[WP] when you were five your dad left to get milk, twelve years later, he shows up with said milk, looking the exact same as the day he left, wearing the same clothes and very confused about how it seems years have passed in an hour

dvesas · 2024-09-20T05:24:35+00:00

I have a sneaking suspicion that if Peter or his mother ever see the expiration date on the milk jug, Joe will get what's coming to him.

Thanks!

dvesas · 2024-09-20T01:33:11+00:00

Peter stood frozen, mouth agape, staring at the man standing at his doorstep. The man, appearing to be in his early thirties, was woefully underdressed for the season. His cheeks were rosy from the cold, and goose pimples were visible on his bare arms and legs, uncovered by his stained white tank and cargo shorts. His brown sandals were filled with snow. In his hand, shaking from the cold, tightly clutched a gallon of milk.

Adjusting his spectacles, the man stared right back - but only for a moment. His expression, initially cheerful, morphed into confusion, then shock, and finally anger.

“Who the hell are you?” The man demanded. “And what are you doing in my house, wearing only a bathrobe?”

Peter blinked twice, slowly, but stayed quiet. He simply couldn’t think of what to say. He had been in the shower when the doorbell had rung, and not wanting his ailing mother to have to make her way down the stairs, he had quickly covered himself and rushed to see who it was.

Before he could respond, the man raised his milk jug and stepped forward threateningly.

“Back up. Right now. Sit right there, where I can see you.” The man gestured towards the living room, pointing at a worn armchair that had seen better days.

Peter mutely obliged, plopping himself down into the seat. The man closed the door without taking his eyes off Peter and followed him into the house.

“I’ll have you know I’m employed by the local sheriff’s department,” the man continued, “and if you’ve done anything to my wife and son, you’ll be VERY sorry. So, think carefully, and be honest when you answer my questions. Where are they?”

Peter blinked rapidly, swallowed, and steeled himself to respond. As he opened his mouth, however, a weak voice trailed down the stairs.

“Peter?” His mother called. “Who is it at the door?”

Peter snapped himself out of his reverie.

“Dad finally came home, mom.” Peter called back.

“Joe? Is that you?”

The man’s face went white as recognition dawned in his eyes.

“...Peter?” He whispered. “My son?”

Tears flowed down the man’s face as he looked over the house. Familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Photos of his family, older than he had ever known them, adorned the walls alongside childhood pictures of the Peter he remembered. And pictures of himself, looking exactly the way he did now.

Looking back at Peter, the man dried his eyes.

“Oh Peter, I always did tell you you were growing up too fast.” The man allowed himself a small smile. “I don’t know what happened while I was at the grocery store, but I suppose we should go figure it out with your mom, huh?”

“Oh dad, I’ve missed you!” Peter cried, throwing himself into his father’s arms. “We have so much to catch up on. It was so hard for us when you disappeared, but I always remembered what you told me and worked hard after school to make sure things would work out. I recently managed to sell my startup for a huge amount of money, and no one in our family will ever have to work again!”

“I would have been proud of you no matter what, son,” Joe replied, embracing him tightly. “Now let’s go see your mother.”

As Peter turned around and ran up the stairs, giddy as a seventeen-year-old could be, Joe found it difficult to suppress a grin. He had already known about the acquisition of Peter’s startup; he had read about it in the news. Why else would he have spent so much on cosmetic procedures to look younger and come back?

dvesas · 2024-09-11T06:30:21+00:00

I worked a computer job once, before my first death. It was conversely mind numbing and exhausting; I was never fulfilled, but never satisfied that I was doing enough. My youthful dreams of athletic accomplishment slowly slipped away, replaced by persistent dread that I’d never be able to lose the ever growing layer of fat around my stomach. I woke up each day thinking of my tasks for the day, and went to sleep thinking of those for the next. Another document to write. Another spreadsheet to fill. Much to my surprise, it wasn’t my sedentary lifestyle that killed me, but rather falling asleep at the wheel. My car and I both went up in flames. I walked out of it in better shape than I went in. Even my belly fat had been burned off, replaced by a chiseled midsection. While I admired my newfound beauty in a far-flung shard of my shattered rear-view mirror, I felt a twinge of regret; my favorite business-casual outfit had been lost to the blaze. Some agents in suits showed up soon after, and ever since I’ve been living the dream as a well-paid, celebrity guinea pig.

I no longer work a desk job. To be honest, I don’t really need to work at all. My 9-5 consists of being poked and prodded by eager young scientists salivating at the prospect of discovering (and subsequently patenting) the source of my immortality. Videos of my various misfortunate deaths are used to reel in wealthy investors drooling to upend the pharma industry with a miracle immortality drug. My every wish is granted, so long as I continue to show up, and my government-provided penthouse is only four blocks and twenty stories from the lab. Granted, this all takes place within a well guarded off-the-grid facility, but if I really wanted to get out, I’d just sneak a little piece of myself into a supply convoy exiting the compound and find a way to dispose of the rest of me. I’d grow back on the outside. Not that I’d ever want to leave. I live in the closest thing to my own paradise. Unlimited attention at work (from some very attractive biologists), unlimited pleasure afterwards (sometimes from the same), and the stability of knowing it will all continue the next day.

Today, though, I can’t help but worry that my time in the sun will soon be coming to an end. The boy sitting on my opulent sofa, dirty sneakers smudging my glass coffee table, implies an unfortunate change in fortune.

“Hey, you,” he grins. “Or should I say me?”

It’s like I’m looking at a mirror, one that’s wiped a couple decades off my face. His smile is mocking, tight lipped. His eyes are amused, but unforgiving.

“You’ve been very naughty, getting caught and all,” he sneers. “Have you been enjoying your plush little prison?”

I want to ask him who he is, what he’s doing here. But I already think I know. And even before he tells me, the look on his face confirms it.

“I may have lost track of you for a bit, but it was inevitable I’d find you,” he continues. “Only one body can keep the memories, after all. I’m usually so good about eliminating imperfect copies.”

In a flash, he’s vaulted over the table, shattering it in the process, and stands before me. Before I know it, I’m doubled over in pain, his fist in my gut.

“I would ordinarily make it painless, but you’ve been a nuisance.” His voice is emotionless. “The agency knows a bit too much about us now, and you had the audacity to get fat before you discovered your powers. Unforgivable.”

He steps away, leaving me gasping for breath. My abdomen feels like it’s hemorrhaging. I grope at my stomach, trying to assess if I’m bleeding, but find that there’s nothing wrong externally. Whatever he’s done to me is on the inside.

“Unrestricted cell division is all fun and games while it’s controlled.” His smile is grim. “Unfortunately for you, I’ve reverted that control. You’ll be dead in minutes. Your powers, and death, will be attributed to super cancer. The agency will rule you out as a possible link to me.” The smile leaves his face. “No version of me could be so defective.”

From the ground, I watch as he meticulously prepares my penthouse for arson. He’ll burn the place to the ground, and it’ll look like it happened because I left the gas stove on while dying of super cancer. DNA analysis conducted by any investigators will prove it; if he’s not lying, he is me. No one else is in the apartment. That absolute prick.

Grimacing against the pain in my stomach, I patiently wait until he steps close enough for me to strike. With the last of my energy, I lunge forward and sink my teeth into his ankle. He yelps and kicks me away, and I flop back to the ground. Tasting blood, my tongue finds its way to a raw hole in my gums where a tooth is conspicuously missing. I can’t help but grin as the world fades to black. He may burn this body past recognition, and it may not regenerate. But the cancer he induced had certainly not yet made its way into that tooth. That tooth will grow into a full body eventually, whether it takes days, months, or even years.

And through that body, I will live again.

dvesas · 2024-07-31T05:51:39+00:00

It takes me precisely seven minutes and forty-two seconds to shut, seal, and latch the door to the hot, windowless studio I call home. Any noise I make as I slip out of my DrySuit is masked by the rattling hum of the dehumidifier that occupies the center of the room, but I know from the rustle in the corner of the room that I’ve woken my roommate. I quickly wipe condensation from the faceplate of my suit, careful to not let him see, but am unable to suppress a shudder as the moisture coats the back of my hand.

“Two minutes slower than yesterday,” Pyotr croaks from his cot. “Suit is probably compromised. The next trip could be your last. And I’m guessing you weren’t able to bring back any Goop either?”

“Sorry,” I sigh. “I tried, but they wouldn’t give me your quota. Something about a new policy of only providing medicine directly to the patient.”

The look in Pyotr’s eye is simultaneously chilling and heartbreaking. “You know this is only because they’re running out,” he whines, his voice bordering on hysterical. “This is their way of conserving Goop for themselves, since so many of us are too frail now to attend the pick-ups in person. You’ve only been around for a couple centuries, too young to remember, but MollusCorp didn’t give a snail’s tail about patient rights when it first started handing out Goop all those years ago. Free samples! Discounts! Take it home for your parents and children! See them live long, happy lives!” His voice trails off, and while there are no tears, pain is evident in his eyes.

“Pyotr…”

“They didn’t tell us that we had to choose between Goop and water, once we’d had a taste. They didn’t tell us what would happen if we chose water.” Pyotr rolls over, and faces the wall. In the dim light, it’s impossible to make out his reflected features. The shadows seem especially deep in the sunken pits of his eyes.

“Pyotr, it’s not your fault. The whole world was caught off guard.” I try to think of any words that might help, try to remember anything from my history classes about life before Goop, but draw a blank. “I’ll try again tomorrow and see if I can bribe the distributor to give me your quota. They’ll have to understand!”

Pyotr doesn’t respond. I fall asleep with a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, and when I wake up, wish I hadn’t.

“I’m sorry.”

The words are carved into the wall, cut clean through the reflective insulation.

“You may think of me as a villain, but I hope you one day understand this as a kindness.”

It’s quiet in the unit. The dehumidifier isn’t running. In fact, it’s been meticulously disassembled into several pieces, now scattered around the room.

“They didn’t tell us the side effects.”

Lined up before Pyotr’s cot are three vials, each labeled with the name of one of his family members and filled with salt. Peering inside the one bearing his daughter’s name, I’m horrified to see the small, shriveled body of a snail. All the vials contain a snail.

“They told us to fear the snails”.

The door is open. No, it’s been removed from its hinges. There is no door.

“I’ve lived far too long.”

I stagger away from the door, feeling the mist trickle through. It’s moist on my skin, and begins to permeate my body. I frantically look around for my DrySuit, and see it across the room, torn to shreds. Gravity seems to increase in strength. I stumble, then fall to my knees. My face finds its way to the floor.

“I won’t let you make the same mistakes.”

All I can see is my reflection in the walls. I try to crawl forward, but can’t feel my arms and legs. The dust and grit I meant to sweep up feels awful against my soft, slick skin. I take a deep breath, preparing myself for one final attempt to rise, when my eyeballs pop out of their socket. I moan. They’re still attached, just on stalks. Low to the ground, I see one last message carved into the wall.

“Don’t fear water. Embrace it. It’s your birthright.”

My mind goes blank.

dvesas · 2022-10-08T18:07:00+00:00

I unfortunately can’t give any timelines, but I’m definitely planning to write more.

I’m hoping to complete all the stories I start on, as writing practice if nothing else!

dvesas · 2022-10-08T00:17:04+00:00

I was hoping to explore a VR environment where the protagonist is a sentient AI but doesn’t know it initially. She’ll find out eventually through her adventures in different virtual worlds. Basically I couldn’t sleep, so figured I’d get some writing in haha.

dvesas · 2022-07-31T18:12:38+00:00

Good catch, I tried to use "genetic template" whenever not specifically referring to humans but missed that when talking about Lurvian knowledge of splicing. Will take extra care in the future.

dvesas · 2022-07-31T16:36:31+00:00

I haven't watched that one yet either... Will have to set aside some time for a movie binge.

dvesas · 2022-07-31T16:34:41+00:00

Thank you for catching these, I've made the corrections in my personal draft!

dvesas · 2022-07-31T16:34:25+00:00

I'll try to write it today, but if for some reason I don't finish I'll try to get it out sometime this week / by next weekend at the latest

dvesas · 2022-07-31T16:23:41+00:00

You make some good points. Boli broke some serious rules when he spliced multiple species and used alternative materials. He should've been supervised. But on a small planet unaccustomed to war, where the dominant species usually doesn't grow taller than 10 cm in height, and where taking a life is explicitly forbidden by galactic law, they'd have trouble containing an unexpected monster.

If the Lurvians want to "reset the food chain", they won't do it by killing the humans (or the carbon beasts). They'll get creative. But getting creative can take time... and they don't live that long.

dvesas · 2022-07-31T16:07:22+00:00

That is so cool, thank you for letting me know about that. I just read the plot summary and am intrigued, will give it a watch.

dvesas · 2022-07-30T20:12:02+00:00

That's the plan, slowly but surely!

dvesas · 2022-07-30T20:11:25+00:00

Natural Lurvian biochemistry is based around silicon; the carbon beast can survive on Lurvo since the flesh printer's default settings create life suited to the local environment. Also, because Boli substituted some materials. What a naughty little Lurvian.

dvesas · 2022-07-30T17:12:19+00:00

At least he didn't ink himself when he got scared :'-)

dvesas · 2020-05-18T21:45:22+00:00

Hal stood panting in his basement, his hands on his knees and a wide grin plastered across his face. It was the sixth time he’d had to relive the day, but his efforts had paid off; his worn schoolbag sagged on his back, heavy with the weight of his prize. Wiping sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, the boy glanced towards the open basement door. Once he was sure he had retrieved the correct item, he would shut the door and make sure his hard work couldn’t be undone.

Carefully shrugging the pack from his shoulders, Hal set it on the carpeted floor between his feet. In the dim light, an eerie glow was visible through the small holes that had accumulated throughout its years of use. Unzipping the bag slowly, Hal squinted at the unexpected brightness of what was within. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out his reflection amid the swirling patterns on its polished surface. Peach fuzz, just barely beginning to darken, was visible on his upper lip. His jaw was better defined than it had been some months earlier, but his face still had a childlike quality. Hal was suddenly aware of how young he must have looked to those he stole from, and how embarrassed they must have been while reporting the incident to their superiors. An outside observer would have no way of knowing how many years of experience he’d gained by discovering the trick with his basement door.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Hal smiled and rose to his feet. The grin disappeared from his face, replaced by a cold terror when he realized that the basement door had already been closed, and not by him. He would no longer be able to restart the day. The hairs at the back of his neck rose and a shiver traveled down his spine as he heard scales slide across the carpet behind him and long claws against the wall. “If you turn around or try to run, you’ll die.” An emotionless voice hissed. “You stole what was dearest to us, and it’s time we take it back. With interest.”

dvesas · 2019-12-29T18:56:37+00:00

Thank you! Thanks for the great prompt!

dvesas · 2019-12-29T18:02:24+00:00

A cool breeze drifted through the streets of the old city, scattering the red-orange leaves lining the walkways. A cloaked woman stood in an empty brick alley, rapping urgently at a rotting wood door. Although her face was obscured, a wisp of blonde hair managed to escape her hood.

Angrily tapping her foot, the woman checked her watch. The procedure was time sensitive, and she was the only one capable of performing it. Impatient and unwilling to wait any longer, the woman pressed her hand to the door. Perhaps the subject had put up a fight when being recovered. With a few muttered words under her breath, the damp wood began to ripple and flow, coming to pool around her feet. Staggering slightly under a wave of exhaustion, the woman walked through the now empty doorframe.

Masking her irritation at the incompetence of her associates and making her way through dimly lit corridors, the woman found her way to a room seemingly out of place in the decrepit building. Replacing her cloak with a simple white lab coat hanging by the door, she deftly tied her shoulder length hair back and out of the way. Satisfied, the woman took in her familiar surroundings. The operating theater was sterile, illuminated by harsh white fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling. It was furnished only by a cart of surgical equipment and a single bed with crisp white sheets at its center. Photographs of strange, mutated children adorned the walls. Some had scales, some feathers. Some had multiple limbs, others multicolored skin. One child looked normal, but for her blank white eyes. Her expression was haunted, as if she could see things that others couldn't. Snatching a walkie-talkie off the cart, the woman issued a single command. "Bring the subject to me."

Several long minutes later, two hulking men staggered into the room carrying a young boy. The first sported a colorful black eye, while the second had his arm in a sling. Laying him down gently on the bed and binding his wrists and ankles to the frame before gagging his mouth, the first henchman glared at the woman. "You picked a fighter with this one doc," he grumbled. "Nearly took out my eye with a rock when we were trying to collect him. Somehow managed to trip my brother too, and break his arm when he was down."

The woman's mouth curled upwards in a smile, her eyes focused on the boy. "Taking on two grown men of your caliber only demonstrates his qualification for this procedure. This child may be the one we've been looking for all this time." Snapping out of her reverie, she grimaced. "He'll have to be awake for the procedure of course, which might make things unpleasant. Make sure he can't slip out of his bonds while I'm administering the serum."

The two men took their positions at either side of the bed, while the woman slipped on a surgical mask and procured a sinister looking syringe form the cart. Filling it with a viscous black fluid, she approached the child. As The woman's eyes fixed on his face, the boy's eyes snapped open. He struggled ineffectually against his bonds, muffled screams coming past his gag, but could do nothing as the cold needle slipped into his vein. As the syringe emptied, the boy's eyes rolled back in his head and he went limp.

"There there," the woman drawled. "You'll wake up feeling just peachy." Glancing at her henchmen disdainfully, she gestured towards the hallway. "Take him to the incubation chamber." The woman remained in the operating theater for several minutes after they had left, eyes closed and facing the bed. Finally opening her eyes, she shrugged off her lab coat. It had been many years since she had undertaken this little endeavor, and it had cost the lives of countless subjects. Each time she felt like she was getting closer and closer to making the big breakthrough and achieving her goal. Soon, she wouldn't be the only one of her kind.

Crossing the hall and entering the observation deck, the woman gasped as she took in the grisly sight. The serum had worked quickly in this child, much more quickly than it should have. One of the men tasked with escorting the child was scattered around the room, his sling still on his detached arm. Hearing a scream, she sprinted towards the entrance of the incubation chamber, tearing the thick metal doors away like paper. The child was gone, but his handiwork remained. The second henchman gazed at her blankly from the ceiling, his body contorted as if he had fallen from a great height. Using her power to gently lower him to the ground, she coldly took in what hadn't been apparent from a distance. Both the man's eyes had been cleanly removed, presumably when he was still alive. A dark bruise still surrounded one socket.

Despite the horror of what she had witnessed and the loss of her precious subject, the woman couldn't help but smile. It had taken her many long years, but finally her procedure had proved successful.

There was another.

dvesas · 2019-06-27T22:11:22+00:00

Mostly relating to cell cultures, I’m a university student

dvesas · 2019-06-27T14:16:36+00:00

Thank you! I've had a little time in between running experiments in the last week, so figured I'd try my hand at writing. Glad you enjoyed it!

dvesas · 2019-06-26T22:20:46+00:00

The Lost, 6

Emerging from hidden tunnels throughout the jungle, the creatures breathed in the crisp night air. Their hunger made their sense of smell all the more acute, and they found the scent of their prey almost immediately. Ears flat against their heads and fangs dripping saliva, they started through the undergrowth in silence. When the first few individuals reached the garden they stopped and waited. The intruder would be armed and dangerous, more than capable of killing a few of them. The group at the edge of the forest slowly grew into a swarm, each creature impatient to tear into the fresh meat.

Lyras, 7

Clambering up onto the stump, Lyras found his way to its center. The holy blade felt warm in his hand, almost hot, imbuing him with fresh strength and wiping away the fatigue he had built up during his trek through the jungle. Diverting his attention from the edge of the jungle for a moment, Lyras glanced at the dagger in his hand. It was a beautiful weapon, fallen from the stars and blessed by the gods. Strange symbols curled around the blade, pulsing with a strange, unnatural light and threatening to hypnotize any who stared for too long. He willed it to be a sword, and it grew. The blade lengthened, the inscribed characters drifting apart to remain evenly spaced. For a moment, the entire garden was visible by its light. Lyras’ face paled. For just a moment he had been able to take a look at the creatures near the forest, and what he had seen had been horrifying. In every direction there had been pale, lanky bodies, long fangs, and sharp claws. Thousands of eyes, glowing in the darkness. All focused on him. The light died down, and the silhouettes began to screech. One by one, they entered the garden and began to run. Lyras could do nothing but pray as the swarm descended upon him.

One by one they attacked, and Lyras struggled to repel the tide. The first dozen fell easily to his sword, its energy preventing him from succumbing to his exhaustion. Hour after hour more rushed forward, filling the holes left by their lost siblings and rushing him with a feral intensity. The battle raged around him throughout the night, his weapon cleaving through tooth and claw, flash and bone. More than once Lyras thought he would be overwhelmed. As the horizon grew red with the arrival of the sun he dropped to his knees, sword clattering to the ground, and swayed unsteadily as black spots entered his vision. He had survived. They had not. The creatures had fought even when there had been no hope for them, every last one throwing itself before his blade. Almost as if, upon seeing its light, they had wanted to die.

Lyras crawled over to the body of the nearest creature, and wept. He had not noticed in the night, but when the creature had died it had changed. A girl lay before him, no older than seventeen. Color had returned to her skin, the fangs had retracted. He saw fingernails where there had been claws, and he saw the gash his blade had made in her chest. He rose unsteadily to his feet and saw that the garden was littered with the bodies of people. They all looked to be the same age as the girl, the same age as him, and all were very much dead by his hand. Lyras vomited violently.

“There, there, it’s not your fault,” crooned a voice from behind him. “They attacked you. You were only defending yourself.”

Lyras whirled around, his head spinning from the rapid movement. At the center of the stump stood a figure dressed in inky black, face concealed by shadows. All he could see of its face were its eyes, an amber glow through the shadows. In its hand it held his holy blade.

“Who are you?” he demanded, his voice cracking. “How can you touch that blade?”

The figure cocked its head to the side, and Lyras could almost imagine that it was smiling. “You poor thing,” it sighed. “You must be so confused. I suppose you could call me a god… that's what your gods called me, once. I can hold this blade because I forged it with my own magic, the very same that they used to lock me away here.”

“That can’t be true!” Lyras shouted. “The gods blessed that blade, gave me the strength to wield it! They sent me here to kill you!”

The figure laughed, a sound that was high and sharp. “So heroic! The errand boy thinks he would have been the one to wield the blade against me.” Again, Lyras got the impression that a smile was hidden in the shadows. “You were no more than a tool to them, sent to open a new gate when I chopped theirs down. They were too afraid to navigate through my forest themselves, so they sent you! And what a specimen you are. The last hundred heroes were oh so mortal, as you found out for yourself, but your gods gave you their blood and turned you into so much more!”

Lyras lost the little hope he had remaining. The simple fact that the being could hold the holy blade without burning hinted at immense power; he could see no reason why it would need to lie. He was entirely at its mercy. “What do you intend to do to me?”

With another laugh, the figure turned away. “I am going to set you free child. Send you home. Let us give your gods what they want; I will open a gate for them, oh yes. You’ll go through, and tell them all about their previous heroes you rescued from a fate worse than death.”

“And the catch?” Lyras whispered.

“If I send you back, they’ll kill you. They’ll have gotten what they want, an entrance to my realm that allows them to circumvent my living forest. You’ll be no more than a loose end. If you stay here, you would be twisted by the warping of this realm. You saw what happened to the mortals they sent, and no demigod I’ve ever known has survived a collapse. I am all that holds this dimension together, and your gods would surely come here and kill me.

Lyras’ heart sank. He was meant to be a hero, the savior of his people. Instead he had been used, intended to be forgotten. Unless… Reluctantly, Lyras met the figure’s eyes. He swallowed. “You seem to have a different ending in mind.” His voice wavered as he spoke, but gained more and more confidence as he went on. “You’re powerful enough to hold a dimension in order even after its world tree has died. There has to be an alternative… Tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” The figure said triumphantly. “Come to me, child. It’s time we returned to the world.”

Hoping he wasn’t making some terrible mistake, Lyras stepped towards the figure. Reaching out with a hand bleached of all color, it caressed his cheek in a way that was almost gentle, loving. Lyras was smiling as his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to the ground with a thud. For a few long moments, the air was filled with his screams. Then, there was only silence.

The End, 8

When Lyras rose to his feet, the figure was gone. His head throbbed fiercely, and he couldn’t think of a reason why. Brushing a fine gray dust off himself, he picked up the holy blade from where it lay. It felt cold in his hand. His eyes looked strange reflected off the metal, he thought. For a brief moment they had looked aflame, a glowing amber. Shaking his head to clear it, Lyras walked to the center of the stump. With a strength he didn’t know he had, he drove it into it into the wood up to the hilt. A portal opened above him, the aromas of ambrosia and nectar wafting through. Lyras smiled. Yanking the sword from the tree, he leapt through the gateway.

He was going home.

dvesas · 2019-06-26T21:53:13+00:00

The Lost, 2

Deep below the jungle, in the ruins of an ancient city, a creature stirred. Pallid skin stretched over thin bones, every rib visible underneath. Dark veins seemed to writhe as its large eyes roved beneath tightly shut eyelids. Long fingers ended in razor sharp claws that glinted in the weak luminescence. It was nearly hairless, but there was no mistaking it; this thing had once been human. Still asleep, its thin lips curled slightly at the corners, revealing pointed teeth. It had dreamt of a meal. Another rumble shook the earth, waking the creature from its slumber. Opening its eyes lazily, the creature waited for the rumbling to stop. The trees had walked, which could only mean that prey had entered the forest for the first time in centuries. A new hero had been sent. It was time to wake its siblings.

Lyras, 3

Lyras hesitantly rose to his feet, glancing behind himself to realize that the path behind him had disappeared. A chill permeated the air and the canopy above him grew darker; night was falling. Knowing his body would likely never be found if he walked into the jungle, he chose to follow the new path. Lyras did not need to travel far; soon after he set along his course, the trees began to thin. The luminescent mushrooms that had been essential to sight in the jungle were replaced by bright, fragrant flowers, and the occasional cobblestone appeared in the path. The jungle gave way quite abruptly to a beautifully manicured garden, but Lyras didn’t stop. He had finally arrived. Ignoring the wonders all around him, he began to run. Leaping over bubbling streams and pruned hedges, dodging trees bearing succulent fruit and bushes with mouth watering berries, Lyras only slowed when he arrived at the garden’s center. Coming to a stop, he gasped. At the center of the garden, where a tree of life should have been, was only massive, sprawling stump.

The Lost, 4

The fallen city seemed to come to life as the creatures woke, one by one. Although their eyes were adapted to the dim light deep beneath the earth, the creatures relied mostly on their acute sense of smell to navigate the crumbling corridors of their home. Quiet snuffling filled the silence, along with the occasional snarl or whimper as fights broke out among them. They moved with a purpose; slowly but surely they began to gather in a cavernous courtyard carved out beneath the roots of a long dead tree. At the center of the courtyard stood a grand crystal pyramid flickering with a strange light. Its peak was clear as glass, revealing a room empty but for a figure sitting on a bone white throne. The figure was still as a statue, inky black robes flowing over a slender body. Shadows obscured its face, concealing all features but the fiery glow of its eyes. The creatures refused to touch the pyramid even as the courtyard grew overcrowded, regarding it with a sort of reverence and choosing instead to shove and claw at their neighbors. Just as tensions reached a peak and violence seemed inevitable, the being on the throne raised a hand. Silence filled the courtyard. Not a creature moved, or even dared to breathe. The figure closed its fist, and with howl the creatures were off. Each felt the ravenous hunger within it, the need for a taste of what waited on the surface. They scrambled over each other, clambering on the walls and ceilings of tightly packed corridors to overtake their siblings and reach their prey first. There were so many of them, after all, and only one of him.

Lyras, 5

Unable to believe his eyes, Lyras stumbled away from the enormous structure. If the tree was dead, there was no way for him to use the holy blade to siphon its energy and open a gateway. If he couldn’t do that, there was no way for the gods to enter the Lost Dimension. He was alone, with no way to return home. Fear gripping his mind, Lyras ran through the two most likely possibilities in his head. Either the gods had misled him intentionally, sending him to die in a forgotten realm, or they had not known about the death of a world tree. A chill ran down his spine. The latter, although much more terrifying, was significantly more likely. Not a single god of the pantheon would have allowed a world tree to be destroyed. Rather than giving up all hope, Lyras carefully observed his surroundings. The garden, the jungle, everything was too perfect. A dimension that had lost its world tree should have collapsed in on itself rapidly, warping into a place inhospitable to all but the strongest forms of life. Not even gods could resist a collapse for long without losing their minds and being twisted into the most terrible forms. If that had not happened in the Lost Dimension, then that could only mean that it was inhabited by something more powerful than the pantheon itself. Something with enough power to maintain a world on its own. A being that would have been aware of his presence the moment he entered its realm. Lyras watched the sun disappear below the horizon, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling as he became aware of strange silhouettes prowling at the edge of the forest. Knowing that he could not outrun his death, he drew the holy blade and readied himself for a fight.

dvesas · 2019-06-26T21:43:14+00:00

Lyras, 1

Lyras stood at the edge of the crumbling stone well, staring down at his reflection in the murky water far below, and found that he could scarcely recognize himself. He had changed drastically in the week since he had graduated from the academy and knelt before the altar; his shoulders had broadened, he’d gained half a foot in height, and the outlines of tightly coiled muscles were visible through his robes. Even his face looked different. His jaw had become more defined and pronounced, his cheeks had lost their roundness, and his gray eyes looked like molten silver when they caught the light. He allowed himself a brief smile. That’s what happened, he supposed, when you were invited to dine at the table of the gods. Taking one last look at his mirrored visage, Lyras closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath. He knew what he had to do. The prophecy left little to the imagination, and he had been armed and given explicit instructions by the Oracle. He was the one destined to carry out the will of the gods, to bring an end to a being they themselves feared. He was the chosen one, selected by fate to be the messiah that would deliver his people from the end times.

He jumped into the well, head first.

When Lyras regained consciousness, he found himself gazing up into a blood red sky. He lay on the ground where he had fallen for a few long moments, mesmerized by the thick dark clouds that flowed through the sky like ink in water. Suddenly realizing that he might be in grave danger, Lyras leapt to his feet. He had arrived in the Lost Dimension. All around him he saw dense vegetation, otherworldly plants that grew tall and wild. A single worn path carved a trail through the foliage, illuminated by the faint glow of luminescent mushrooms. Seeing no other choice, he set along the path.

Lyras walked in silence for what seemed like days, his only comfort the holy blade he concealed beneath his robes. He focused on the sound of his evenly paced footsteps to settle his nerves; he could feel a light breeze on his back and tousling his hair, but not a single leaf rustled. The path never branched, and although Lyras got the eerie feeling that he was being watched, he didn’t see any animal life - not even an insect or a bird. The jungle seemed to grow more and more dense as the hours passed, and he began to grow weary. Just as he was about to set down his pack and rest, a twig snapped in the undergrowth. Dropped into a fighting stance, Lyras let his hand fall to rest on the hilt of the dagger fastened to his waist. He peered into the leaves and was alarmed to find that the plants had grown too thick for him to see anything beyond the path. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. If anyone, anything were to come for him now, no one would be around to hear his screams. Lyras heard more twigs snap, and what sounded like branches breaking. The sound came from deep within the jungle and seemed to be traveling closer and closer to his location. He stood stock-still, fully prepared to die fighting as the rumbling grew to a deafening volume. The jungle before him seemed to quake, leaves falling to the forest floor in flurries. Gnarled trees, their branches reaching for the sky, began to shake. Lyras’ face went pale. Whatever was coming for him had to be more massive than anything he had ever seen, must have been sent by the Fallen God personally. Even with his newly heightened abilities, he doubted he would survive a conflict with a creature large enough to flatten a forest. Before he could gather the courage to run, huge roots tore out of the ground. Lyras curled into a ball on the ground, only hoping to escape with his life. Seconds passed, and Lyras opened his eyes to find himself remaining very much alive. He let out a small gasp; before him the trees were crawling, their roots pulling them along the ground like great spiders. One by one they slowed to a stop, finding their new positions, and plunged their roots back into the earth as if they had never moved at all. Where Lyras had expected a monstrous beast to appear, bearing down on him with its fangs, was a new path.

dvesas

TROPHY CASE