I know it might be hard to comprehend at first... or maybe it's just me being mental. Maybe if you live with your demons for too long you start getting used to them and you even start to like them but tell me, how is that beautiful that few years here determine your eternal 'after' there.

Some find beauty in Valhalla, some in Heaven and Hell and some in eternal, undisturbed peace.

If nothing I wrote to this point might make you understand my point I'm afraid that nothing I would write further will.

When the charming, doe-eyed little boy in the cardboard armor approached the holy god, pumping one fist in the air and raising his toy sword triumphantly with his other hand, Dominicus found it hard to resist inviting the boy into one of his nearest guilds.

"I'm a hero! Do you know where the bad guys are?" piped the little boy.

Dominicus nodded and hoisted the boy on his shoulder, carrying him past the gilded doors of gold. He dropped the boy onto the carpet in his office and his secretary Glenda wheeled two chairs in for them to sit. He snapped his fingers twice and Glenda brought him a list of contacts.

"Nezirich? That boring lich already refused me once. Retired for millennia, he insists. At least I got a forbidden tome out of that visit." Dominicus frowned.

"Would you like to consider the Demon King Voragus?" Glenda offered.

Voragus it is. It was time he called in that favor when he had chosen to spare Voragus' life so he could live to see his daughter grow up.

"Greetings Voragus. This is Dominicus the Holy Blade, God-hero of the Holy Inquisition. I have a hero who wishes for the chance to vanquish evil..."

"Do I get to crush your hero like a bug?" asked Voragus over the line.

In the Holy Inquisition's office, the wannabe boy-hero had spun around so many times on the swivel chair he was emitting unhappy dizzy noises before he fell down with a loud thud. Glenda activated the on-hold music to cover for the noises, trying her best to hide from Voragus that there was a child in the room.

"Oh ho ho, is the Holy Blade of the Inquisition now babysitting?" Voragus let out a boisterous laugh.

"Look, the hero coming after you is 10, can you just play along and let him win?" Dominicus could already imagine the massive eye rolls Voragus must be doing right now. On all 12 of his eyes.

"No can do, Nicky. I have a reputation to maintain. I refuse to throw a fight with a dinky little 10-year-old kid. What will my minions ever think of me? Fuck off, I ain't playing games with your kid. Pick an older, sensible hero or something and I might reconsider."

"Mind your language, Demon King, I have the kid just nearby within an earshot. He just needs an illusion of winning. We can do it in neutral ground, a location where none of your minions can see you lose. I'll arrange something and my secretary will keep you posted with further details."

Glenda presented a proposal she quickly drafted while her god was on the phone when he hung up. Dominicus sighed and signed it off.

So it was agreed upon by all parties. The boy hero would barge into the church, the doors would open on cue for him, and he would run up to the Demon King Voragus, who stood upon the stage, defiling the church altar with his evil energies. All while two gods observed from the upper balcony of the church.

With a snap of the holy god's fingers, a bright light shone from the toy sword, blinding Voragus as he tried to dodge-roll out of the way, flattening several church pews in the process.

"You will be footing the bill for any damages to my church, won't you?" Elvari asked as he slid a plate of papal cakes toward Dominicus with a tentacle.

He clenched his fists and nodded solemnly, refusing to touch his cup of tea on the balcony's edge.

"Dominicus, I did not poison the tea. It is safe to drink."

Never trust an eldritch, Dominicus told himself. Especially one who has a million-dollar bounty he himself had placed. "Ironic", came a low whisper that invaded his mind. "You trusted me to provide the venue, did you not?"

"Do not mock me, eldritch horror. My monster slayers once successfully dismembered you and left your soul drifting in limbo for many years until your head priest revived you."

The boy kicked high in the air a few meters away from Voragus, who did an exaggerated backflip and flopped down to the ground dramatically, his heavy mass leaving branching cracks on the floor and shattering several floor tiles. Voragus picked himself up and did a running headbutt, only to miss by a mile and ram into a pillar, which creaked and cracked, before collapsing on the Demon King. There he lay on the floor helpless, "dizzy and winded" from the collision as the boy hero slowly approached his target.

"This is going to cost you." Elvari narrowed his eyes and Dominicus averted his gaze from the extensive damage that was taking place below the balcony. "You could have just asked me! I can play this game without breaking a sweat! Or any furniture. Voragus doesn't like losing to a kid, and he's clearly venting his frustrations on my furniture."

Dominicus took a deep breath and gulped. He couldn't argue at all.

As the freshly victorious boy-hero stood over the "fallen" Demon King and cheered, Dominicus groaned as Elvari gleefully swiped the former's credit card and keyed in an exorbitant amount that was going to take the Holy Inquisition years to recoup.

1. I appreciate the Maiden, Mother Crone thing, that's what I was thinking od
2. that ending is platinum

Good and Evil . . .

The duality betwixt the two had governed the world I called home. Their very concepts imbued within the fragile society of order and anarchy. Thus , heroes who sought to uphold " justice " and villains that sought to destroy it were born. An endless cycle of never-ending conflict with no victors in sight. Never in history had there been a being that was born in one or the other , a true mix of both concepts. Having both sympathy and apathy within them , able to enact either side until now.

I've always been one who did not care for the quarrels of the heroes and villains that occupied everything. It was such a bore and annoyance having to hear the constant bickering in the classroom on which side was better. I held my own interest ───── arts , science, mythology, and alike, but such did not matter. My peers were either puzzled or looked at me with discontent, resulting in being alone for most of my youth. I did not mind it , it gave me solace truth be told. I was able to enact my own ideals and dreams without the worry of upsiding oppositions. I grew to learn many things such as woodworking , martial arts of a grand variety, and many skills other deemed useless.

Then , my eighteenth birthday arrived. My parents, who were heroes, anxiously awaited the announcement of what side I would be placed in. My elder siblings were all placed within the hero class with the exception of one, but we do not speak of them much. Once the mayor looked upon the piece of paper , he stared for a moment, his eyes widened as they rapidly dragged over the piece they were given. Sweat dripping profusely from the side of his temple afore he hesitated to speak.

My mother nearly fainted whilst my father had the most puzzling of looks. Everyone began to whisper amongst themselves whilst I stood there , always dawning my stoic visage. In reality, I was quite relieved , finding out that I would not be placed in this endless dreadful cycle of good and Evil. . .

Alright. This doesn't bode well. A little bit after reading 5999 again, I, through a series of events, became temporarily (I hope) paralyzed in my legs

I like to think of Satan like Communism (as far as theory, not necessarily as practiced). Constantly trying to help everyone. He essentially gave humans access to knowledge and free will, he takes in all those that God failed, and tries to make the most of it. Meanwhile there is some rich powerful dude on the other side of infinity constantly ensuring that he fails.

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N'gzaaark blinked and stared at the Old God through the portal.

"Ten." he said. "The Hero is ten. Fucking. Years. Old.

The Old God grimaced as They gave a confirming nod.

"Yes." They said.

N'gzaaark took a deep breath, held it for a moment as he clamped down on his temper, and then exhaled slowly.

"And you want me to let him win, after he has stormed my keep, which is in the middle of the Endless Plains of Agony." he asked, getting another confirming nod from the Old God.

"Who's idea was this? " N'gzaaark asked.

The Old God pinched the bridge of Their nose. "Deplh the Wise.".

N'gzaaark's left eye twitched.

"I see." he said. "Alright. I'll let the Hero 'win'. But Delph is mine."

The Old God nodded. "Understood." They said before closing the portal.

N'gzaaark took a few minutes to formulate a plan before summoning his aide.

"Yes, your Maliciousness?" his aide, Della the Succubus asked.

"The Hero is coming, and he is only ten." N'gzaaark began. "I'm going to need everyone in on this plan, and if anyone fuck's this up, I'll hand them over to the Old God."

Della gulped in fear at the mention of the Old God and Their implacable wrath.

"Here's the plan: the Hero is going to 'heroically' brave the Plains of Agony...."

This is like that Rick and morty episode where they just make fun of the “pleasure is pain” bit due 20 minutes, but this was an actual good story

All that diablo sauce makes the toilets extra spicy the next day!

There’s nothing, not even a sense of self. How is that beautiful?

How it feels to be a RPG protagonist

Nope nope what the heck I was curious and I clicked the link and my phone made a noise and it’s dark outside nope nope not doing this rn

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Well fluck.

Now i'm curious to Issy's and Leanna's story after.

The first insight came from AI.

A virtual object's persistence required one of two things to be true. The first and most simple is is a self preserving statement in it's definition. Call it a desire to persist or a resistance to change. If it 'wants' to live on, it will keep it's shape each iteration.

AI adapts and changes a large field of information which is changed from the information within interacting with it's rules. A virtual object resistant to change is somewhat of an anchor, but can still be affected by other virtual object's influence.

The second way a virtual object can be maintained is through projection, or external maintenance. It's a much stronger protection when one virtual object maintains others because the objects being maintained cannot have their own influence disrupted as easily because they're "saved" remotely. This has a cost however. A maintenance protocol cannot be allowed to self maintain, or else it can cause a corrupting influence if it's interfered with by another virtual object.

In ages past, there were people interested in metaphysics. Consider them savants for catching on to patterns that nobody else did. They didn't have computers around as a representation for nested interactions, or really have much idea what was going on. They did however notice they could affect things around them in ways that didn't make sense so long as they abided certain rituals. You see, the world itself is something we can can virtual so far as it has a set of rules which allow for things to be maintained from within.

Some of these metaphysics had caught on to the fact they could help others so long as they made it their sole wish to keep them safe and made sure to regularly check in on them. Usually this effect came to people naturally, but the metaphysically minded were drawn to these patterns of interaction for their desire of understanding. It turns out that doctors, shamans, priests, etc all have the same thing in common regardless of their rituals or practices in the way they interact with the fundamental foundation of existence.

You can save others. It's just like hitting the save button! You do this at the cost of saving yourself, so you have to hope someone else does the same for you.

Fast forward to today and these teachings are the asking most important thing we convey to all our children! We're called the savior's college and our mission is to make sure nobody is left behind who risks their life to save others! There are many strange phenomena still being uncovered, but we are going to be much more safe while we explore them now.

Quite the opposite, it amazes me, hypnotizes me like a 'gineminosaurus' lollypop 3 years old. That's the whole point of empty void, there is nothing, no sadness, no pain, no struggles... yes, there is also no happiness, no extazy and such... there is only nothingness and when you are nothing, when you feel nothing there is nothing to be scared of. But do you really feel then? You are gone, no after life, no after thought, no after feelings nor sensations, nothing. That's the beauty of this idea.

Aha! A fellow connoisseur of the classic series!

I

"Okay. Explain this to me again. You think that your mailman proves that we're all living in a simulation."

"Yes."

"And that your mailman was a non-player character."

"Yes!"

"And that's why you killed him?"

The man laughed. He looked terrible under the harsh light in the "interview" room. Tired. Greasy. And yet his laughter sounded genuine.

"Don't worry. I've killed him lots of times. He won't stay dead."

"He won't stay dead? How do you-"

"Look, I know it sounds crazy. Ok? So, you know, spare me that part. Fast forward? Half of me hopes that I really am crazy and that he really is actually dead this time. If he is, go ahead and put me in the loony bin or jail. Or do whatever you want with me I guess. I just can't take it anymore."

"But you think. What? He's going to be resurrected? I've seen the man's body. He is dead."

"I don't know. Whenever I have killed him before it's always ended up being Sunday."

"You killed him on a Sunday?"

"I don't know. But no I always end up killing him on a Saturday. It's hard to explain. I've killed him before. And stayed awake. I watched his spot. And he didn't reappear all day and I thought that I had finally killed him for real. But then it turned out it was Sunday and the mail just doesn't come on Sunday. But I didn't realize that and went to sleep on Sunday night. And on Monday he was back again. Right in his spot. And the weird part is no matter what day I think it is when I kill him, it always ends up having been a Saturday."

"Wait, slow down. His spot?"

"Yes. His spot. The funny thing is I've lived in this house for several years and I never saw him there before. I guess it's possible he was there for quite a while before I noticed, I don't hang out in my front yard a lot and it's pretty big.

Anyway. Yes. He has a spot. I first noticed him there during the COVID lockdown. Because I was trying to clean up my yard. And there he was, my mailman. Just standing there in my front yard staring off into the distance. I asked him how he was doing and kind of tried to hint that it was weird that he was there, but he didn't seem to get the hint. At all."

He paused, staring off into the distance himself.

"He never gets the hint."

"So you killed him because he wouldn't leave your yard? Did you ever actually ask him to leave? Beyond hinting?"

"Oh yes, absolutely. Before the first time I killed him. I yelled and screamed and threatened him with a baseball bat. A baseball bat that I eventually beat him with. He begged me to stop, but when I told him just to get up and leave he wouldn't do it. He got up, stood right back in his place, and just stared off into the horizon again. And then 20 minutes later, he delivered my mail. As if nothing had happened."

The prisoner shook his head.

"The next day, all his wounds were gone. It was really as if I had dreamed the whole thing."

"Sir I have to ask you. Are you currently taking any psychiatric medication? Have you or any family members ever been diagnosed with schizophrenia, anything like that?"

"No, never anything like this."

The detective seemed to take a few minutes to ponder. Then, as if a machine clicking to a logical conclusion, he stood up.

"Okay then. Well I take it you're not denying that you killed Mr. Smith."

"His name was Smith? What was his first name?"

"You never asked him?"

"Oh I asked him! Funny thing was he had names for his kids and his wife that he would tell me about all the time. But when I asked him his own name, he would laugh and say "oh, I'm just the mailman."

"That's funny. The file here just says Mailman Smith. I guess they haven't ID'd him yet either."

The prisoner began to laugh again.

"What will you bet me that that comes back as his real actual name?"

The detective paused. He looked at his prisoner, and for the life of him not being able to believe that this man was in the grips of any delusion or fantasy.

"Bet you? I don't know. What kind of a wager would you like?"

"If you don't get a real name for this guy by 5:AM. A name that's not Mailman Smith. Then you have to bring me back to my house tomorrow morning. At 6:00 a.m. Or whenever the Sun comes up, apparently."

"And why would you want that?"

"Because. I finally got a police officer to take interest in this. I want you to see him reappear in his spot. His spot in my yard."

"You've tried to report this to the police before?"

"Oh yes. Dozens of times. I've also called the post office. Nobody seems to be able to do anything about it. People say they will send someone but no one ever comes."

"And you're not worried about the Saturday thing?"

"No. I waited an extra day before I called you and reported myself for murder. "

The detective paused. Thought.

"You say you've reported this before? There has to be a record of that."

The prisoner stopped laughing, stopped smiling. Looked the detective dead in the eye.

"Yeah, you would think so, right?"

II

"I can't believe I'm actually doing this. Tell me again what you expect to happen here."

"Honestly, I can't believe you're doing it either. You must not be part of the simulation."

The detective looked at him. The prisoner smiled.

"Hey, I know what I sound like. I might as well just roll with it right?"

The detective, clearly conflicted, chose not to engage. Instead he repeated the question.

"Sunrise at 5:58 this morning. What are you expecting to happen?"

"It's hard to describe. I've only watched him spawn a few times."

"Spawn?"

"Yeah, just like a video game. You know the place in the game where you appear each time you get killed?"

"It's always the same spot?"

"Are you sure you're a detective? Like a police detective? Yes I'm sure. Always in the same spot as I've told you about 15 times now."

"Where's the spot?"

"You see that tree over there? About 10 or 15 yd further in from the fence directly between us and that tree. That's where he appears.

"Kind of in the shadows that tree at sunrise?"

Exactly. The world will light up a little bit before you'll actually be able to see him. And for a while it will seem like he's not there and then it will seem like maybe there's something there but you can't tell what it is. For like just a few seconds. And then something will distract you and when you look back he'll just be there."

"Something will distract me?"

"Always does. Or at least always has so far. Some weird thing. Like a bird flying into my window. Once, it was a car alarm going off down the street. Something. And then when I attention returns to that space. Voila! Mailman Smith is back in action."

"And you think his body is going to disappear from the morgue."

"You set up the camera right?"

The officer sighed.

"I did not. As it turns out, setting up a camera in a morgue is considered creepy behavior and requires much paperwork."

"Well. Then it will just be your word against everyone else's. Welcome to my hell."

There was a moment of silence, both men watching the early morning light creeping into the yard.

"Hey. Is that what you're talking about? I do think I see something near that tree. Maybe it's just a shadow. No I think it's just a shadow, never mind."

"No, that's him. He'll be along in just a moment now."

"Well I'm not going to let anything distract me, I'm keeping my eyes right on that-"

Suddenly, the detective's phone rang. He pulled it out, annoyed. He hit the silence button and roughly shoved it back into his pocket. And when he looked back at the spot.

"...my god. Is that? It. It can't be."

"It's Mailman Smith." Said the prisoner in the passenger seat, deadpan. "In the flesh. So to speak."

The detective looked at him. The prisoner looked back.

"So. How about you take these cuffs off now, detective?"

"I can't. I can't just. I'm. I'm a detective. This isn't. I." The detective stammered and looked around in a panic.

"Oh no. Oh holy shit no. Fuck. FUUUUCCCKKK!! Detective. What is your name?"

"I'm not. I. I can't. Jones. Detective Jones. My name is Detective Jones."

"God. Sweet mother of fucking God. Detective, what is your first name?"

Oh. Oh No. I'm. No. I'm not. It can't be. I'm just. I'm just...Oh. Oh. Oh...

His eyes went wide.

"I'm just the detective."

Edit: a few words

This reads vaguely like Douglas Adams wrote it

It's "err" on the side of caution, not air. Loved your writing! Creative take.

Contrary to popular belief, there is actually 140 levels in hell, however the lowest has no relevance to their morality, but rather their past in general.

This level was meant for the half breeds, the damned, the ones whose souls were unwillingly sacrificed. They receive no punishment, but unfortunately are not able to legally enter heaven. This level is known as purgatory.

These people have regular 9-5 jobs in hell and start at level 139. They are work as janitors, maintenance, administration, and other support personnel. At the end of each work week, the bosses will do an assessment of how they did.

These people get 1 of 3 options in their weekly review: ✓, -, or X. With the exception of level 139, any employee that does poorly at their assigned role receives an X; meaning they have not met the obligations required and will have to work 1 level lower, starting the following week. With a -, the employee has met the average expectation and will continue to work at their assigned level the following week. Those who exceeded expectations will receive a ✓ and move up 1-5 levels higher, depending on how their exemplary duties positively impacted hell as a whole.

According to the Celestial/Demon Act of 1AD, once an employee has completed all levels and risen to the top, their spiritual contract will be fulfilled; immediately reincarnating an earth as a fresh soul with a clean slate, and having no memory of their prior spiritual servitude.

it certainly beats warm and stale non-alcoholic beer, that's for sure!

Hm,fuck. I think i made a pretty good choice though

Thanks for the laughs