A hero would sacrifice you for the world but a villain would sacrifice the world for you.

Oh my god I love it, oh my god I can't tell you how much I love this.

Also supportive parent for the win!

“He went that-a way!” I shout pointing down the street and shut the door in their faces. That outta throw them off his trail.

Thank you and you’re welcome!

Try this idea

The sentience of the machine is not just a mechanical quirk or born from a mistake of science, but in fact a sentient cosmic horror way beyond the understanding of humanity that they accidentally tapped into when they made the robots. The energy is alive.

And for whatever unknown and unknowable reason, the force has chosen humanity and that is not a good thing.

How so and in what way? I'm at work, so I can't do YouTube.

>“Lovely.”

This got me, I laughed a good laugh at that. Thanks lol

You needed your milk every morning. You drank it fast, as usual. The cold liquid was running down your throat, reminding you of the dawn of humankind, when people stopped drinking water from lakes or streams, and started domesticating cows and stealing the milk from the calves.

The day went by. The mills of civilization grind in business as usual.

When things slowed down, you were back in your apartment. It was your habit to smoke a cigarette every evening.

The milk-routine in the morning and the cigarette-routine in the evening. You always flicked the ashes in the empty milk bottle from the morning. Filling the empty bottle of liquid cow motherhood with the burnt ashes of a burning death stick. There was nothing better in the world to contaminate the cold and milky interior of your mouth with the bitter and acid taste of nicotine. It was like a symbolic representation of the end of humanity in an ever-hotter world. Burnt and buried by the side-effects of their hedonistic hybris. Your morning and the dawn of humankind: milk! Your evening and the nightfall of humankind: fire!

Your hushed away these bizarre and dark thoughts with the smoke of your last puff and flicked the rest of your cigarette into the bottle. While having been sunk in your egocentric phantasies, you didn’t realize how dark it suddenly got outside. It was snowing!

It got so dark, it almost looked as if the snow was black. You turned on the light and––the snow was still black. You feel how a chilly feeling of cataclysm runs down your spine. You shiver. This must be an optical illusion. You open the window and reach out with your hand. You expect the cold snow to land on your hand, and, surely, something falls, but what you sense is not cold, it is almost warm. Afraid and curious you withdraw your hand and stare. “This is not snow,” you think. “These are ashes!” “It must be burning somewhere!”, you reason. But there is no fire in sight, not burnt smell. Nothing unusual, besides ashes falling from the sky.

An insane thought bursts into your mind. You rush to the milk bottle, and turn it upside down. You see the ashes pouring out and – you lose the ground under your feet. Your books, your clothes, are falling with you from the ground to the ceiling, your furniture, chairs, the table, your bed, everything falls to the ceiling. You land hard on your back, into the chaos of what was once your room. You feel dizzy. You manage to stand up. You shudder with sheer terror.

“The world is a simulation”, you stutter, “and the milk bottle must be the administrator perks!”

You panic! Where is that milk bottle? You look around. And there is the bottle, it is lying only some meters away, next to the wall. It landed safe on some cushions in the corner. Carefully you walk towards the bottle. – And then you hear a noise. A copy of Edward Munch’s The Scream that was hanging on your wall and was still held on the wall, slides off the nail that was holding it. It falls. Towards the bottle. You sprint. The Scream is faster. It lands on the bottle and bursts it into pieces. The bottle cracks, and so does your world. Your furniture, your room, torn apart. Your body, torn apart. Splinters of wood and cement, of bones and flesh.

Blood everywhere.

The end.

I walk into my San Francisco office with a hot cup of coffee fresh from the market in hand. I sip it slowly with a smile on my face. As the coffee trickles down my throat I think to myself, “today is going to be a good day”. I sit down at my desk and look at myself in my desk mirror. “You don’t look half bad” I say to myself. I smooth out the flyaway hairs that are living on the top of my head with a sweep of my hand. I look to my right at my other desk mirror and think “You just got promoted baby. The world is your OYSTER!”

I eagerly login to my brand-spanking-new MacBook desktop. A glorious 42” wide plasma retina display suited with a 64-Core processor and M3 chip to boot. “I’ve made it”.

The first duty I have in my new role is to get up to speed on all of the documentation of my predecessor. I promptly log into my account. Immediately a popup displays on the screen that reads “Congratulations on your new role as Administrator! To begin training, please click the Begin button below”. I quickly select the bright green “begin” button.

Gosh, there is no personal training these days, just me and my computer. I often think to myself how much I miss the old ways of the world, where face-to-face interaction was deemed commonplace, it was so nice being able to communicate with an actual human being who would sit here and talk to me, especially when I had questions about what I was learning, I’ve always found it nice to be able to go back and forth with someone about what you’re working on. It’s nice to have someone to help you out immediately when you need it and bounce ideas off of and— **DING!** a sharp, high-pitched sound interrupts my train of thought.

The sound continues on, getting louder and louder, each reverberation vibrating the insides of my eardrums more intensely than the last.

I look up. A 3D rendering of the earth has incapsulated my entire screen. It’s spinning, and as the sound gets louder the speed of the sound picks up with it, and so does the spinning earth.

What the?

The earth on the screen starts shrinking. Immediately another earth appears on the screen that encapsulates the first one. That earth then gets smaller too, and a third earth swallows the others. This continues endlessly at a dizzying pace. The DINGs are getting so fast and so intense, I start to feel nauseous. I lean over in desperation and grab my glass of water that’s vibrating on the table. The sound around me has now completely crescendoed. My entire body is buzzing. The screen suddenly flashes black, and in the earth’s place a pop-up window appears with black, bold text. “The world is a simulation.” It reads. Below it are two options. In green, it reads “I accept”. In red, “Exit without making changes.” I gulp back my water and take a deep breath.

“I accept”.

picking up the cross, the one the priest had just been using as a weapon in the exorcism, and toying with it in front of the demon prince.

subtle but effective.

AY linked the retrospective, that’s what’s up

Thank you - those little puffs are surely heaven-sent.

Love the orange mana line

Character:a 14yr old male cyborg with a left handed arm cannon,mechanical wings,a tail with 2 energy cannons at the sides of the tip,and tank treads for feet who is around 5’8 and mind is broken too the point that almost every word from his mouth is fake and calls himself by his alias “the machine lord” trying to make make the world more efficient by bringing the downfall of capitalism(and in turn stop the apocalypse)with an army of machines.

Location:a global plutocracy(government based on how wealthy you are)that in a few years will become a post apocalyptic one caused by the greed of capitalism draining the all the natural resources of the world

"-And after you left me for dead, I crawled myself to a quiet ditch, buried myself, and regrew to my full strength."

Her comicallly shiny boot was spattered with the dark green substance that was my modified blood, and I watched her approach my face like a soccer player.

A flash of light, the sound of distant thunder, the gentle rocking of my pain centers shutting down completely.

A fresh spay of dark emerald, dancing in the misty lights of my bedroom.

"You stupid motherfucker, you didn't think I knew how to get to you?"

The boot again, but I was okay with that; the wetness is just rain, and the sound is just thunder.

"You just thought you could fix the world, you fucking idiot?"

She's sounded so far away, but this was too important to miss.

It was finally happening, and I had to see it through.

"You little pissant, I remember discovering you when you were just some chump who ate dirt, and we changed the world together."

She was on top of me, lightning fast, her talons hooked under chin, severing my tongue from underneath. I had no choice but to meet her cruel gaze.

She was as beautiful as the day I met her

I watched, spine shattered, neck supported by the grace of her strength, as she plucked my eye from my skull.

At the time, I was thankful that my last sight was of her face.

"You're a monster, Eric, and all I want to know before I do the world a favor and put you down, is how you could sleep after what you did to me?"

She doesn't know

That realization pulled from my encroaching rest. I sent a signal to the photoreceptors in my blood, re-activating them.

I didn't need eyes to feel the lights above me, feeding me.

"Mmphfllhgh"

It's hard to talk with a broken jaw.

She withdrew her talon, and moments later my tongue re-attached itself to the base of my mouth.

I coughed, spat a tooth across the floor, and tried to lift my head.

"I did it for you."

Silence.

"I... it hurt me so much to see how this world disappointed you, Cynthia. We could save at most a handful of people at a time, a schoolbus here, or an elevator there, but every time the news mentioned the death toll in Iraq, you shut down."

Strained silence.

"So, Cyn, so I... I did something about it! I knew that you wouldn't, so I did. The nations can't be at war if there aren't any nations, and it remarkable how quickly the world food shortage gets solved when you hang all the figureheads of industry by their guts in public eye."

Thunder

I lost more teeth, but already could feel the new ones forming.

"Bullshit"

She said it like a growl, but I was still alive.

"I'm not just a plant nerd, Cyn, I know more about how you operate than you do. I didn't leave you for dead, I actually killed you."

Her grip lessened, I had truck a nerve, I think.

"But, Cynthia, I knew you would come back stronger. I knew it would take time, and with the amount of damage I did to you that day, I knew I had a twenty-ish year headstart to set it all into motion for you."

As my vertebrae clicked back into place, I lifted my head towards her own. Dim light, but the optic nerves rebuilt quickly.

"Cynthia, who do you think sent Blaze to dig you up? Who would have known exactly where to dig to find you?"

"You're lying."

It was soft, and I knew then that she understood.

"You came back a legend, and finally strong enough to make the changes you wanted. Jaded, maybe, but smart enough now to spot betrayal. You saw though Jolene, and made the hard choice to silence her before she could jeopardize your assault plan here tonight; I was so proud of you, Cynthia."

Full silhouette, darkness and light blending together as my eyes continued regrowing.

I saw the shape of her, and it drawing closer to me.

I thought that she understood.

That she grasped what I had been teaching her, and I could finally rest knowing that the world had a champion who make the hard choices to protect it from monsters worse than myself.

"So... do it, Cyn, this is how it ends. You finally get it, that there are some people that have to die. You know what the world needs, and I can finally stop being this person."

I blinked, once, twice, and on the third I could see again.

She was crying, and holding my face.

"You're insane, Eric. We need to get you help, we can still fix this."

She lifted my mouth to her own, and for the second time in twenty years I doubted myself.

"Cynthia, I can't be cha-"

The kiss wasn't something magical, it just simply was.

It was everything in that moment, and as my chest cavity uncollapsed, I rose to my feet holding her in that embrace.

"Eric, I love you, please let me help y-"

But it's hard to talk with a broken jaw.

I held her face in my hands, and as the nourishing light above shone on I squeezed those hands togther until all that was between my fingers was a pulpy mash.

I regarded the love of my life, smeared on my palms.

"I can't be rehabilitated, Cynthia, but maybe in twenty years, you will be."

Since then I've kept her under my floor in my bedroom, in my fortress, in my empire, on my conquered world. I hear her sinews reknitting in the dead of night, a sound like dry worms coiling on themselves. My advisors (the filthy opportunistic animals that they are) have been kept unaware, and I have no plans of tipping them off. One day, decades from now, she will spring from Earth like a vengeful god, and there will be no stopping her wrath.

Truthfully, I barely stopped her last time, and my conviction grows wary as each day passes.

I fear of monsters more awful than I.

Some of the whispers I hear from below the floorboards make me worry that whatever is preparing to climb out might not be Cynthia anymore.

Regardless, she will do better, because the world doesn't need a figurehead of redemption. The world, this horrifying dystopia that suppresses all facets of art, culture, and identity; it doesn't deserve to be redeemed.

It needs a Hero.

...I did write more for this story. Or did you mean more with this character?

I wanted my life to be simple. Well, as simple as someone wanting world domination could be, honestly.

Since I got my superpowers, I spent my life trying to make things right. And by right, I meant, fix the problems humans created from themselves. I knew I would be hated, but I tried to understand their fears. The hero itself, well, he was just a nemesis, someone that I would drag a fight, make him believe he won, while I made my schemes behind the scenes.

And how, he's saying I kidnapped his girfriend? And.... at my side... the look of distress, the panic...

Finally, he enters my chambers. Demanding to see his girlfriend. He doesn't know - of course he doesn't know.

Listen, everybody, I am not a bad guy. I really am not. I never hurt too much the hero, and I don't want to. I meant, I had to hurt him a little otherwise he would think the fight was too easy, and probably would know I let him win. But now... how do I not hurt him?

- "Give up, fiend, I know you're evil, but I never though you would be capable of... this... dragging innocents into this? What happened to you? I demand to see her! Otherwise, I'll f... kill you!" - Great, now he's cursing. Good for him the media is not here... and what now?

- "Your girfriend.... well, let me just say that you're wrong. For a great... many... things..."

- "I would tell you..." - great, now any hope of not destroying the hero's spirit is gone - "but I was afraid you would not understand.... please, forgive me..."

- "Amanda? Is that.... you? What did he do to you? Did he...."

- "It's not Amanda, dear. It's Andrew. That's how.... I actually want to live, that's who I am. But I was afraid that telling you the truth, you would..."

- "That's not true*!"* - his voice dances in the air, papers and chairs and furniture flying, a sonic boom destroying the ears of my comrades, and following all that, a huge blast of energy - that, if it was not for my power, he would.... my son...

- "Listen..." - I try to keep my calm - "you almost killed my son. Let's make a deal - you exit my house, think if you can love somebody regardless of gender, and if not, forget all this, ok? Now be a good boy, go back, because I want to believe you just lost control of your powers for a minute and..."

- "He did this with you, didn't he? He... turned you... into this... aberration?" - sigh, great. The hero is a transphobic. I look at my son... and it breaks me. I see the distress, I see all the trauma from his childhood, all.... I can't.... I can't loose my calm now.... I need to know I may be able to kill him.... - "I'll fix this, you'll see! The media is outside, waiting for me! You'll see that I'll fix you, and everybody will know that my power can even..."

- "STOP TALKING" - it was not an order for my powers, but they manifested anyway, in the most interesting possible way - without air, there is no sound, right? I can see the hero suffocating. For a microsecond, I think - maybe, maybe I can still avoid the worst... but I hear it.

I hear my son sob.

This night, the world will cry. They won't understand how the hero died. They won't understand why the villain is coldly executing the most vile and abhorrent criminals and politicians.

This world will not see the sunset. But hopefully, a new world will see the sun rise.

Phineas and Ferb vibes from this

OMG This is fucking fantastic. Holy deity, this is fantastic. If I had awards to give, they's all be yours.

You could take some inspiration from Ken Ishikawa

Many many authors already have.

More

"What in the blazes? Hey! That's a new carpet, Magika! Enough!" Circe yelled as Magika turned to her, a hateful glare in her eyes.

"YOU KIDNAPPED RHYS! YOU KIDNAPPED MY GIRLFRIEND!" Hang on, what? She didn't have time to think, only time to dodge as Magika aimed a spell towards her. "GIVE HER BACK!"

"Bloody hell woman, would you calm down! Rhys is fine for crying out loud, you're scaring her!" Circe yelled at the superhero as she dodged another spell. When the hero didn't stop, Circe waved a hand and froze the hero. "I told you to stop. You didn't listen. Now you're going to listen to me regardless of if you want to or not." Circe snarled, and looked towards Rhys. "You need to tell her. Now."

Rhys was terrified. How was she going to explain that the Supervillain Circe was her mother? That she used to be the former hero Phoenix? She glanced at Circe who only smiled gently and nodded towards Magika.

"Hey.... Alice... I've been meaning to tell you. Circe's my mother. Has been for 10 years. I used to be the hero Phoenix, but... something bad happened. My, er, bio family kicked me out for being gay and did some worse things, and Circe saved me. Please don't be mad at her. Be mad at me for hiding it, but I hid it for what I thought was a good reason. I'm sorry." Rhys nervously laughed as Magika slowly began to unfreeze. The look of anger on Magika's face shifted to one of concern as she regarded the both of them.

"Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't..."

"You didn't know. I understand, Magika. We kept it that way for a reason." Circe spoke up, a sigh on her lips as she dissipated the spell she put on the superhero. "Her family was, to put it bluntly, quite horrendous. My wife and I have done so much to help our children grow to be the way they are today, but they still suffer sometimes. You're good for my daughter, but you need to hold a reign on your anger. Especially since we're going to become closely acquainted." Circe smirked, and Magika glared without heat.

"Oh bugger off you." Magika grumbled, but softened when Rhys giggled. She figured she could handle dating the daughter of a Supervillain.

​

(Hope y'all like this continuation of a previous story I made about 2 months ago. got to flesh out my characters here a bit!)

Hey! Thank you for this well considered feedback. It really is greatly appreciated.

As it relates to dialogue tags, I actually prefer that they blend into the background unless I really want to add emphasis (as you pointed out).

Generally speaking the tags are there first and foremost to provide clarity for the reader. For that reason I don’t mind having the “Hal says” “Iso says” be repetitive because they are meant to fade away and allow readers to skip over them. I don’t like to get too cute with dialogue tags as I personally get taken out of the story when I read something like “Hal hissed/bellowed/squealed” as those things often don’t adequately describe vocalizations made by a real person.

Regardless, I greatly appreciate this dialogue and you taking the time to provide feedback. Thank you!

"Have you found our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ?" the smartly dressed young missionary said to the man at the door.

The tall, gray-eyed man shot a glance to his right, then looked back at the missionaries. Without a word, he stood aside, and gestured for the two young men to come inside. He directed them to one of two old but comfortable looking couches on either side of a coffee table, then sat down across from them, his hands folded in his lap.

Then he just sat there, saying nothing.

The missionaries looked at each other. The first missionary cleared his throat. "So, I'm Micah, and this is Stephen."

The man nodded.

"We'd...we'd like to tell you about...um...about the Lord." Stephen added.

The man made a gesture that seemed to invite them to proceed.

"Well...so...uh..." Micah began, awkwardly, as the man continued to stare. "Jesus--"

The man glanced at the corner of the room again, then held up a hand.

"Wait." the man said sharply, bringing the young missionary up short.

He stared at a point on the wall next the front door for a few moments, occasionally nodding, then turned back to his guests.

"He says you need to work on your technique," the man said flatly.

"He...?" Stephen said, looking from the man to the empty corner.

"Jesus Christ," the man said, gesturing to the corner.

"Um, you're...you're saying Jesus is here?" Micah asked, hesitantly.

"Obviously." the man replied. "For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them." He gestured to the missionaries in turn, and then to himself. "One, two, three."

"But--" Stephen began.

"But what? But that's just a metaphor? But it doesn't really mean that?" the man asked, calmly. "Does it not? What if it means exactly what it says? That right now, He is present here. That in this moment, the eyes of the everlasting Logos, the seven-horned and seven-eyed Lamb that lives and was dead, are resting upon you, beholding not only what you say and do, but what you think, what you feel, and all that you have ever done or ever will do."

The shadows in the room seemed to grow long and deep as the man spoke, as though cast by an impossibly bright light. "How do you bear up under the gaze of Eternity? What will you do? Fall to your knees, like Moses? Run and hide yourself, like Adam in the Garden? Will you be burned to ash? Turned into a pillar of salt?"

Moments later, both young missionaries burst out of the man's front door at a run. He appeared in the doorway a moment later, and watched their retreat.

"Good," he said, after a moment. "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom."

If I'm being honest, I drew a little bit from Gunhed mixed with some Battletech, Cyberpunk, and a lot of worldbuilding. I've got a whole universe mapped out, but not enough skill to turn it into a viable book.