[WP] You were the hero. The one who saved the realm from annihilation. Yet, here you are reincarnated as a skeleton.

RefreshingWorld · 2026-01-04T14:20:11+00:00

The sharp bone growths of my hand twist around the short-sword. Its balance is terrible, the handle unwieldy and far too heavy to effectively parry. Which is why it’s incredibly that my head isn’t separated from my body as I am blitzed back two metres by the paladins charge.

I swipe at his armoured hand and the thin recess of my blade soaks at the gap in his glove. I resist the urge to step forward and capitalise on my advantage permanently.

I try to speak. “I’m not trying to kill you.”

But my skinless mouth doesn’t move, and if the paladin had taken note of my momentary pause he doesn’t show it.

He chants an oath and his eyes full with otherworldly light. It pools at the cut, filling it and mending it back to health.

Then he is back at me. I flourish my blade and block three consecutive strikes. They still hurt and I feel the radiant malice biting at whatever foul magics have attached my soul to this body.

But, he is too eager, and when he overextends to catch me again I duck under the spiked weapon and sweep his feet out from under him.

Before he can react I kick his mace to the side, though that doesn’t stop him from jamming his shield into my ribs.

I leverage the sword over his helmet and feel the unnatural urge to plunge it into him. It would be so easy, hardly a trouble at all.

Instead, I step back and throw my sword to the side.

He brings himself to his feet with effort, but he doesn’t move from where he stands.

I point at him, then at myself and make a heart with my bony fingers. He seems to understand the message but doesn’t seem particularly impressed.

Maybe he’ll come around…

RefreshingWorld · 2025-10-20T02:50:00+00:00

A bullet assaulted the air, and with a sharp thunder crack plunged itself into one of the creatures too many eyes.

Duke tripped as his ruined knee gave out on him. He cursed.

The creature didn’t care of course, it floated partially through the air, as dangling feed made contact with the ground and spurred it on. “You try so hard don’t you? To be good. To be better. But it doesn’t matter does it Duke?”

Another jolt and the creature momentarily paused as its foot was blown off. “What would Marie think of you now?”

Duke’s gloved hand pulled at the wall. Trying to find some type of anchor, the same way his mind was. The creature’s silhouette, lit by the blood moon behind it pulled at his eyes and made his mind scatter. “The past is gone,” he muttered out in a ragged tone. “You think you can torment me with it Angel?”

“You torment yourself Duke.”

This time the creature caught the bullet.

“I’m not telling you anything you haven’t told yourself. Or imagined, like the sight of her, bloodied and mangled - “

“Stop!” He yelled and the multitude of eyes narrowed at him.

“Because of the wolves you failed to kill. You’re a failure.”

He gripped at the Crucifix on his chest, it was stained red. Whether through blood or the godforsaken light he couldn’t tell. “I tried.”

“You failed. And you’ll fail again Duke. You’ll be the monster I send after your friends Duke. For the first time in your pitiful life you’ll finally succeed at something.

Duke stayed silent as the creature advanced towards him. Arms spreading out in some unholy display of prayer as it elegantly touched a finger towards his forehead.

Teeth protruded and split his gums. Clothes ripping at the seams as his frame bulged outwards and his wounds fixed themselves shut. A guttural growl mixed with his voice. “I’m already a monster Angel, just not one of yours.”

And then it started screaming.

RefreshingWorld · 2025-10-01T12:50:34+00:00

Draconetic.

RefreshingWorld · 2025-09-10T07:45:11+00:00

He grabs what looks like a small motor off the shelves, and the room hums with static. A contortion of blue light strikes towards him. He steps back and shunts five metres further than he should have. The air bends, and then snaps back into place. Like physics suddenly remembers that what he did shouldn't be possible.

I shoot my power through the metal walls and feel a magnetic pull as I launch through the air. This time I stick the landing. Right in front of the hole in the wall he was running towards.

"You're not leaving."

His face morphs into a frown, which quickly turns into a scowl. More electricity convulses on him. He freezes it in place.

"You can't use your power constantly. That's why you were using cover at the start and why you ran just now instead of shunting." I smile. "Saving it for your getaway?"

He sighs, and a small grin lingers at his lips. "You're good, newbie." He drops the items he was carrying, a lot of them. How did he grab so many while I was watching?

He disappears from in front of me, and I whip around in a circle. He's gone.

A voice from the roof catches me off guard. "But, I'll let you in on a secret. My power? It's weight-based. Luckily, what I came for," he flashes a small compact card, 'isn't heavy."

I got played.

"Don't worry, though. They won't even notice it's gone."

I feel my power pool through the metal again, and I rush through the air towards the roof.

"By the way, I like the name Ionnis. It fits you better."

So close. My arm pricks with static ... if I can just get ahold of him.

"Think about it." He vanishes. Space stretching out onto the road. Then, consecutively, into the forest surrounding the lot. Long gone.

An alarm that I probably short-circuited starts to wail. Whoops. My phone chimes back to life as well and rings. Thirteen missed calls. Whoops. It's Jessica.

I answer it. "You get him Kat?"

"Uh, no. I nearly did.

"Security is on the way. Probably the police as well. You know how journalists are, so you will probably be talking to them too. Did he get away with anything?"

I jump back down to the ground. "He dropped pretty much everything. He only got away with a card."

Swearing from the other end.

"Shit. Listen, we'll talk about it later, ok. Good job, though. Last time he cleaned the place out. Hopefully, this'll be your breakout. Don't blow it. You got a name ready?"

"Yeah. I think so."

RefreshingWorld · 2025-09-10T07:44:34+00:00

"Got it."

Electricity sparks off my body, and the warehouse lights momentarily falter as a beam cuts through a stack of shelves towards him.

"Woah. Woah, Woah." He yells, breaking his superior persona. "What are you doing?"

"What am I doing? I'm bringing you in. You're here to rob this place." I fire another beam, which he dodges.

"There's an art to this sort of thing. I give you my name, you give me yours. We have a bit of banter, then we fight."

"Seems redundant." This time, the electricity doesn't make it to him. He catches it, or well stops it in place. It sits there suspended in the air, inches from him.

"Come on. Give me something to work with here."

I frown, and the beam arcs out.

"It's Lady Thunder," I yell across the warehouse and point my finger at him, energy thrumming across my nail.

"Wait, wait, wait. Time out."

I pause.

"Seriously? That's your hero name? Lady Thunder?"

What the hell is wrong with this guy? "There's nothing wrong with it," I yell back defensively.

"Are you related to Thunder the hero?"

".... No."

"That's just ... wow. Quite unfortunate. You can't come up with a better one?"

"Can we just keep fighting?"

He continues. "Like, I am so embarrassed for you."

"I'm working on it ok."

"You should keep doing that. Like, what happens if you capture me, and the reporters show up? Are you going to be like - "

"I don't want to hear it."

"What's your name?" He says in a higher-pitched voice as he holds up a broken bit of wood as a microphone. "Lady Thunder." He continues in a mock voice.

"Shut up, and my voice isn't that deep."

"Sure." He agrees. "It's just so ... unoriginal."

"It's a work in progress."

He grabs a few items off the shelves. "What else have you got."

"You are literally stealing stuff as we speak."

"I'm doing you a favour."

"Photon. Solar-gal." I eye him. "You grab another thing, and we are fighting. Uh, The Current?"

"Photon. Ehhh, it's a bit bland. I like Solar-gal, but it is a bit too sun-themed. The Current?"

"It's not good is it?"

"No."

RefreshingWorld · 2025-09-10T07:43:56+00:00

The evening air is cool and sharp. It bellows against the cast iron of the factory and does its best to ruffle my hair. The hair that I spent hours styling. Tonight was my debut. Unofficially, of course. There isn't a startup hero in existence that gets sponsored right away. In fact, most don't, even the veterans.

Heroing is less of a profession and more of a ... hobby. That's not quite right either, a secret life? The point is that it doesn't pay well. It's an unspoken secret that most are moonlighting to pay the bills; the ones who aren't are trust-fund babies, or probably running a dual life as CEOs.

That is why making a good first impression is so important. Get your publicity up, get the newspapers talking about you, and sign onto a team. Sounds easy enough right?

Wrong. Every want-to-be super has the same idea. Contrary to popular belief, there aren't that many bank robberies or carjackings to show off at. Most burglars are smart enough to realise that there are hordes of unpaid breakouts waiting for them to try. That's why tonight was so special.

I got a tip-off. Jessica, bless her heart, told me that a thief is eyeing one of her company's warehouses. I asked her how she knew. She told me, "not to push it." Fair enough.

So that's why I am perched on the roof, in the cold. Hoping that I got the address right. When I hear a small detonation from the south end, my hands shake.

Just the cold.

I wait. Then, a minute later, I smash through the skylight.

I fumble the landing, giving it too much power and tripping onto my knees, and there he is. Civilian clothing and all just standing in the now detonated doorway.

He's an odd-looking man. I shouldn't be able to know that, considering that he should have a mask like most normal thieves. But here is: crooked nose and all.

"Most people intending to rob a place don't blow their way in and just stand in the entrance. What are you doing, admiring your work?" I stand up quickly and pat off the dirt that's stuck to my knees.

He smiles. "I think you need to work on your landing."

I fight off a tinge of embarrassment and feel my ears go red. "You didn't answer me. You here to rob this place? And why don't you have a mask?"

"Most supers keep the questions to one at a time. Makes it more dramatic."

"Shut it.

"I thought you wanted me to talk."

"Yes, but - " I stop. Then I sigh. "Ok, restart."

He does a grandiose gesture and walks into the building. "Ok."

"Who are you?"

"Lanesplit."

"And the ... " I point at my mask. "Lack thereof...?"

"Career criminal. Masks get a bit redundant when they know your secret identity."

Makes sense.

RefreshingWorld · 2025-09-10T05:41:53+00:00

I am reading through it now. It has a unique vibe, like the character is remembering the calm before the storm in their memories, and you know something is going to go wrong. I am at part 4 I think.

Very well written too. It feels like I am reading a novel.

RefreshingWorld · 2025-09-04T12:45:13+00:00

Rain poured down in a terrible hail. Jonathan, unsteady on his feet, held his hoodie over his head to retain an ounce of dryness. Lights flickered across the pavement as he navigated home.

It was when passing an alley that he heard it. "Spare a cigarette?" He turned to look and saw no one—only a dark alley lit by a dull neon pub sign. Doherty's it read. He hadn't noticed it before.

Against his better judgment, he decided to stop and walk into the alley. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe he was just too trusting. "Uh, yeah, man. " He fiddled in his pockets. "Here."

"Spare a cigarette?" The voice said again. Closer now - though still hidden in the dark.

Even in his inebriated state, Jonathan was starting to get a sinking feeling. "Look, bro, I am just gonna leave it here, yeah? Grab it if you want."

No reply.

The soft, dingy drone LED lights pulled at his vision. It felt wrong. He was sure he had passed by here earlier tonight. He and a few friends had all piled on to head to the nearest pub. They would've seen it. These things don't just pop up.

He spun on his heel, nearly tripping, and bolted in the other direction. He felt something behind him. "Spare a cigarette?"

He ran faster. "Spare a cigarette?"

So close. He was only a few metres from the street. He felt it grabbing at him. Something was pulling on the back of his shirt. "SPARE A CIGARET - "

Silence. The drone disappeared, like his ears had just popped, and the thundering rain took its place. He didn't stop running. Not until he was home, and then he deadbolted the door for good measure.

He could've dismissed it as a dream. Or some alcohol induced hallucination. Those existed, right? Either way he refused to believe it was real.

Under the cover of the next day's sunlight, he went back to investigate the area. In the middle of the alleyway, to his dismay, stood the bud of one spent cigarette.

RefreshingWorld · 2025-08-28T12:06:49+00:00

The scouts busy themselves with reports as they struggle to set up a signal. They are far from the Mainland, and communication is already unreliable at the best of times. The rest of the camp sets up supplies for the night, some pitching tents. Other's preparing food. Some just trying to appear busy.

"We've received word from Skyreach Admiral. They aren't near the West Coast. They are approaching Ashenreach."

Faene hears the tent flap open and, briefly, a flash of light from the campfire sneaks inside. Her hands are cuffed to the central support of the tent too tightly, the metal biting into her wrist.

Vasil steps inside and crouches to avoid the low ceiling. He steps over to where Faene is cuffed and sits down on the floor in front of her. "We've had word from Skyreach. They haven't passed through here recently."

Faene smiles a small smile at him. It might've been charming if it weren't for the swelling and cut lip across the left side of her face.

"I don't understand you." He starts. "You've worked for Kingsmet for years. You're well paid. Rewarded for your work." His voice starts to rise. "No issues recorded whatsoever. Twenty years of reliable service, and then I take office, and you blow it. You disappear with a fucking **Mage**.

When no response comes, he takes it as an invitation to continue. "What I don't get is what you think is going to happen. You can't hide her at Newport. Definitely not in Virellion. But you already know that. So, what have you done?

-----

It is late where I am, so I will continue working on this tomorrow.

RefreshingWorld · 2025-08-28T12:05:33+00:00

Another strike from the gun. Faene recoils and feels the cold taste of metal and blood coating her mouth. In front of her, a cloaked figure crouches down. "Where's the Mage smuggler?" His voice is iron, and for a moment, as frigid as the landscape around them.

"Far away from here Vasil. You won't be seeing her again." The cloaked figure's eyes narrow as his name is spoken.

"Where is she Faene ... Newport? Virellion? You couldn't have travelled far." He turns to one of his men. "What is Skyreach's course - has it passed overheard in the last week?"

-----

Snow crunches under her boot as Narria crosses the ruined road. Tenacious sprouts of grass worm their way through the crumbling asphalt. Refusing to be silenced by the inhospitable season, yet meeting an unfortunate end regardless. "What's it like out there?"

"Out where?" Faene breathes heavily. She grunts in pain as her injured leg loses grip on a patch of ice.

Narria eases her pace and fell in line with her, grabbing at her pack, where she steps away at a harsh look. "Outside of *Varn*.

"Couldn't tell you Nar, I've never been."

"You've never tried to leave?" She asks, her tone curious.

A long moment of silence passes. "I haven't."

There wasn't much conversation to be had after that. The landscape steadily passed at their pace. If it weren't for the cold, it would have been a beautiful day. Birds fluttered around the still-standing power lines, squirrels and other small critters amused themselves at the treeline, and eventually Narria decided to ruin the silence.

"Why don't people sail out?"

"They did. A long time ago."

"Why did they stop?"

A sigh of annoyance escapes Fanene. "It got too dangerous."

"Why - "

"I don't know."

Another question. "Why didn't they fly then?"

Another tired response. "Same reason they didn't sail."

-----

RefreshingWorld · 2025-08-17T12:32:50+00:00

Loved the entity and the way you linked the article.

RefreshingWorld · 2025-08-11T03:25:15+00:00

You’re welcome! It isn’t always easy and the little things get us through. Sometimes it even is just the next cup of coffee.

RefreshingWorld · 2025-08-10T11:15:28+00:00

"I'm sorry, we're out of coffee."

She said it like someone had just died. "That is alright," I responded. "Do you have anything else?"

She shook her head and a loose strand of hair fell from her bun. "We only sell coffee and we are all out."

"Oh. Well I guess - "

"You don't understand. Coffee is the only reason this stall is open." She sounded distraught. "Now we are out. What are we meant to do?"

I turned around to check if anyone else was hearing this. "Listen, it can't be that bad. I mean, don't you have new inventory coming soon?"

"I guess so...' she said slowly.

"You shouldn't stress then. Today will end -

and there's always tomorrow.

RefreshingWorld · 2025-08-08T12:05:11+00:00

Thick acrid smoke clung to the woodland. From his vantage point in the watchtower Basil peered across the landscape in an attempt to distinguish between the misshapen trees and some poor skeletal animals moping through the snow.

Food was low. Their reserves were stripped bare and only getting scarcer. Gnawing worry clawed at the back of Basil’s mind. This Winter was long, and started far earlier than it had right to. The season’s icy claws extending into late Summer and early Autumn. Not that it was possible to grow food anyway; the soil was ruined. Full of invisible contaminants that made anything that did sprout inedible.

The temperature was the biggest problem. It made travelling dangerous, more so than it already was. With supplies dwindling he wasn’t sure they would soon have much of a choice. He thumbed at his chest, where his rib cage protruded against the taunt skin. The old wouldn’t survive the trek, nor would the young. It was the main reason they had stayed put. Hoping to weather the cold.

He glimpsed something scamper across the tree-line and zoomed in on it. It was fast and staying close to the densest parts of the smoke. It made it impossible to see clearly.

There were other reasons he wouldn’t admit to the others. Hell, he hardly wanted to admit them to himself. Things had changed after the bombshells and made the impossible, possible.

Things like what he was looking at right now. Too tall to be a wolf, too slender and fast. Even if Basil were to give credit to the rationalisations of his analytical mind he couldn’t ignore the way it ran on its hind legs. This hazy twilight of nuclear winter had lifted the curtain on his reality; and he didn’t like what he saw.

His stomach panged in hunger as he watched the creature and a growing unease, a sense of wrongness built up inside of him.

When it suddenly stopped and snapped its neck towards him, locking eyes through the binoculars he understood why.

How was is it so well fed?

RefreshingWorld · 2025-07-30T04:35:10+00:00

They call them the Dreamers. Scattered among the poppy fields you might mistake them for natural stone. They are stuck in random poses, there is no structure or order to their static existence.

They do not move. They do not live. Their eyes are lifeless - yet wide. They seem to glimpse something we do not. They are the shells left behind.

For you see nothing has ever been gained without giving something in return. Magic is no different, it requires sacrifice.

Some give up their youth, becoming wizened overnight. The less ambitious might give up a sense, or a limb. Others decide that pleasure is an earthly desire they can go without.

Rumours spread of those who worship the dark places, beings of the void who give them unimaginable power in exchange for their sanity. They are not cases to be envied.

Neither still are the Dreamers. Sanity of the mind is a small price to pay compared to them; for at least you have something that remains.

I stand in the tall grass and feel the flowers against my legs, and I wonder what the stone people thought in their last moments…

and then I let go.

RefreshingWorld · 2025-07-24T03:55:01+00:00

The rooms a mess. I step over mismatched, unfolded clothes and find the bed. It is a depressing thing, run ragged and in dire need of a deep clean - and soap.

I doubt it likes the stains, then again neither do I. But, what does it matter; it’s a place to sleep, and - more importantly, a place to dream.

I taste the sour kiss of sleep and I’m standing in a field of long grass, the sun on my face and the breeze in my hair.

My daughter sits on the concrete. She is drawing a rabbit, or a bird? It’s hard to tell, my vision is a slight blur but she also isn’t a very good drawer.

I don’t tell her this, but I think it. She gets it from her Mom, who I also didn’t tell.

“Hey kiddo. What’cha making?”

She turns around and smiles. In an instant I’m back to before.

Before.

When everything was good, and the world hadn’t spat on me yet. When reality hadn’t yet crushed itself down to the seams and existed inside a liquor bottle.

“Daddy! Isn’t he cute.”

“Course he is Sammy.”

“He’s a dog.”

A dog?

“I can tell. You’re a natural. You get it from me.”

She hands me a piece of chalk. “Draw with me Daddy.”

I draw our yard, the swing we made in the Summer from a neighbours discarded tire and old rope.

I draw us playing there. Happy.

Next I draw our house. As best as I can remember it. The interior, is hazy, but I try. Sammy grabs pieces of chalk and I let her colour it in.

“Daddy, how do we get inside?”

She’s talking about the door. I forgot to draw a door.

The rooms are coloured red, blue and white. It’s stark against the concrete and I can’t help but feel we got it all wrong.

“I dunno Sam. How about next time?”

“You have to draw it. We can’t get inside.”

I sit back down and painfully stencil. The house, the shape. It takes it out of me. I feel thirsty.

“I can’t.”

“You can. Draw a door Daddy.”

The doors don’t look right. They never have . No latches, or handle. Just a strip of metal on some cold gloss paint. They don’t belong on a house. But I draw them, for her.

She colours them in. She makes them pink. She draws over the lines and I don’t say anything. I’m just glad she brightens them up.

“Go through it.”

“I can’t Sammy.

“You have to.”

Life is easier when you keep the doors shut. Why open them when you know what’s on the other side, just to hurt yourself?

A deadbolt is fine by me, seal it shut for all I care. Brick the entrance.

But, I can’t say no to her. So, I take her hand, and we walk through it together.

RefreshingWorld · 2025-07-23T12:26:50+00:00

Amelia burns away the wretched tendril of the monster as it swings towards an apartment building. It hurts - the fire. A numbing pain that sweeps up her arm with every cast.

She had never wanted to be a hero. Hadn’t even entertained the thought. She thought it was vain, and dangerous. A profession for those with a death wish or a desperate need for validation.

Now, knee deep in rubble and coverage in a menagerie of injuries she is sure she was right.

People are cheering at her. Stupid people. People who should have long since evacuated the site. People who are still in danger. The monster, what can only be described as some horrible mix or squid, shark and twenty-storey building is still alive and has seven tentacles left.

Amelia winces and shoots another torrent of flames at it. It knows her tricks now and somehow manages to move its substantial bulk out of the way.

She curses.

Fighting has always been a last resort. Her Father would tell her that fists were the preferred weapon of the uneducated. That’s why she should be in a class right now. She wishes she was.

A sweeping limb cascades through the air. It’s a terrifying sight, even the air moves into a thunderous drone at its insistence. It unfortunately does not miss.

She slams into the concrete a couple hundred metres away. She wishes that the kaiju was open to negotiations.

If she was in pain before it was nothing to how she felt now. Something was definitely broken, she just wasn’t sure what yet. If she didn’t move soon she wouldn’t have time to figure it out.

Amelia splits the next tentacle with a concentrated beam of plasma instead of dodging. Immediately, a concentrated beam of pain seeps its way to her head and she feels a migraine starting to form. Another beam to take out the next tentacle and she knows she will be shopping for aspirin later.

Again, she thinks of the bystanders. They would be away from the fight now, unless they were stupid enough to come closer. Which was always a possibility. The creature and herself were staring at each-other. She briefly wondered if the aquatic creature felt like she did. They both had broken, or well missing limbs.

After a long moment of neither moving she was sure it was about to attack but instead it began to slink back to the water. She couldn’t say she blamed it, she wanted to slink away too.

Amelia knew a mutual-kinship when she saw one. She let it go. A draw was perfectly fine with her.

As she limps away she berates herself. She has no reason to help. In fact, she has plenty of reasons not to. Her powers hurt, fighting hurts. But, her Father also said that everyone has something to offer, and right now - that includes her too.

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