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“… some hibiscus, and a few shavings of ginger root… there!” I brought the teapot to my nose, wafting together the aromas of the ingredients as a conductor orchestrating a symphony. With a twist of the knob on the hot water tap I began to fill the vessel with tea-to-be, the dried leaves and petals blooming once more as the water breathed life and color into the herbs.

I carried the full pot to my kitchen table and took a seat to wait and watch this almost sacred part of my morning ritual. The essences of each component mingled in dull clouds that swirled through the liquid. As the surface settled I caught my own reflection in the tea, a darkened image of my own eye looking back at me from within. I let my gaze drift back to the cabinet where I had spent years haphazardly hoarding bottles of this and that like a greedy sorcerer with a penchant for potions. A little vial containing twists of lemon peel caught my attention, perhaps the perfect sharp note to sing out at the top of my brew.

When I dropped the rind into the pot, shattering the placid surface for a moment, it was almost as though the whole character of the tea shifted, the clouds within swirling in turbulent spirals. I’d never been quite so attentive to the way a single ingredient could alter a brew, and I eagerly awaited a chance to sample the results as the tea settled once more. I caught my own eye on the surface once more, making eye contact until… it blinked.

I would probably have convinced myself it was a trick of the light if it didn’t disappear from the pot altogether shortly after. In its place, something bobbed up from impossibly deep within- a bottle? A glass bottle, but its base was far too wide to fit through the lid of my pot.

Hurriedly I pulled a large plate from the cupboard and poured enough tea onto it to form a shallow pool. When it settled again a pair of eyes this time appeared once more, followed by a bottle, which bobbed to the surface and rolled to its side on my plate, revealing a scroll of paper within.

I took the bottle and uncorked it, retrieving the message. “Please help, accident at tea plantation. Fell into a flooded crop. Trapped here for two weeks, unable to escape through teacups, teapots, travel mugs.”

I dropped the note to the table and ran to the cabinet, scooping as many ingredients into my arms as I could before ferrying them to the bathroom. I began to draw a bath and surveyed the basin before me as I contemplated my stock of ingredients. “I’m going to need more tea when this is all finished.”

More!!!

I swear to god if someone steps up to this I need to see a version where it's just two Englishmen in their tank accidently opening a rift between realities.

It would barely be large enough to be seen in your hand with the naked eye (before your hand and body brutally contorts and gets sucked into it.)

How did I know it was Kurzgesagt?

Possibly. I’ll see what I can do, might be a while tho.

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Do we get a continuation?

Thanks!

I see gay cowboy and all I can think of is Brokeback Mountain.

A lying sherif tells the truth for once to a criminal.

Gay cowboy falling in love with the banker's son.

Pt 5.

“Who are you?” I asked shakily. This man was much taller than any I had seen before. He had a long beard and golden, glowing eyes. His demeanor portrayed his seriousness.

“My name is Tyr, the god of war. Zeus sent me to apprehend you, given that his worthless son could not.” In an instant he was standing directly in front of me. His hand snapped around my throat, lifting me from the ground. “We’re going to the high council.” He snarled, bringing me closer to his face.

I fought to break free, but his grip did not waver. He was much stronger than Ethdos. No matter how hard I kicked about, his arm didn’t so much as budge.

I wrapped my hands around his forearm, attempting to replicate the same explosion I used to end Ethdos. This time, I let the pressure increase far more than previously. Then, with the relaxation of my wrist, my palms detonated like bombs. Though his face was blocked by smoke, I could tell not even his expression had changed. Nor did his grip loosen.

“Fight as much as you’d like, but you’re nothing compared to your former self.” He said, leaving me confused. Former self? What was he talking about?

Suddenly, we were enveloped by a blue smoke. It swirled around us, making me nauseous. As the smoke cleared, I could see what looked like a city. We were standing on a platform suspended in the air, far above the city’s surface. As Tyr turned around, I realized what they meant by “high council”. 8 gods, all seated side by side, with an empty seat on the far right side. The person sitting in the center couldn’t be mistaken. It was Zeus.

Tyr threw me to the ground. As I tried to stand, chains rose from the ground below, wrapping themselves around my feet and arms. I attempted to move, but it was futile. I wanted to run. To get away from this place. I was scared. I didn’t want to find out what they would do to me.

I began to tremble out of fear. I can’t remember a time that I felt this way. I had always been far stronger and faster than anyone else. I had never lost a fight. And here I stood, shaking like a coward.

I could feel the color drain from my face as Zeus’ eyes met my own. The look plastered across his face was one of pure hatred, maybe disgust even. He stood from his chair, towering over the other 7. I thought Tyr was tall, but even he was short compared to the tree of a man… no… god, standing before me.

“Ezekiel.” His voice boomed. “You have been brought here to face your crimes committed against Olympus. Though we held this trail once before, it seems as if your death was not permanent. Reborn in this pitiful form. Though with this rebirth, it seems you have forgotten your past life, father.”

Let know if y’all want part 6! And I’m open to any and all criticism!

[deleted]

The moon doesnt, so I don’t think so?

The honor of the Holy Order of St. Winchester hung in the balance on the desolate plains, their shining light becoming clouded with thick coal smoke. No longer did the townsfolk worship their ballistic lords, they worshiped the belching locomotives with their shattering whistles and roaring wheels. Bandits ran the rails, using pagan magic to shield their transports.

Cardinal Black prayed over his gunmetal grey six-shooters and bandolier. A thin slit of moonlight illuminated the crude altar of the field chapel. The Cardinal prayed upon his rosary of bullets, imbuing them with enough force to pierce the heathen's shields. To destroy their infernal locomotives. He loaded the chambers slowly, methodically, carefully. A kiss on the barrels before a dip in holy water.

Cardinal Black holstered his holy irons, he strode with haste into the center of camp, it was almost time. He gathered his flock, they knelt before him, he blessed his posse.

"Now is the time we strike, my sons and daughters of the lord! These heathens threaten our way of life with their manifest destiny! This land is our land, and forever shall be! While the lord may favor us he cannot protect us, we shall all not return from tonight but you shall live forever on the glorious plains of heaven! To arms!"

Cardinal Black shepherded his platoon into the trees to lay in wait for the beast. Rumbling shook the valley, roaring wheels ground on tracks, black smoke blotted out the moon. Cardinal Black liked fighting in the dark. The platoon readied their weapons. Many said their final prayers.

Brimstone bullets flew from armored gattling guns atop the locomotive, the heathens were ready, but out of position, train can only follow the tracks. Piercing bolts of holy lightning cracked from six shooters, shattering the pagan shield. Divine justice delivered swiftly to the gunners. Cardinal Black leapt onto the train, quickly reloading as he shimmied down the side, smashing a window for an entrance.

He pushed towards the front, irons akimbo. The cramped hallway an ideal shooting gallery, heads popped as Black advanced to what he sought to steal being held in the cargo car, the dead sea shotgun, the weapon of prophecy. Black collected himself as the fight raged atop the train, a quick prayer before storming the car. Two guards, not a problem, two fans of the hammer relieved them of their lives.

Black opened the lead box, it glowed when opened. A gleaming silver shotgun seemed to hum with a heavenly voice. Black snatched it quickly, a perfect fit in his hands. The rack of the shotgun reverberated through Black's body, white feathered wings burst from his back. Time to win back the west.

Part 5 let's go

You're rounding up the cattle when you see huge antlers among the herd. It's a caribou. You have no idea how it got here.

Smoke danced with piano notes in the dim, dingy saloon, a perfect place to plan a job. Gerald Declan kicked his feet up on the rickety wooden table, lighting up a cigar. His left hand gal Sadie brought him and his right hand man, Salem another round of whiskey while they talked shop.

Gerald went over the plan again. "Real simple stagecoach heist, done it a million times. Cargo is rations for an army outpost, we're gonna steal those and give em to the indians in exchange for them helping us ambush the train that runs through their valley.

I approach the driver and gunman on foot, they'll trust me due to my reputation. I'll weave some story about an ambush up ahead, take em on a little detour to the real ambush. Once they're boxed in I'll pop em both. You two watch my ass. Strip em down, put on their uniforms, ride the hell out of there. Easy as pie." Gerald smiled, a voluminous puff of smoke emanated from his lips.

Sadie chuckled. "Must be nice being seen as the hero after all the shit you've pulled."

Gerald took a gulp of whiskey "I still maintain my image. Heroic gunslinger that always shoots the bad guy dead at high noon, all in the name of frontier justice. What a crock of shit. Ain't no fucking justice out here."

Salem raised his glass. "Boss sees the big picture. All these jobs string together, play our cards right, we'll have this whole county under our thumbs. Soon enough, whole damn state. Little later on, whole damn country. Lotta sheep in this country willing to vote for the wolf wearing their clothes."

"Damn it's gonna be fun when we're sitting at the top, once we get political power we can really get away with some good scores. White collar crime, that's where it's at. If you write the dictionary you can define justice however you want."

The three clinked their glasses together, another empire being built in a bar, like the old saying goes, if you love what you do you never work a day in your life.

I love it

Lightning cracked the night sky, bats soared from the belfry of the great manor on the hill. Wolves howled along with the thunder. Ominous storm clouds clung to the isolated manor, a group of five riders galloped towards it. The notorious Grimes gang were the only posse willing to take on the bounty, dead or alive, just the way they liked it. This job would change everything with such a high price.

Bounty was a killer, speculation was he kidnapped at least thirteen of the townsfolk, never to be seen again. Real old feller, lotta wrinkles, pale dead eyes, sharp teeth, but deceptively handsome and suave. All the supplies were gathered, robbed a grocer of all his garlic, boosted some holy water and crosses from the chapel, pulled a few railroad spikes, hope nobody is using those tracks.

Silver bullets for the gang's six shooters, although the leader Gus, protested that was for werewolves, not blood suckers. He was overruled. Gang dismounted to approach quietly on foot. Gus's right hand man, Percival, a proper British fella who was the brains of the operation went over the plan one last time.

"Split up and search room by room. Keep your lanterns lit, stay out of the shadows. The garlic around your necks and the crosses around your waists should keep any foul creature within striking distance. Do not hesitate to strike, do not let the blood sucker seduce you.

Do not underestimate this creature. They can hypnotize you, seduce you, offer you vast riches in exchange for obedience. Do not listen to his lies should he tell them. Plunge the stake into his heart, get paid. Easy enough."

The gang put their fists in and pumped themselves up. They were gonna be rich. Gus led the charge through the iron front gates, Selina blew the front door open with her double barreled shotgun. Splitting up went out the window as they entered the grand hall.

An endless red carpet lined with torches made from human skulls led to the foot of a massive throne made of human remains. A pale, slender man sat with his legs crossed, cape draped over him, drinking deeply from a golden goblet.

"Vasn't expecting company zis evening." An ethereal voice called out, the voice reverberating in the gang's skulls. They opened fire, sending round after round downrange. Gunsmoke filled the hall, bullets whizzed and ricocheted through the haze. A chilling cold swept across the gang members, the hall fell silent. The smoke parted, the slender man unfurled his cape, dropping the bullets.

"I believe zes are yours. Who are you people?" He asked.

Percival kept good to his word, he lunged at the man. Percy was a lover, not a fighter. Two sharp fangs clamped around his neck, using him as a meat shield, a cloudy smoke filled Percival's pupils. The slender man used his sharp fingernails to cut the garlic and cross from Percy's body. "Zes trinkets vill do nothing for you. I have gotten rid of that veakness. Thank you for dinner. You may leave now."

The gang reloaded. Meat shield or not they had to keep shooting, the next volley tore Percival to shreds, missed the man entirely, another cold mist, he was behind Selina now. He licked her neck sensuously. "You vill do. Quite beautiful. Kill zem, then you shall be mine."

Selina blew off Stan and John's heads, her hands shaking the entire time, eyes wide with fear. Blood spurted from piercing fangs, the man enveloped Selina with his cape, spinning her like a ballroom dancer. He locked eyes with Gus. Gus had one last shot, he threw the glass bottle of holy water at the man, hit him dead center, flames engulfed the dancers.

Gus rushed into the inferno clutching his railroad spike. With all his might he drove it deep into the man's chest, pinning him to the wall. A splash of blood erupted from the man's mouth, a sinister sneer crossed his face. "You have not von. My children are still hungry."

The howl of a wolf, the putrid smell of rotten breath, the slashing of claws on his shoulder, and the clamp of jagged teeth the last things Gus experienced on the dusty trail all cowboys ride.

Wholesome ending, I dig it!

Yes I would very much like that

Same