acquired a certain intimate bond as semi-solitary vampires living in a mostly mortal region, however it seems that he thinks so little of me that I am now relegated to the one-man maid cleanup crew of my own godforsaken bedroom! Oh, how he riles me so! I would never sully his coffin room with such an assorted spattering of blood and entrails like he has me!

Still… my rent has already been paid up for the next eight centuries, and I am determined to make this work… I just need to find some common ground... Perhaps Calvin enjoys Lego also!

[removed]

Whoops...guess I've been exposed as a copycat. Time to pack my bags and GTFO.

The words echo through my head with the beating of a drum in my ears. My old teachers had drilled them into my head, I had drilled them into my own students head, I had believed, but I had not lived them. My oath was to the code, and the code said for the great good no matter the cost. I had been told to never let the cost grow to great, to never let someone get so close that I would question a choice. But I had, and I had taken another oath.

The wedding band feels tight on my finger even though I know it shouldn't. My suit, molded to my body and as familiar as breathing, is heavy. It's as if I'm on another planet and the gravity is thrice the normal. I can't even try to take a step. Why did I do it, why did I let myself get close. Slowly I steal a glance behind me. She is still there, she is still asleep against a concrete wall, and she is still beautiful. Inspite of the moment the twinge of a smile touches my lips, how could I not have gotten closer, how could have I not loved her.

I turned back around. It didn't matter what I could or couldn't have done, all that mattered was that I had an impossible choice to make. Before me is 10,000 men, all of whom want her dead. Behind me is her. Easiness is not the factor, I could mow down all of those men perhaps a minute and a half, but they didn't deserve that. They were just soldiers, good people who were trying to do what they thought was right and just, or rather, what they were told.

In a past life my wife had done some horrible, horrible things but she had changed. A fight with a superhero, a headshot from some powerful ray, she couldn't remember anything. When she landed in the ocean and did not come back up they thought she had drown, and in a way she had. Her old self was still in the ocean when she crawled ashore on some Mexican beach. Naturally a strange 20 something lady with residual powers and amnesia attracted the leagues attention, but no one ever connected the dots. At least until today.

Some kind of new scan had showed the rays damage, and only one woman had ever been struck by it and remained unaccounted for. The governments of the world soon ordered her captured but she escaped from the leagues initial ambush, I had called in all of my favors to keep them at bay since. But the military I had no such sway over and they had run her down, her strongest powers lost with her mind she didn't stand a chance. Somehow she had managed to get a message to me, I still wasn't sure how, and I had found her asleep here. Before I could wake her though the sounds of tanks and helicopters had surrounded the parking garage we were hidden in.

I don't know how long I stood there, listening, waiting, thinking. But eventually a General shouted through a bull horn, "Thansverse, we don't want anyone to get hurt but we have to take your wife into custody, she has to face trial. Dranco, if you can hear me and you truly are not evil like you say, you will come out peacefully.".

Dranco, Dranco. The scale in my mind had been so finally balanced that the single grain of sand that was a name was enough to tilt it. Behind me I could hear her stir, she would try to stop me, she would give herself up, because she was a hero. It's a shame that I am not anymore. "Her name is Misses Quil", were the last words 10,000 men ever heard.

[removed]

Thank you!

Goddamn, that was amazing