Pretty sure this is how Australia came to be

I think AMA is Ask Me Anything

This was great! Brilliant descriptive writing :)

Gender reversed version of The Stars Have Eyes.

Is this the Jewish space laser I’ve been hearing about?

This feels Dresden-ish. You were also vague enough that this could fit into an urban fantasy setting with modern, supernatural nobility. But really this whole prompt seems built to make Dresden Files type responses.

I was loving it the whole way through but I genuinely gasped at the ending. Pure gold!

It actually wasn't really the intention, but it's up to interpretation, and I'm not going to agree nor deny :D

Oh my god.

Way to capture a more realistic interaction in a world of magic and economics. Fun, quick read. I enjoyed it.

Same! My sides took a trip in orbit for there a moment.

"There is another...."

A sourceless whisper echoed around me, bringing with it a deep chill. As the words reached me I set down my book, looking around the crowded tavern. The patrons seemed oblivious, though the tables close by shivered. They drew their clothes tighter, hunching thier shoulders. It was as though they could feel the grave beckoning, though they did not realise.

I gulped down what was left of my drink, placing the empty mug on the table. Quietly I made my way towards the stairs, as people looked up at me, before glancing away. They knew of me, my exploits teaching far and wide. But it did not make me welcome. Conversations quietened as I passed, words killed by the thought of my patron.

I paid them little mind. I had a duty, one I would not shy away from. My patron had my utmost trust and loyalty. Whatever they asked, I would do. Even thought it marked me as different, and one that all would be unconsciously wary of.

Floorboards creaked as I made my way to the room I had hired. It was small but functional, a single bed set against one wall. At its foot was a chest, currently holding my pack. A small table and chair finished its furniture, arranged beneath an open window.

I laid down on the bed, crossing my arms over my chest. I slowed my breathing, focusing on just letting it in and out. My awareness of the room drew in, sounds being lost, sights ignored. My breath was all there was, even as it slowed further. A creeping cold flowed over my limbs, a familiar sensation. It seized my chest, chilling further. My breaths came even slower, until finally they stopped.

"Champion, I require your services once more."

I opened my eyes, seeing a forest around me. It was devoid of colour, as these places always were. I caught glimpses of animals racing away, primal instincts making them flee. A shadow beside me bulged upwards, shaping into a floating ragged figure. I bowed my head, speaking in a quiet tone. "Who cuts short fate now?"

Death hovered through the forest, unspoken words bidding me to follow. I did as asked, seeing a worn path leading through the trees. Before us a tower rose, worn stones reclaimed from their decay. "The Dark Witch of Dazu resides here. She sacrifices the innocent in the name of her unholy masters, feeding their souls in return for power."

As if called, the door to the tower open. From within came a new person, coloured in this greyscale world. She wore a dress of red, with a lace pattern of flames set around her neck. A brown leather belt was wrapped around her waist, holding a series of bags, with a thin wooden wand stuck inside. Her blonde hair hung loosely around her shoulders, with a pointed black hat set atop. I took in her close set eyes, and button nose. Her face would be burned into my thoughts, until such time as she fell.

Death out a spectral hand on my shoulder, a surprising source of warmth. "Send her to me, that she might receive that which she deserves."

I nodded, bowing my head once more. "I will not fail you."

"I know. Now breathe."

Suddenly I took in a great gulp of air, my lungs burning. The forest vanished, as I sat up on my bed. My rested heart beat rapidly, working to fight against the chill of the grave that always came.

I had a new villain. A witch, with power of infernal origin. I would not celebrate her demise, but I would send her there nonetheless. This was my duty, as the Reapers Touch. The only hero chosen by Death.

After a barrage of knocking and several persistent buzzer prods, I relented and opened the apartment door.

“Yes! What?!”

“Good afternoon Sir, how are you on this blessed day?”

Crammed into the hallway were a smiling cluster of figures in what could only be described as funeral garb. The men wore dark suits and dark ties, the women dark crepe and shawls, all of which clashed bizarrely with their beaming smiles.

I felt my anger slacken into bewilderment and fumbled for a response, “Yeah – I’m good, thanks. Uh, how are you?”

“Marvelous. Just marvelous. Aren’t we everybody?” A chorus of vigorous nodding. Then a pronounced pause. They continued to beam. I forced a polite smile in response. No one offered an explanation.

“So. How can I help you?”

“Help us? No, no, we're here to help you Mr Jones”

“How do you know my—?”.

He waggled a stack of envelopes. “Hope you don’t mind. We thought we’d take the liberty of picking them up for you on our way in.”

“Right. Thanks.”

I scrutinized my well-mannered interlocutor. He seemed pleasant enough really: clean cut, friendly, immaculately polite, so much so he had still not unclasped his hands from behind his back.

“Anywho. I am brother Simon and this here is our humble little congregation,” he continued. “We come here today from The Church of the Weeping Wound. Do you know us? No? Well in that case, we have Liza, Charles, Jonathan —” he glanced back at the throng and thought better than to name them all. “And that fellow there,” he gestured to a titan of a man lurking by the complex’s gate, “is Peter.” Peter glowered in acknowledgement.

“Do you have a couple of minutes?”

“Not really, I’m actually quite — ”

“Oh it won’t take long,” he swept onwards. “Now do pardon my intrusiveness here. But we’re all eager to know. Have you found our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.”

“Yes. We’re all Methodists thanks. Is that all?”

“No, excuse me if I wasn’t clear just now.” The syrupy sweetness of his drawl hardened into something grave. “Have you found him?”

I glanced behind the door. Finger pressed against his lips, eyes white and wide. He stared at me in a silent, urgent plea.

“You see, we’ve had some reports, and well, we’re under the impression that someone here has likely found him by now.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

His eyes narrowed. The congregation straightened into alertness. In the corner of my vision, I saw the man behind the door press himself back into the corner. Several seconds passed. Then, Brother Simon began to nod solemnly. His drawl returned, “No, no. My mistake. A fine Methodist like yourself, of course you've found the way already."

“Is that all?”

He nodded and turned over his shoulder.“Peter,” he called out tenderly to the giant at the end of the corridor.

“Yes, Father.”

“Guard the gate.”

Feel free to have that be your headcanon/interpretation if that is your preference. Either way, Paddy gets their souls.

(WP) To finally solve all problems caused by humans, God made six new earths, to separate everyone depending on their sins, Earth 1 being for the best people and Earth 7 for the worst sinners. Every 50 years, angels arrive and re-judge people to decide if they should stay, go up or down.

And they appear without warning. You'll be working, jogging, sleeping or even bathing and suddenly one will be there ready to escort you to "The Tunnel", for your sentence.

I was laying on my couch, after a frustrating day at work with a bunch of imbeciles, who didn't know their ass from a hole in the ground. Especially this real jackass, who thought he knew everything and me, his boss, knew nothing just because I was new.

I felt like a cat wrangler on a cheap movie set. I'd tell one where to go and what to do, and move onto the next when the first returns with a baffled look on his face asking, "Now what did you say to do?". Ughhh.

I couldn't wait to go home. I wasted no time rushing to my little sleeping room over a crappy neighborhood bagel shop. I unlocked the door, hurried in and kicked my sweaty, hot workboots off, pulled my nasty socks off and collapse on my couch, wiggling my cramped toes loose with relief. I had just closed my eyes and was rubbing my temples dreading tomorrow when the room got real cold, like the air conditioner had kicked on.

I raised my head and was instantly startled, standing by my front door, was this huge, and I do mean huge, beast. It had the large mane and head of a lion, and the body of someone who had taken a mega dose of steroids their entire life.

On his feet were gold shoes with little wings at the heels, fluttering and behind him stood these ginormous set of beautiful, snow white wings attached at his shoulder blades, softly flapping back and forth, producing this chilling breeze that rivaled any ac unit.

I started to scream as I sat up in fear, and this Lion Angel quickly held up his hand as if to stop me, and I lost my voice. I was screaming but nothing came out. The beast then waved his hand at me in a downward motion and my body instantly complied and drop to the couch. Fear raged through me. I knew what the beast wanted and why he was here. It was my turn to go.

I am immediately intrigued by this character(?) and the ending leaves me wanting so much more!

Thank you for this amazing reply!

Ahhhh, I was getting worried that there wouldn’t be any monsterfucking responses lol

Nah, cause then you got rapists on the same earth as slightly horny people. Plus, what of people that don't predominantly exhibit any of them?

Honestly with how good the writing is I'd rather not get a part two.

The awkwardness would be prime

Love the world building in such a short passage. Very nice 👌

I love Earth 7 as atheist heaven.

"It's broken," Nilor replied.

The wizard rubbed his temples. "Listen, I say, 'What's wrong with it?' You can't just say, 'It's broken.' How is it broken?"

"It doesn't work right."

The wizard imagined hitting Nilor with a slow disintegration spell. A very slow one. "Is it dull?"

"No."

"Does the flame keep going out?"

"No, that's the problem."

"That your Everburning Blade won't stop burning?" He tried to just focus on the fact closing time was nearly here.

"Yes! Do you know how many scabbards it destroyed? I can't put it down anywhere. I don't even know how much water I've had to drink to deal with the sweating!"

"Ah, so you turned down the sword and sheath combo. We can sell you a sheath now."

"I'm not paying extra for a sheath to make this sword usable."

Considering the quickest way to show how useful the sword was, and then deciding it was a bad day to murder someone, the wizard said, "Are you looking to sell it back?"

"You know what? Fine, yes. I want my money back."

The wizard summoned a spectral abacus and set to work. "Ok, one used Everburning Blade, no sheath, comes to 180 gold."

"What? I paid 500 for this!"

"Prices fluctuate, and I have no idea what you've cut or burned with it since you bought it."

"I only had it for a couple days!"

"Ok, then keep it."

Nilor gave a defeated sigh. "Can I get more if I do store credit?"

"Ah, what the heck, let's go 250 if it's credit."

"Sounds great."

And I became good at my work. Through shadows I would pace, guarding countless cities. No innocents would find themselves experiencing the cold knife through their guts, just because someone ruled by the madness of chemicals needed currency to acquire more chemicals. I took from such people, who in their darkest hours had lost sense, their dependencies, their hunger for more chemicals, and filled them with duty. I ate their mistakes and burned their addictions. Leaving them cured and sane for the first time in years. Many heroes dedicated themselves to fighting large scale crime, the supervillains, and indeed I did partake in that. But to every creature comes a niche. And I found mine. I stalked through every shadow in every city, every town, stopping random murders, kidnappings, and worse things. I, who could exist in several places at once, began hiding underneath beds, and in closets. I waited for the moment when the monsters came to strike.

Soon, the children of Earth would not fear what lived in the darkness of their rooms, for they would know that I am there, protecting them from those who'd seek to do great and terrible harm to them. What the evil ones do in the dark, I make it so that it is brought to the light. The crimes that are truly wicked, I see them. So what if a few superheroes don't trust me? That is normal. Heroes cannot truly trust one-another. Every team-up ends, every society for righteousness breaks down. They keep track of every one of my larger appearances, they whisper in fear that I am playing a long game. That is true, the long game is hope. And I like it. I seek to make more of it, as a superhero should. I find the missing people, I carry the wounded to safety, I keep the innocent free from those who would destroy them. That is my long game. I am a superhero, that is what we do. And today, I take another step towards the creation of more hope, of more that can grow, be breathtaking and wonderful. From within a dark abandoned church, I have carried an orphaned child. Her parents sacrificed to one of the pitiful things called demons, beings that back home would have been considered the same sort of infestation as a nest of cockroaches in a human house. Fearful of the touch of the flesh of mortals, the liquid void that I am, upon which she floats, it soothes her wounded mind.

A hero takes an apprentice. That is right. She has seen her family dead, and she has no-one left. I see a future in which the system fails her, something which I wish to speak with the other superheroes about if I can, I see a future where her grief consumes her. And so, it is my duty to bring hope, to rebuild her and make her my sidekick. So that she will not be lost. I see in that future, that she stands tall and proud, a superhero just like me. There are those in the superhero community who will see that as a threat, but I am not a supervillain. I am a superhero, and I will do the right thing, no matter what. Let justice be done, though the heavens may fall. And in the future that I see, there will be superheroes. Mages, warriors, sneaks, and others of mighty abilities. There beyond them I will be, and amidst them, she will be. My Obsidian Knight. Clad in armour made from the material-flesh of a living black hole, wielding the Potentiality-Blade, that both is, and isn't.

The only thing I am annoyed about, in this future I see as I float her through the dark forest, healing her physical wounds, keeping her safe in my grasp, is that no matter what I do; I can't in any such future see myself wearing one of those wonderful superhero-suits. They're delightfully colourful, but the unending abyssal force of my continued existence is not very conductive towards a superhero-uniform. And I feel a pang of despair from that. I am not humanoid, and my form shifts too much to maintain a permanent human-like shape. So I just can't wear a proper hero uniform. If only I could find a method, then I am sure I wouldn't get attacked by the other superheroes out of fear, so very often.

/r/ApocalypseOwl

There is a place in the universe that contains the dual properties of being both relatively safe and also extremely enjoyable. A world of costumed heroes, of scientific pioneers pushing the boundaries, a warm world of bright lights, and fascinating stories. From the cosmic darkness of the heart of the Ascendancy of Ygrillon, I heard their stories broadcasted and picked up by our remote sensors. From our cold world orbiting Threrkillarn, the dread star that is both dead and dreaming, I heard of this wondrous place. The planet Earth, where there was a home for all manner of creatures. An intersection of galactic travel, of dimensional portal-networks, and of arcane leylines, it was and still remains a place full of interesting and unusual concepts; which I as a student at the Obsidian Academy of the Primordial Oblivion in the City of Enslaved-Gods could only dream of. And one idea, one story, fascinated me beyond all others, as I turned my unending gaze towards the broadcasts, soothed and awed by its splendour. The superhero. The beings that go beyond the impossible. Those who challenge by their very existence the ideals of entropy and decay, which has ruled my people for centuries.

I went there. I left behind my place in the Choir of Unchained Screams, I cast aside my seat as a Lord in the House of Lamentations, where I and countless others of that noble and ancient house have reigned over the Third Circle of Devastation since the days when our star still shone with living light. I came to Earth, with the intention of joining the ranks of the heroes, those who fight for justice, for righteousness, who unconsciously seek to overturn the end of the universe itself through supplying reality with more hope than it can bear to die with. I arrived in the darkness of the night, my cold-void form still bearing the cosmic scars of that long journey from the Galaxy of the Bleeding Eye, to this, ''Milky Way''. I saw those who were the victims of injustice, in need of salvation through the application of righteous violence upon their malefactors.

I tore through the flimsy construction of that building. Their futile attempts at using mere chemically projected metal bullets, nothing more than a tickle for my ever-shifting void-form. I searched high and low for those who I heard the psychic anguish of, tearing through the floor until I reached a secret basement. Finding there the place where the innocent are kept in cages against their will. With the cold rage of a true hero, I bound the malefactors to experience the most exquisite nightmares, capturing them inside their own frail skulls, until the duly appointed and just authorities would arrive to take them to be judged for their sins. I bound the cages themselves to the unending march of entropy, and dissolved them into rust and ashes, allowing the poor caged men and women the change to escape, as was right and proper. I was ecstatic, to the point that being in my presence would have killed a member of the House of Melancholy from sheer psychic glee.

I had saved my first group of people, like a proper hero. Just like the broadcasts had shown. It had been fun, and far more satisfying than screaming the infinity to stillness in the vastness of time. For the first time in my life I felt like I was doing the right thing. Which was why I was suddenly very confused to be struck with a concentrated beam of raw energy. Light and heat. I shifted my body to avoid the worst of it, but in my elation I had not noticed the encroachment of a being clad in bright colours. A superhero! At first I thought she had merely been confused, but she kept attacking my, her blade trying in vain to cut through my abyssal flesh, shifting like water around the sharpness to avoid destroying what was clearly a cherished weapon. I tried reaching out to her confused mind, wondering if she was perhaps being controlled by anything malicious. But her screams became louder, as she tried to shut me out. I did not want to harm anyone, so rather than let her fire more of her beams from her eyes potentially hitting any civilians, I decided to de-escalate. Heroes are, according to the broadcasts I've seen, a volatile lot, prone to infighting, due to their burning hot tempers. But de-escalating would always make them calm down and think more rationally.

I poured myself into my own confines, turning from an ever-shifting liquid shape, into something more solid. Thus has always been our kinds way to show non-hostile intent. Becoming metal, drinking light around me, in the shape of a mask. The hero stopped, and cautiously approached me. Her warm flesh reached for me, and into her head I spoke with soothing words. She dropped me instantly, but then picked me back up again. She couldn't quite understand what I was, the concept of what I am cannot be fully grasped by mortal minds, and no matter what I tried, she could not see. But when I showed her the broadcasts, she nodded, especially as I placed myself as a mask into the old broadcasts, as I played them inside her mind. I then made her remember what I had done, who I had freed, placed it in her feeble mortal memory system. Gently she put me down, and I reformed into a more proper shape. I could not approach that of the shape of her kindred, but something vaguely the same size was possible, if a little constricting.

''Those old broadcasts, the kidnapped refugees, your refusal to fight... You're nothing like what I expected.''

I tried answering in a way she could deal with. Forming something that could even be used to speak was not beyond me, but translating thoughts into mere soundwaves was not something that came to a species that can share memories, intentions, and desires in a more direct fashion.

''BENEDICTION. COMBAT CESSATION. INTRODUCTIONS. ABYSSAL-OCEAN-VOID-IN-SOUND-OF-EXILE-DREAMS-DARINGLY.''

She blinked curiously. ''That's... your name. Something of a mouthful. My name is, well, my superhero name is Colonel Pacifica. I think you should probably shorten yours, just a bit.'' Her hand reached to her head, where I knew she could feel a migraine. The psychic waves of it, like waves of heat, was something I hadn't expected, but it was quite interesting to see how they would react to something like me. Pain was not something unusual, plenty of it back home. But this felt fresh, and not like the cold and dull suffering I had always known back home from the Screamer-Organs and Howling-Harmonicas. Reaching into her with an invisible tendril of power, I unmade the small growth inside of her skull that seemed to be causing her the suffering. She did not seem to mind.

''DESIGNATION. VOID-EXILE. RUBRIC-TITLE: SUPERHERO.''

She smiled cautiously. ''Uh. Good to meet you, Void-Exile. Welcome to Earth?'' Elation. Joy. Pleasure in the sense of the mind. I was accepted, I was known! I was a Superhero! I evaporated myself into a black mist leaving that location, and I began the righteous work. Perhaps I should have stayed, but there will be time for a team-up in the days to come. Though there was an odd situation on Earth, that the broadcasts had not prepared me for. The heroes would always try to fight me, when I came to the assistance of the innocent and the beleaguered. It was odd, but it kept happening. I would be absorbing the heat of a suddenly erupting volcano, saving the city of Naples, when a team of heroes would arrive to test my mettle in combat. Few of their attacks could do anything to me, of course. Their punches would simply enter the liquid flesh and come out the other side of me, cold. Their swords would bounce or shatter upon me. Their guns did nothing to one such as me.

Usually, I could get them to stop, by holding them tightly in my void-tendrils until I could show them what I was doing. A few did not take it well, but most began to leave me to do the supremely important work. I am of course aware that it was probably xenophobia against extra-terrestrials such as myself. I had taken note of a few others from beyond Earth, drawn in to its light and wonders like insects before the flames. Many of them could take upon themselves the shapes of men, but still they were often treated like outsiders. I found myself relating to that, but it was still worth it all. Sure, there was a lot of ''unhand those innocents vile demon!'' or variations that all felt terrified upon beholding my void-splendour in the liquid flesh. But there were others, those who began to see me for who I am. Those who recognised me as I fought back the dreamstealer-invasion. Who saw me guarding the cities from the hungry vermin that had taken root in humanity's mind; when only the non-Earthborn heroes were saved from losing their minds and souls to the vile clutches of those who wanted to consume mankind's collective mind. A few remembered how my soothing cold body had covered the world, locking the souls away from the enemy's grasp.

Others learned to see me in the night, as I consumed the forever-chemicals from the dirt and water of the world, such delicious corruption was a treat to something like me, but seemingly quite deadly to the beings of Earth. I was dissuaded from calling down the hammer of justice upon those responsible by other heroes, though I only obey that request out of respect; this is not my world of spawning, and thus things must be done according to the laws and customs of heroics here. Those who understood what I was doing, praised me with vigour. And yet others feared me. This is not uncommon. Many are the heroes in the broadcasts who are equally loved and hated. Those who gain infamy from doing good deeds, who in using their abilities committing themselves towards the greater responsibilities, only earned more action to be fought; those good men would go through life, only to be met with scorn and derision from all sides. And yet, it is worth it. To be a superhero.

"well" she said, swirling the glass of cheap spirits round "I don't know why you all spend all that money on rare materials, Mandrake root dragged from the ground under the light of a full moon, the hair of the mane of a Unicorn, The sweat of an Angel,And a huge dressing up mirror, it's all tremendously expensive"

she took anouther mouthful

"Now those ingredients in the right time of the moon, in the right proportions get you alife extension artifact that'll take years off your age. and you complain that because my recipe for the first stage of my spell uses everyday items and only results in taking a decade off your age rather than 25 years that the expensive stuff does my work is shoddy"

"Now let me tell you ladies, you don't know what you're talking about"

she said forecfully, a thin finger pointing at everone else around the circle.

"An amount of flour, some sugar, some butter, some mystical spices, and a few currants and combine them all with the proper incantations into the correct runic shape. and pretty soon you've summoned the second part of the spell. sometimes you don't even need to do the first part, Move to an area with enough stepmothers, and they'll supply the second parts materials for you. O.K. the second part tends to be messy and involver much work for the meatcleaver, and you do have to watch out for woodcutters, they tend to mess with the rituals."

She downed the glass and got up to walk out, shaking her head

"Shoddy, just because I don't use royalty in my ingredients"