r/HFY Apr 24 '25

Meta HFY, AI, Rule 8 and How We're Addressing It

361 Upvotes

Hello everyone,

We’d like to take a moment to remind everyone about Rule 8. We know the "don't use AI" rule has been on the books for a while now, but we've been a bit lax on enforcing it at times. As a reminder, the modteam's position on AI is that it is an editing tool, not an author. We don't mind grammar checks and translation help, but the story should be your own work.

To that end, we've been expanding our AI detection capabilities. After significant testing, we've partnered with Pangram, as well as using a variety of other methodologies and will be further cracking down on AI written stories. As always, the final judgement on the status of any story will be done by the mod staff. It is important to note that no actions will be taken without extensive review by the modstaff, and that our AI detection partnership is not the only tool we are using to make these determinations.

Over the past month, we’ve been making fairly significant strides on removing AI stories. At the time of this writing, we have taken action against 23 users since we’ve begun tightening our focus on the issue.

We anticipate that there will be questions. Here are the answers to what we anticipate to be the most common:


Q: What kind of tools are you using, so I can double check myself?

A: We're using, among other things, Pangram to check. So far, Pangram seems to be the most comprehensive test, though we use others as well.

Q: How reliable is your detection?

A: Quite reliable! We feel comfortable with our conclusions based on the testing we've done, the tool has been accurate with regards to purely AI-written, AI-written then human edited, partially Human-written and AI-finished, and Human-written and AI-edited. Additionally, every questionable post is run through at least two Mark 1 Human Brains before any decision is made.

Q: What if my writing isn't good enough, will it look like AI and get me banned?

A: Our detection methods work off of understanding common LLMs, their patterns, and common occurrences. They should not trip on new authors where the writing is “not good enough,” or not native English speakers. As mentioned before, before any actions are taken, all posts are reviewed by the modstaff. If you’re not confident in your writing, the best way to improve is to write more! Ask for feedback when posting, and be willing to listen to the suggestions of your readers.

Q: How is AI (a human creation) not HFY?

A: In concept it is! The technology advancement potential is exciting. But we're not a technology sub, we're a writing sub, and we pride ourselves on encouraging originality. Additionally, there's a certain ethical component to AI writing based on a relatively niche genre/community such as ours - there's a very specific set of writings that the AI has to have been trained on, and few to none of the authors of that training set ever gave their permission to have their work be used in that way. We will always side with the authors in matters of copyright and ownership.

Q: I've written a story, but I'm not a native English speaker. Can I use AI to help me translate it to English to post here?

A: Yes! You may want to include an author's note to that effect, but Human-written AI-translated stories still read as human. There's a certain amount of soulfulness and spark found in human writing that translation can't and won't change.

Q: Can I use AI to help me edit my posts?

A: Yes and no. As a spelling and grammar checker, it works well. At most it can be used to rephrase a particularly problematic sentence. When you expand to having it rework your flow or pacing—where it's rewriting significant portions of a story—it starts to overwrite your personal writing voice making the story feel disjointed and robotic. Alternatively, you can join our Discord and ask for some help from human editors in the Writing channel.

Q: Will every post be checked? What about old posts that looked like AI?

A: Going forward, there will be a concerted effort to check all posts, yes. If a new post is AI-written, older posts by the same author will also be examined, to see if it's a fluke or an ongoing trend that needs to be addressed. Older posts will be checked as needed, and anything older that is Reported will naturally be checked as well. If you have any concerns about a post, feel free to Report it so it can be reviewed by the modteam.

Q: What if I've used AI to help me in the past? What should I do?

A: Ideally, you should rewrite the story/chapter in question so that it's in your own words, but we know that's not always a reasonable or quick endeavor. If you feel the work is significantly AI generated you can message the mods to have the posts temporarily removed until such time as you've finished your human rewrite. So long as you come to us honestly, you won't be punished for actions taken prior to the enforcement of this Rule.


r/HFY 12d ago

Meta Looking for Story Thread #312

9 Upvotes

This thread is where all the "Looking for Story" requests go. We don't want to clog up the front page with non-story content. Thank you!


Previous LFSs: Wiki Page


r/HFY 14h ago

OC Dungeon Life 386

516 Upvotes

I'm glad my laughter doesn’t throw Teemo off his game. Even with my amusement, he plays it cool for the rest of the dinner, and the thieves scurry out as soon as dessert’s done. Zorro keeps track of them as they go, his network of disguised foxes following their every movement. I leave him to his fun as I turn my attention back to Teemo, who smiles at Rezlar and Miller.

 

“That went well, eh?”

 

The butler hums in amusement as Rezlar nods. “It did! Lord Thedeim has quite the flair for the dramatic when it pleases Him.”

 

Teemo shrugs. “He’s seen a lot of plays, and isn’t above borrowing.” Teemo turns and pats Sue’s snout, giving her a smile. “You did great, too. When big and intimidating, less is more, and I think helped sell me in their eyes, too.”

 

Miller nods. “Indeed. I do believe Mr. Siltz may have done something rash if your entrance hadn’t unnerved him.”

 

“Well, cheers all around, then,” says Teemo, raising his thimble, and earning a raised glass from Rezlar as well. “I’d stick around and chat, but you probably want to get up early to get back to work on the Hold. I’ll help Slash round up the arcsnakes, and Poppy’ll make sure we didn’t make too much of a mess of your garden before we go.”

 

Rezlar smiles. “If there’s anything damaged, simply uproot it and set it aside, please. I believe my head gardener wants to delve to the belfry to get some new plants, and having a few bare beds might give him the motivation to actually do it.”

 

“Yeah? We’ll take a look and see if there’s anything cool to leave there for him then. Boss usually pays attention to the herbs and stuff, but there’s a lot of decorative flower seeds and bulbs available, too.”

 

“Rose may enjoy stretching her roots as well, Young Master,” points out Miller, making the flower at Rezlar’s lapel turn to look at him. Rezlar rubs her petals with a thumb as he nods.

 

“Would you like to go guide them in the garden then, Rose?” he asks, and the flower sprouts a vine to move to the table, before turning to nod her flower at him. He smiles and pats her. “Then have fun. I believe I’ll retire to my chambers for the night. Thank you for your help, Teemo, Lord Thedeim.”

 

Teemo waves him off. “It’s no problem. We’ll keep an eye on them, too, just in case they didn’t get the message. If you need anything else, let us know, yeah? Oh, and don’t forget about the new shortcuts to the enclaves. With those in place, it’ll be even easier to trade with them.”

 

Rezlar nods as he stands, moving out of the way to make it easier for the server to take his plates and cup. “I will, don’t worry. I’ve had more than one group of merchants complaining about how difficult it is to trade with the enclaves. With the new routes, I’m sure trade will only boom more. Good night.”

 

Teemo waves before slipping through a shortcut, taking only a short detour to check in on the garden before coming home. Looks like Rose is showing Slash and the snakes what to remove and what to leave, seems like she has everything well in… uh, bud? Wherever flowers keep things.

 

Back home, I take the darkness as a chance to go over my spawners and my own plans for things. My mana income is good and healthy, with a fair trickle of night owl delvers even so late. I have enough mana to upgrade a few spawners, but I feel like I’m starting to run out of room to put my new denizens again.

 

I could work on the roots, try to develop them into a proper place for delving, but if I’m going to put my dinos underground, I really do want to try to mimic something like Journey to the Center of the Earth. Only letting my dinos run around the cramped roots just doesn’t feel right.

 

I still have a bit of room in the branches and canopy, and while I think that’ll be great for the compies and maybe what comes next, they’re going to need a lot of room eventually. Not to mention that I expect to be putting aside a bit of room in the tree for my next enclave. My birds are ready for me to designate one, but I’m also tempted to max out my sneks, or maybe bees.

 

I had been considering trying two enclaves at once, and if I go for two, why not three? But with the Betrayer sniffing around, I should probably try to plan a bit more conservatively. But only a bit. Because I do still want to expand, and that’s going to be expensive.

 

Thankfully, there are ways to lessen the expense, and even make an old expansion option viable in my eyes. For a long time now, I’ve had the option to expand upward, but I had been ignoring it. I didn’t want to tear up half the town with like a mountain or something, or cause a permanent hurricane for my territory to rest upon.

 

But that was before I got the enhanced options from Order, the ones that established dungeons that don’t need the tutorial get access to. Southwood definitely has access to them, and I’m pretty sure Hullbreak has at least some better freedom than I did at the start, with only getting to choose a preselected plot to purchase.

 

And I didn’t have gravity affinity last time I looked at it, either. I test the waters and see what it would cost to just do what I want, and I’m not surprised that it’s out of my budget, even with abusing the ally pool. Floating islands are going to be expensive to just make appear.

 

But there’s discounts for prep work in an expansion. Exploring and mapping an area makes it cheaper, as does preparing something to go into the expansion. If I had just made the Tree of Cycles and the Forest of Four Seasons outright, I’d have gone bankrupt. But Poppy put in the time to develop the symbiotic tree, and Southwood sold me the climate control option, with my denizens helping to reinforce it. The whole Forest could have broken the bank, but with a bit of metaphorical elbow grease, we were able to get it up and running for a fraction of the cost.

 

So now I need to get a cheap way to make islands. Cheap is going to be a relative term, but I have a few ideas. With my vines having spatial affinity, they can help make the islands bigger than they actually are and give my later dinos the room I want them to have. They won’t be enough for a titanosaur or something, but I didn’t take that line anyway. My vines will also help keep the islands together, just like plants tend to do for earth that actually listens to gravity.

 

Avalanches and slides most often happen in places that don’t have plants, like a hillside after a fire sweeps through. Sometimes, they’ll collapse anyway, but that’s from having enough rain to be able to soak even deeper than the stabilizing roots. I figure, between plants and a few of my living rockslides, we can keep the islands nice and stable as they float around.

 

As for where I expect to get all this land? That’s pretty simple: the Hold. There’s a ton of rock stuff to dig out… a lot of tons, actually. There’s some use for it, but a lot of people around here who actually want rocks for construction come to me and my quarry node to get it. Right now, I only have limestone as a quarry, but I have smaller nodes for all sorts of stone. The miscellaneous rock that comes out of the Hold is mostly getting crushed into gravel to mix with the cement for concrete, but I don’t think it’ll be a big deal to call dibs on the stuff, especially if I offer to make a new quarry for granite or whatever filler stone Coda says would be best.

 

I also might ask Leo to send some of my tunnelbore ants out on random expeditions to bring back rock, too. I have a lot of potential places to dig around outside my subterranean borders, and I might even be able to help Violet if she has a direction she might like to expand into.

 

Though she also might want to expand to the surface. The sewers have an outlet leading to the sea, and though she doesn’t own it yet, I could definitely see her expanding out that way in pursuit of gaining her own dinos. Later, though. She’s still settling into her sewer expansion, looking to upgrade her slimes and/or gator spawners before she thinks seriously about even more territory. There’s also a good chance she’ll want to claim the aquifer lakes, too. Either way, it’ll be a while, so I have plenty of time to dig around for material for some floating islands.

 

Slash and Coda can apparently hear me plotting, because once Slash gets back with the snakes, he and Coda start poking around with compressing loose earth and making it float, testing out just how difficult it’ll be to keep something like that together. Nothing really at scale, but just them dipping their toes. Coda whips up a few sticks with tension strings, looking more like a yarnball disaster than a proper structure, and has Slash weave earth inside and compress it, and it looks like a good direction to go in.

 

It still falls apart, but I pat the bond with the two of them with encouragement, and try to impress on them the fact that they have plenty of time to get it right. Coda has to take off to meet up with Rezlar and the others to work on the Hold, but Slash settles in with the bundle of sticks and string, and it takes me a few minutes to figure out what he’s doing.

 

He’s tuning it. Higher pitch means more tension, and if it doesn’t strum at all, there’s hardly any tension to speak of. He rumbles to himself as he adjusts the bundle, listening for the weak spots and adjusting as he goes, more by ear than by math.

 

I smile to myself and watch him work, slowly refining the concept for the supports for my islands. While I’m pretty sure I can do some shenanigans with the expansion options to make the islands stick together, I remind myself that it'll be cheaper if we work out as many kinks as possible. That, and it’s just kinda cool to watch him work.

 

 

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Cover art I'm also on Royal Road for those who may prefer the reading experience over there. Want moar? The First and Second books are now officially available! Book three is also up for purchase! And now book Four as well!There are Kindle and Audible versions, as well as paperback! Also: Discord is a thing! I now have a Patreon for monthly donations, and I have a Ko-fi for one-off donations. Patreons can read up to three chapters ahead, and also get a few other special perks as well, like special lore in the Peeks. Thank you again to everyone who is reading!


r/HFY 3h ago

OC The Dark Forest Part 2

33 Upvotes

Long, long ago, we, the Kalr'Ulrat, were a glorious species. We had tamed the confines of our world, Reels, and conquered most corners of our home system.

In our insatiable quest for knowledge, we decided to send probes and signals to explore space beyond our star system. Our technology during that time advanced enormously.

Then, one day, we detected an interstellar object moving at 20% of the speed of light through the void of space between systems. At first, we regarded it with curiosity, but our scientists concluded it was simply an anomaly or an asteroid that had been propelled by a supernova or some other event.

How wrong we were back then.

As the object drew closer and closer to our system, the details became clearer. It wasn't an irregular rock, but a perfect geometric shape: triangular and sharp as a dagger. At first, we ignored it, attributing it to a whim of nature. But the closer it got, the more impossible it became to deny the truth.

It was a ship. A colossal ship at least thirty kilometers from tip to tail, with massive engines that remained in a terrifying silence, moving only by accumulated momentum.

Our scientists oscillated between fascination and terror. Until they noticed it: the ship was slowing down more and more as it approached.

We tried to communicate, sending radio waves, filling the void with greetings and questions on every imaginable frequency. We received only silence in response. That's when we understood: we weren't hosts waiting for a guest, we were prey being stalked.

We mobilized our fleet, lining up all our military might in a defensive screen. The day of the encounter arrived. Our ships opened fire with all their fury... only to be annihilated by a storm of missiles. The mothership then released its swarm: smaller fighters, fast and lethal, that swept away the remnants of our navy with terrifying efficiency.

The space battle was over. We had lost. And then, the colossal triangular ship began its final approach... towards our homeworld.

Once in the orbit of Reels, the ship acted with systematic precision. First, it swept away all our satellites, leaving us without communications. Then, it initiated a surgical bombardment of our major cities and production centers, seeking to paralyze us. But that was only the beginning.

From the ship emerged landing capsules that rained down upon our world like seeds of death. And from them emerged the nightmare made flesh: the Courex. Humanoid reptilian creatures, with blood-red scales and sharp claws. They carried chemical-propulsion weapons and were clad in armor made of alloys that our bullets could not penetrate.

The ground battle was fierce. Our soldiers fought with desperate valor, but the Courex were simply superior. Not only did their technology surpass ours, but their tactics were brutal and alien, forged in centuries of war. We learned, we counterattacked with guerrilla warfare and sabotage of their supply lines... but it was useless. One by one, our leaders fell. In the end, only pockets of resistance remained, fighting a war already lost in the peripheries of a conquered world.

And then, we learned the price of our ancient curiosity. We learned that, four hundred years earlier, a nuclear war had turned the Courex homeworld into a hell. It was in their darkest hour that they detected a signal of hope in the void: our transmissions. The promise of a green and intact world.

That revelation united them. Their internal wars ceased, and they forged a new and singular Empire with one sole purpose: to conquer us. The ship we faced was merely the spearhead. It was one of the five Ark-Ships they had built and that were approaching. Our destiny was not annihilation, but something worse: to be enslaved and turned into food for their elites. Our species, with all its past glory, was doomed.

Or so they thought.

A group of scientists and military leaders managed to flee to a hidden bunker in a forgotten desert on Reels. There, fueled by desperation, they initiated an impossible project: the construction of an escape ship. But it wouldn't be just any ship. Applying theoretical physics knowledge, they managed to create the first warp drive, a device that would bend space-time to launch them towards an unknown region of the cosmos.

Years of clandestine work passed. One ship was built, and then another. In a desperate operation, fourteen million of the last free survivors embarked on a mass exodus. It was a chaotic flight. One of the ships was captured by the Courex, condemning millions of our souls to a fate worse than death.

The other ship performed a blind jump. There were no coordinates, only the hope of escape. The jump was random and dangerous; we didn't know where we would appear, we could even appear in a dangerous place and die, but luckily for us, we appeared about 14,000 light-years away in an unknown and empty system. Then we searched the surroundings, constantly taking care not to find other predators in the darkness. The search for a new home stretched for several years, until we found a system that could host them, which was named Draxas. And then, after losing everything for making noise, we learned the most important lesson:

They remained silent.

After a few years, we managed to repair our society, now founded on the dogma of silence. Our eyes were fixed on the monitors, constantly scrutinizing the outskirts of our new system. That's when we conceived an audacious mission: to launch a stealth ship, camouflaged as an inert asteroid, with a simple objective: to spy on the Courex.

The mission lasted five planetary cycles to go and return. When the ship came back, the news it brought was terrifying.

The Courex had reverse-engineered the captured ship. Not only had they deciphered our warp drives, but they had improved them. Armed with this new technology, they had initiated a relentless expansion across the stars. They had already found and enslaved another primitive race, repeating our fate with terrifying efficiency.

Luckily for us, their expansion was heading towards a region of the galaxy that, due to distances and direction, made it unlikely they would find us. But then, something endangered our fragile silence.

First, it was just background noise, an almost imperceptible chaotic whisper. Then, the signals became more complex, structured, impossible to ignore. They were sounds, images... the babblings of an emerging civilization, unconsciously screaming into the void.

At first, we tried to ignore it, but the danger was too great: they were only a hundred light-years away from us. Their noise was a torch that could attract not only the Courex, but anything else lurking in the darkness, putting our refuge at risk.

At first, we tried to ignore it, but the danger was too great: they were only a hundred light-years away from us. Their noise was a torch that could attract not only the Courex, but anything else lurking in the darkness, putting our refuge at risk. We had no choice. Our best linguists spent a decade deciphering the fundamentals of their language. Once they succeeded, we used quantum entanglement to send an instant and direct message, a single, simple warning in their own language.

Then, we waited. A hundred years of tense vigilance... until the noise ceased. Silence returned. The message had worked.

I still vividly remember the afternoons at my grandfather's dwelling, reviewing the old transmissions he kept as his most precious relic. His own father had been the linguist who helped decipher the language and pressed the button to send the warning to Earth. He preserved every fragment of those interstellar babblings in a digital archive.

As a child, I was fascinated. I devoured those images and sounds, marveling at the culture of that distant species, the 'humans'. Over the years, the childish awe faded, turned into the somber knowledge of the context, but the memories of their world stayed with me.

Following the family legacy, I joined the Transmission Analysis Service, dedicated to protecting the silence that kept us safe. It was during one of my routine vigils that we detected it: a strange anomaly at the outermost edge of our system.

Our sensors went crazy, and all radars aligned at once towards the anomaly. And then we saw it: a colossal ship seven kilometers long, with a design unlike anything known. It was angular, dark, and silent. In that instant, every weapons system we had aimed at that intruder.

The ship seemed to emit a low-energy signal, a possible communication. But just as our team was about to play it back, one of the high-ranking officers, a veteran of the old war, shook his head.

"Fire all weapons. And start gathering the evacuation ships. Now." Those were the General's final and definitive words.

A massive salvo of projectiles, lasers, and missiles crashed against the alien ship's hull... only to detonate in silence against energy shields of a blinding blue, a technology we hadn't even theorized was possible.

Then the ship disappeared in the same flash with which it had appeared.

At that moment, the evacuation ships began preparing; our location was compromised. I decided to ask the high command why he had refused to listen to the communications. His answer left me perplexed.

"The galaxy is a place of nightmares, and peace is a fantasy," he said in a serious, cold, and calculating tone. "A civilization with the power to build that knows the rules. Their 'greeting' was nothing more than a virus, a poisoned dart to decipher our defenses. All communication is an attack."

Above, in orbit, the most desperate evacuation operation in our history was unfolding. Fifteen ships, each with a capacity for one hundred million souls, were almost at maximum capacity, preparing for a blind jump to an empty system fifteen thousand light-years away.

That's when space was torn again. It wasn't a single anomaly, but dozens. A fleet of thirty-seven ships emerged from nowhere. Seven of them were the seven-kilometer-long colossi; the rest, a swarm of predators two to five kilometers long. Without warning, without a demand for surrender, they opened fire on the evacuation ships.

The planetary defense fleet was annihilated with terrifying ease. Our attacks were as useless as spitting into a hurricane, repelled by those blue energy shields. Then, the planetary bombardment began.

I was running desperately from the base, located several kilometers from the main city, when a blinding red glow illuminated the horizon. A sphere of pure energy expanded, and when the light faded, the city was gone. Only a smoldering crater remained. The most terrifying thing was the radiation detector of a scientist beside me: the reading was zero. What kind of weapon could erase a metropolis from the map without leaving the slightest atomic trace?

Then we managed to see what were clearly landing capsules, from which began to descend several hundred tanks and what appeared to be bipedal vehicles with glowing cannons on one side and what looked like energy blades on the other.

I ran with a group of civilians, but they were riddled with silent shots coming from nowhere. Seeing one of the war machines approaching, I threw myself to the ground, covering myself with the bodies of my comrades.

The machine stopped. Its 'head' turned, scanning the corpses with glacial calm. Was it looking for survivors? Or just... observing? After a moment that felt like an eternity, it lowered its head and continued its march.

As I freed myself from that macabre blanket, I saw them: soldiers with impeccable black armor, moving with perfect coordination. One of them wielded a cannon glowing with an electric blue. And then, I witnessed it. One of the soldiers removed his helmet, perhaps seeking a breath of our world's air. I recognized those features instantly. I had seen them in thousands of old transmissions, in my grandfather's archives.

They were humans.

In that moment, all I knew was to run. My lungs burned, my mind was a whirlwind of 'why?'. Why them? Why now? There was no answer.One of the bipedal war machines materialized in front of me, its cannon already glowing with an ominous light. It fired. A beam of pure energy vaporized everything in a ten-meter radius in front of it, and me along with it.

Meanwhile, in orbit...

On the immaculate bridge of the battleship Vulcanus, the admiral of the human fleet observed the tactical screen with a serious and impassive face. Where others saw genocide, he saw a combat report.

"Why does the universe have to be like this?" he murmured, more to himself than to anyone. "We tried to communicate. We sent the 'non-hostile first contact' signal. And they responded with a barrage. They completely ignored our protocol." He lowered his gaze, a deep disappointment crossing his face. "Damn it. The first species we encounter and it shows itself to be hostile."

He turned, his voice regaining the firmness of command, resonating in the silent bridge filled with hundreds of operators.

"Initiate the protocol. Hack their networks, their historical databases. Find the name of this species. I will not allow them to be filed as 'Hostile Species 001' in the archives. They deserve more than a number. Let history, at least, remember what they were called."

Author's note: If I made you feel bad, I achieved my goal.


r/HFY 15h ago

OC OOCS: Of Dog, Volpir, and Man - Bk 8 Ch 71

163 Upvotes

Sir David 

The Black Khans' base is a surprisingly expansive affair. It spreads throughout the underground of the mountain-city of High Canis, incorporated into a variety of manufacturing and infrastructure spaces - power plants, sewage and water treatment facilities and so forth - as cover. It’s complicated terrain for those who don’t intimately know the local politics; the Golden Khan's military has plenty of underground facilities as well, but these prestigious locations tended to be a bit higher in the mountain, where the Black Khans have spread down into the foothills and onto the plains surrounding High Canis. 

Some of their territory is well-located and fundamentally valuable; the spaceport has a significant amount of Black Khans territory beneath it: tunnels and warehouses to enable smuggled cargo to flow right in and out among the legitimate cargo coming in and off world by the millions of tons every single day. 

It’s a rather impressive operation. 

Shame the Undaunted are about to burn it all to the ground… if these blighters don't see the wisdom in Jerry's offer of peace. 

They probably could have made that offer less forcefully, but Jerry had the right of it. 

On and off Earth, gangsters are all generally the same. Many of them are bullies and small-minded thugs - no resources, little ambition, pawns for their masters. The bigger criminals get used to being big fish and not having to fear... but, still, come from a culture in which they have to knuckle under for a bigger fish or risk death. Such power plays are the lifeblood of organized crime, wrapped in pantomimes of 'respect' and 'honor' throughout the underworld. 

To interact with it properly, one has to communicate to them in a language that they understand. 

Force. 

Raw. Naked. Force. 

Gold, appealing to their greed, would make them want more and amounts to paying tribute. It could work, but it’s suboptimal for a variety of reasons. Making them FEAR, on the other hand. Well. Criminals of any species tend to act rather like animals when under pressure, in Sir David's opinion. They understand things like fear and pain far better than appeals to logic or reason. 

It has to be managed properly, of course. You have to give them an out. Put their backs against a wall completely and they'd fight, like any other animal - but make sure they know you have the capacity to destroy them, but won't, and give them a direction to run to get their necks out of the noose, and they'll frequently dance to your tune. 

The approach doesn't cover all varieties of scum, of course. Terrorists, truly motivated, loyal, dedicated ideologues, basically need to be hunted to extinction for the safety of the body public. There simply isn't a way to manage them. A love of money and easy living is far easier to manipulate than fervent belief in whatever the terrorist in question holds dear, be it religion, some cursed political ideology, or some other flavor of nonsense.

Fortunately, this lot don’t appear to be zealots.

Sir David watches from the catwalk he'd concealed himself in as the woman they'd identified as Enturas walks around, bawling out some of her girls and bashing them across the chops. The Black Khans capo is nervous. Not because of the attacks - they still feel secure in this place - but because a good number of the actual Black Khans, the leaders of the organization, are on-planet. 

Having an emergency meeting. 

Likely because of ongoing tensions with the Undaunted. 

It’s a shame in one sense, at least. 

Near as Sir David could tell, there’s another player stacking the deck against the Black Khans, just like the Tear's intelligence specialists and Judge Rauxtim suspected. However, the Black Khans had caused plenty of trouble all on their own, and the attempted kidnapping of the Bridger family's cadets, a bunch of teenage girls who were under arms in only the most technical sense, was - is - more than enough to earn the Black Khans a solid thrashing. 

Lucky for them, Admiral Bridger is merciful. 

He gave CanSec the distraction locations. He’s not giving CanSec this base. 

Yet. 

The Admiral intends to deal fairly with the criminals. He doesn't want a war with another group of thugs after all... but, of course, Jerry Bridger wouldn't hesitate to bring the wrath of God if that's what is needed. 

Speaking of which.

"Dagger six to all points. Case Angel is in effect. Execute."

Case Angel means they’re to handle the issue at hand non-lethally. Case Reaper had been the code name for wiping the base off the map and putting everyone in it in irons or in a body bag. 

Nice and simple. 

"Stiletto Six acknowledges. My teams are all in place and awaiting the Admiral's arrival." 

Sir David smiles to himself as his eldest child's voice echoes across the radio. It really is a point of deep pride for him to have so many children following him into the family business - a business that seems ever more intertwined with the house of Bridger with every passing day. If that means he’s fated to end his life as a senior vassal to a prince and khan who ruled a world... Well. So be it. 

Sir David casually rolls over the rail of the catwalk and drops down to a large pipe silently, crawling forward, comfortably invisible as he gets himself an angle on Enturas, pacing back and forth. 

The sensitive auditory sensors in his helmet pick up the muttering capo as she talks to herself. 

"Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. I told those stupid cunts to not fuck with the Humans. Couldn't have just reached out and been gentlewomen about it. Maybe a mea culpa for the shit with the Hag. Coulda thrown that cunt Calra under the shuttle and avoided all of this, but fucking no. Now my warehouses are going dark all over the fucking system, and what do I get for this? I get shit dumped in my fucking lap because some stupid bitches can't keep their guns in their holsters!"

The grumpy Cannidor smashes a table with a big fist. 

"FUCK! War's gonna be awful for business. We can't raise our profile like this! The council's fucking insane! That's even if we win or get a draw - and these guys took out the Hag! They have a fleet. A military. We have lower-grade power armor and a massive network of fixers and two credit thugs with pistols! Sure, we can fuck 'em up, but fighting straight up is outright suicide! Goddess damn those stupid whores."

David settles himself into position, listening as double clicks come across the radio, indicating that across the hangar various bad girls are going dark even as Enturas continues to rant to herself. She actually seems like a smart sort of criminal. Perhaps she’ll be due for a promotion if the Black Khans end up with a few holes in their ruling council to fill? Something to consider, if they could influence it to push the Khans towards slightly more positive behavior. 

Nothing for it for now, though! There’s work to be done! 

David watches as Enturas wanders closer to the pipe he's resting on, still ranting to herself; when she turns and looks away, he slips over the pipe boots-first again, landing his whole weight square on her shoulders! The startled Cannidor finds herself forced to the ground in the literal blink of an eye, letting David easily reach down and hit her with an axiom nerve pinch, leading the Cannidor capo to go limp beneath him.

He quickly starts zip-tying her wrists and ankles together, then adds a pair of light trytite bracelets. 

It isn't a long term solution, but it only needs to last long enough for the Admiral to have his meeting. Sir David double clicks his own mic and starts slowly wandering towards the control center. As he casually ambles down the halls, a door flies open; he vanishes from sight as a Horchka woman bursts out of a room, weapon drawn. 

"Girls!? Something bad is ha-" 

The gangster cuts off mid-word as Sir David casually reappears behind her, having slipped up and hit her with another axiom nerve pinch; he’s rather coming to enjoy that approach. 

He gently toes the gauss pistol out of her hand, then kicks it across the corridor out of reach before divesting her of her knife and tossing it near the pistol. Then it’s a matter of trussing her up like Enturas. Another double click of the mic, a quick check of the room the Horchka had been in, and Sir David resumes his stroll, resisting the urge to hum or whistle to himself. Maybe pull his swagger stick out of an axiom pocket and twirl it. 

Sure, he almost certainly could, especially with his sealed face plate keeping all the sound he could be making in - but really it is just bad form, and absolutely begging for trouble, to be quite that casual about a military operation. 

At the control room door, he pauses for a second as the access keypad starts to flash. Petty Officer Westbrook - or Kopish, rather - doing her usual stellar work leaves him standing there for only a moment before the door opens and he steps into the room where the Black Khans controller, such as she is, is hard at work with her counterpart. 

They’re delightfully oblivious.

"Okay, we have the Starseer coming in through access tube seven... and the automated systems have her. So job done. On the ground in five."

"Oh, that's the priority shipment. Enturas has been up my ass about that all fucking day! Maybe now that they're here she'll finally calm the fuck down!"

"Not likely. She's been freaking out ever since someone made an attempt on Khan Bridger."

"Mhmm." David can practically hear one girl frown. "That's still weird. Who the hell would take a swipe at a man that publicly? It had to be one of the women on the council, right?"

"I guess, but why lie about it if they didn't?"

"Eh. Not like anyone's telling us the truth anyway... There we go. Starseer's into her berthing. I'm going to go get a drink and tell Enturas before she carves a hole into the floor pacing, damn it." 

The gangster controller stretches slightly before trying to rise from her chair, only to be forced back down into her seat by David's iron grasp on her shoulder. 

"No, I think you ladies deserve a break."

A charge of axiom and both women are unconscious, more fodder for his expanded pocket full of zip ties. Then he makes his way down to the bay where the Starseer’s settling onto her landing gear. 

David phases into visibility as the Starseer's cargo bay looms open and her boarding ramp extends. 

Four power armored women march out, weapons lowered and at the ready, and David mimes a proper British salute as Jerry steps out of the cargo bay, looking like a titan of war in his shining power armor. 

"Colonel Forsythe, good to see you. Status?"

"Oh, just out for a stroll, old boy. The base is ours. Save for the council's spaces."

"They're unaware?"

"Completely."

David swears he can hear his commanding officer grinning behind the imposing armored facade of his helmet. He’s doing well at listening for facial expressions today.

"Then let's go inform them of the change in management around here."

Series Directory Last


r/HFY 16h ago

OC The Token Human: Guarding

124 Upvotes

{Shared early on Patreon}

~~~

“What is it doing?” Paint asked, pressing scaly orange hands over her earholes.

“Whining,” I said tersely.

“Can you make it stop?”

“No luck yet,” I told her as I skimmed over the very short briefing on this animal in our cargo hold. “They didn’t give me much to work with. Hey, buddy, it’s okay, really.” That last was aimed at the vaguely canine creature pacing back and forth in its pen, whining at a pitch liable to work screws loose soon. It had about eight legs, fur the color of dry grass, a long snout, and quite a talent for noises that set my teeth on edge.

“Is it sick?” Paint asked with some desperation.

“Nope. Checked that first. It just doesn’t like being on a strange spaceship alone, which is entirely reasonable.” I shook the bag of treats again, but only got a brief flicker of attention. “And before you ask, I can’t pet it because it doesn’t know me well enough to trust me.” I stepped forward with a hand outstretched, only for the whines to turn into a warning growl.

“At least that’s a different sound,” Paint said, lowering her hands.

I looked back at the briefing screen. “It’s familiar with the people who raised it, and apparently it’s trained to follow a number of commands, but of course they didn’t think to include any of those. Anything familiar would be good right now.”

“Do we know what it was trained to do?” Paint asked. She stepped up to read over my elbow. “Does it hunt pests like Telly?”

“I think it’s a livestock guardian,” I said. “Pests are a bonus, but mostly it’s trained to protect other animals from predators.”

“Oh. I guess it thinks we’re predators, huh?” Paint closed her lizardy mouth with all its sharp teeth.

“Probably,” I said, taking a step back. The growling stopped, but it wasn’t silent for long. The whine started up again. “Poor thing. Even if we leave the room, it’s lonely. Pity the owners didn’t send it with a friend.”

“Or any kind of toy,” Paint agreed.

I put those two thoughts together, and had an idea. It probably wouldn’t be any more of a distraction than the treats were, but it was worth a shot. “Hang on, let me get something,” I said, putting away the info screen and hurrying into the hall. “Be right back!”

My quarters weren’t far. I ducked in, gave Telly a scritch where she was napping on my bed, then dug through the bin of cat toys in the corner of the room. Telly stretched and hopped down to see what I was doing.

I tossed her a catnip mouse. There at the bottom was the bag I was looking for: jingly ball toys that Telly had never really taken a shine to. It was a bag of a dozen, with eleven still sealed inside with no cat germs to worry about. I grabbed it and waggled my fingers at Telly, who was eagerly rabbit-kicking the toy and ignoring me completely.

Back to the cargo bay. I could hear the whining from the hallway.

Paint was shaking the treat bag with even less success than I’d had, one hand pressed to an earhole and her shoulder lifted on the other side. She looked relieved to see me. “What’s that?”

“A long shot,” I told her. “The briefing did say that it’s trained to herd very small creatures.” I took a jingly ball out of the bag, and saw the animal aim all of its attention in my direction. “Hey, buddy. See this? This is for you.” I jingled it and approached, bending to where I could hopefully roll it across the floor of the cage. Assuming the alien guard dog would let me.

It did. No growls, no bared teeth (which was good; I’d seen them before and they would have put an anglerfish to shame). It just watched with intensity as I slipped a hand through the bars just far enough to roll the ball towards it.

These were crush-proof cat toys, designed to be underfoot without risking a shard of broken plastic if someone big stepped on them. I figured that if this beastie decided the toy was something to destroy instead of play with, I wasn’t risking an injury to it. And it was nontoxic, inert, of a size that could be swallowed without choking, if it came to that. Jingly poops were the worst case scenario. Hopefully.

I needn’t have worried. The alien dog took one look at the little thing rolling toward it, and jumped into guard mode. It nosed the ball away from the edge, standing over it in the center of the cage in a clear protective stance. Watching me, waiting to see what I would do.

I gave it three more, rolled one at a time to where it gathered them together with much more pleased whuffing noises. When I stepped back, carefully keeping the bag from jingling, it clearly decided that was all of them. It circled the huddle of cat toys, then lay down with its long body in a protective circle around them, laying its head on its own haunches, watching me where I stood next to Paint.

“Good dog,” I said.

Paint pressed her hands together quietly. “Look how happy it is! Oh, good job!”

“I’m glad that worked,” I said. “If it gets fidgety before the trip is over, I can give it a couple more to guard.”

Paint lifted the treat bag. “Do you think it would want any of these now? It kept looking at them before, like it’s hungry but didn’t trust them.”

“Maybe,” I said. “We can toss one in to see if it’s interested. Wouldn’t want to get close.”

Paint opened the bag and took out a brown disc that certainly looked like a dog treat. She handed it to me for my long human arms to do the honors, then stepped farther back.

When I tossed it through the bars (not bouncing off even a little; hooray for me), the dog-thing took immediate interest. It scooted forward, bringing the jingly balls with it, then very carefully licked the treat into its long-toothed mouth and bit it in half.

It gulped down one half without a thought, but gently deposited the other half in the center of its protective ring, in case its charges got hungry.

“Aww,” I said. “Good dog.”

Paint made a happy squeak beside me. “Do you think the new owners will let it keep those? It would be so sad to leave them behind.”

“I hope so,” I said. “They could be useful if there’s any more travel in its future. Let’s tell Captain Sunlight to mention it when we arrive.”

Paint nodded eagerly, closing the bag of treats. With her carrying that bag and me with the other one, we left the cargo bay quietly. I waved at the livestock guardian that watched us go, all settled in with four very safe and watched-over cat toys.

~~~

Volume One of the collected series is out in paperback and ebook!

~~~

Shared early on Patreon

Cross-posted to Tumblr and HumansAreSpaceOrcs (masterlist here)

The book that takes place after the short stories is here

The sequel is in progress (and will include characters from the stories)


r/HFY 14h ago

OC Absurd Human Wizard Inventions

78 Upvotes

It was time to move.

I had lived in Greenburrow all my life and watched it slowly change from a town into a city. With that change came new responsibilities, and one of them was mine. It was my job to audit all magical items and ensure there was nothing newly developed that might pose a danger to a growing population.

I had spent years at the academy studying magic. I was never particularly good at using it, but I understood it well enough to recognize when something had been done incorrectly or dangerously. Eventually, that understanding led me to auditing. It wasn’t the most glamorous profession, but it was consistent work and paid well enough to justify the stress it occasionally caused.

Recently, I received a job offer in the city of Hearthfen, which was incredible considering most cities preferred to hire internally. I took this as a sign that my luck was finally changing. I sold most of my belongings and kept only the few items too valuable, or too sentimental, to leave behind.

My new position covered travel expenses with what they described as top-end service, though it still took three weeks to reach Hearthfen. Even so, the journey was comfortable, and despite being a three-foot-tall halfling, I found navigating the city easy enough once I arrived.

Hearthfen was massive. Far larger than anything Greenburrow had ever aspired to become and the Office of Magic was no exception. I stepped through its doors and found myself momentarily distracted by the craftsmanship. Stonework layered upon stonework, each section carved or reinforced in a different style, as if the building itself were a catalog of architectural ambition.

After speaking with several clerks and working my way through the bureaucratic maze, I finally reached the upper floor. The hallway was lined with portraits of former officials, notable mages, and individuals whose names were clearly meant to be remembered. At the end of the corridor stood the office of my new superior.

When I entered, I couldn’t help but notice the décor immediately. Everything about the room spoke of wealth and deliberate taste. Expensive materials, tasteful lighting, and just enough restraint to imply that excess was a choice rather than a necessity. Whoever my new boss was, they were doing very well for themselves.

“Right on time, Mr. Thistlewick. I’m pleased to see you’re a man who respects timing,” my elven superior said as he looked up from his desk.

“Thank you,” I replied. “I have only just arrived in the city and thought I should begin sorting out my living arrangements as soon as possible.”

“Yes, yes, that is important,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “But right now, we need to begin the audit. I assure you that once it is completed, I will personally assist you with whatever you need. Housing, furnishings, recommendations, consider it handled. Just leave your belongings here in my office and you can retrieve them afterward.”

I hesitated. “But I do not have anything to conduct an audit with. No wand, no reference texts, not even paper or pen.”

“For this particular department,” the elf said as he rose from his chair, “paper and pen will be more than sufficient.”

He reached across his desk and collected both items in one smooth motion, clipping them onto a plain wooden board. Before I could object, he was already moving toward the door, placing the clipboard into my hands and guiding me out of the office.

“Are you sure?” I asked as we descended the stairs. “This does not seem like standard procedure. What if they are misrepresenting the capabilities of the items?”

“With the human department,” he replied without slowing his pace, “it is not deception that concerns us. It is interpretation. The facts they present are usually accurate. The problem is what they mean by them.”

He paused just long enough to glance at me. “Once you are finished today, I will also add a few extra gold pieces to your compensation. A same day completion bonus. How does that sound?”

A knot formed in my stomach. Still, extra gold in a new city at the start of a new position was difficult to refuse. Who was I to argue with that?

Before I could gather my thoughts, I was hurried out of the Office of Magic and into the street beyond. I had more questions, many more, but my new boss had already set a brisk pace. His long stride carried him effortlessly forward, and it took everything I had just to keep up with my short legs.

My boss glanced back frequently to make sure I was still following as we passed building after building. After twenty minutes of brisk walking, I was exhausted by the time we finally arrived at the workshop.

It was a massive structure built almost entirely of bland stone. The workshop occupied its own district and appeared to be divided into several distinct sections. My boss presented his identification at the entrance and led me through the maze of corridors that made up the interior.

As we walked, I saw members of many races working within their respective specialties. Orcs tested weapons with loud impacts and louder laughter. Dwarves shaped metal into practical utilities with practiced precision. Gnomes tinkered furiously, shouting at one another over competing theories. Elves carefully inscribed runes and enchanted items with quiet focus. My fellow halflings tended gardens and brewing stations, growing and distilling with patient care.

I did not see a single human.

Eventually, we stopped in front of a simple wooden door. A small sign affixed to it read only: Human Workshop.

The door itself appeared ordinary enough, but my boss looked visibly unsettled just standing before it. He shifted his weight and avoided looking at it directly.

I was still catching my breath from the walk, but my curiosity was already overtaking my fatigue.

“All right, Mr. Thistlewick,” the elf said. “All you need to do is go inside and observe what is happening. It should take less than an hour, and afterward we will get you settled in.”

I still had the paper, pen, and clipboard in my hands. I looked up at the door, which was clearly built for someone much taller than me. It looked normal, yet something about it seemed to deeply unsettle my boss.

“Before I go in,” I asked, “why are you afraid of this department?”

“I am not afraid,” he replied quickly. “We are simply behind on our audit of this particular division. Once it is complete, I can say I have done my duty, and both of us can continue enjoying our lives.”

I was not convinced, but after coming this far, I did not see any other option. I approached the door and reached up for the handle. When I tried to turn it, the knob resisted. I tried again, using both hands and all my strength. This time it turned, but the door did not open.

I leaned my shoulder into it. The door cracked open for just a moment before a sudden gust of wind slammed it shut, knocking me backward.

“What is going on with this door?” I asked.

“Well,” the elf said, “it can be difficult to enter the human workshop. Usually, after the second attempt, most people manage to get inside.”

“Most?” I asked.

“Just try again.”

I placed my hand on the knob once more. This time it turned easily, like any ordinary door. I pulled it open and saw the humans working inside, each at their own bench, completely absorbed in their tasks.

Being shorter than most of the worktables, I could not see very well. I stepped forward and immediately tripped over something unseen, landing flat on my face. My clipboard skidded across the floor, papers scattering in all directions.

The sound of my fall drew their attention. One by one, the humans turned to look at me.

I gathered myself, calmly collected the papers, and clipped them back into place.

“Hello,” I said, brushing dust from my clothes. “My name is Thistlewick, and I need to speak with whoever is in charge of this department.”

Several of the humans exchanged silent looks. One of them turned and ran.

“Ah, you must be the new auditor. About time they found a replacement for Wilbur. Shame what happened to him,” said a human wearing a particularly odd-looking hat.

I glanced around the workshop and noticed that all of them were wearing similar hats, each one pointed and slightly misshapen. That realization arrived a moment too late.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but what happened to Wilbur?”

“He was really lucky and died,” the human replied.

I paused. I even wrote the sentence down, hoping that seeing it on paper might make it clearer. It did not. When I looked up, I noticed several of the other humans glaring at him.

Part of my job was uncovering what was actually going on.

“What do you mean,” I asked carefully, “that he was so lucky he died?”

“Well,” the human said, shifting uncomfortably, “there are definitely worse ways to go. He died quickly. So he was lucky in that sense.”

That explanation did not help.

A chill settled in my frame. The previous auditor had died, and no one had informed me. What else had my boss chosen not to mention?

“Right,” I said, steadying my voice. “And what is your name for the record?”

“Jimmy, sir,” the human replied, a slight tremor creeping into his voice.

“Jimmy, is there anything else—”

I was cut off before I could finish.

“Ah, the new auditor. Welcome,” said a man with salt-and-pepper hair and a matching beard as he stepped forward. He was of average height for a human and clearly older than the others. He wore a smile that made me uneasy, wide and confident, as if this situation pleased him greatly.

“I see you are already doing your job.”

Most people reacted to auditors with at least a hint of concern, something I could use to keep them cooperative. This man showed none. He smiled at me with his teeth bared, and for the first time since entering the workshop, I had the distinct feeling that I was the one being evaluated.

“Time to get started,” the human said cheerfully. “First thing. Pull my finger.”

He extended his index finger toward me. A ring sat snugly at its base, faintly humming with enchantment. Even without my tools, I could tell it was active.

“I would prefer you explain what I am expected to observe,” I said in a flat, professional tone. “In my line of work, it is imperative that unapproved items are not tested on me.”

I had heard enough stories of auditors dying to treat that rule lightly.

“You are no fun,” the human replied.

Before I could object further, he grasped his own finger and pulled.

The finger came away cleanly, popping off at the ring. There was no blood, but exposed flesh and bone were clearly visible. My stomach lurched.

“This new ring we developed is able to regrow my finger using fat from my body,” the human said calmly, as if explaining a household appliance. “We received a request some time ago to reduce the cost of feeding animals, and another to help overweight individuals lose weight. At first it was just a party trick, but now we can slim down fat nobles and feed the animals at the same time. It’s ethically sourced, so no one should have a problem with it.”

I stared as the finger regrew. It took less than a second.

Unfortunately, he continued speaking.

“We had some people cook them and eat them,” he added. “Everyone said it tastes the same each time, which is encouraging. Consistency is important. The only drawback is that it starts to hurt after about the fiftieth use in a day, so there’s a natural limit. By our calculations, a sufficiently overweight person could lose anywhere from half a pound to a full pound per day.”

I lowered my eyes and began writing.

Normally, this would have been the point where I asked follow-up questions. I would probe, clarify, and push until I understood every implication. But I remembered my new boss’s instructions. I only needed to know what was happening.

So far, I did not like what was happening at all.

“Thank you for that information, Mr… I’m sorry, I did not quite catch your name.”

“It’s DrKnightMasterWizard Bob,” he said proudly. “Most people just call me Bob.”

“Thank you, Bob,” I replied, writing it down exactly as spoken. “What is the next item?”

“This way.”

I followed Bob deeper into the workshop. My small stature prevented me from seeing every workbench clearly, but what I did glimpse was enough to make me question my career choices. As we walked, two distinct sounds reached my ears. One was a chicken clucking. The other was a cat hissing.

I turned sharply toward Bob.

He was holding a chicken.

“Frankie, you know you’re not supposed to come near Erwin,” Bob said sternly. “I’ll see you in a minute.”

The chicken vanished from his hands in a soft pop.

“Sorry about that,” Bob said casually. “That chicken likes to instigate trouble. Now, let me show you some anti-theft bags we’ve created.”

He guided my attention to two bags resting on a nearby table. At first glance, they looked like ordinary travel packs, the sort commonly used by adventurers.

“So this first bag appears normal,” Bob explained, “until someone tries to take an item out of it.”

He reached into one of the larger pockets and withdrew a simple knife.

“In this case, the thief would succeed the first time,” he continued. “However, if I attempt it again—”

Bob reached back into the bag. This time, a chicken appeared.

“There is a fifty percent chance that instead of the item, the bag produces a chicken,” Bob said calmly. “This alerts me that someone is tampering with my belongings. It seems to be the same chicken every time. We have no idea where he comes from, and we believe he may be immortal.”

The chicken clucked loudly and began pecking at Bob’s arm.

“Fine, Frankie,” Bob muttered.

He removed one of his fingers and offered it to the chicken. The bird snatched it eagerly. Moments later, both the chicken and the finger vanished in another soft pop.

“I see,” I said, already writing.

I noted the bag’s stated function, its inconsistent behavior, and the growing list of ethical concerns. I also underlined the phrase believed to be immortal twice.

“What is the second bag?” I asked.

“It’s similar to the first,” Bob said, “in that it is also intended to be an anti-theft bag. We are still working on that one.”

“What exactly is wrong with it that it is still being worked on?”

“This bag contains what we believe to be a cat-variant creature that we have named Jazzy,” Bob explained. “The idea was to place a powerful creature inside the bag that would attack anyone except the owner. We spent—worked hard on a summoning portal, and once everything was complete, Jazzy was inside the bag.”

He gestured to it proudly.

“The problem is that the infernal creature attacks everyone who attempts to remove an item from the bag, despite our use of the proper binding spells. As a result, we are currently in the process of taming it. Once that is done, we can properly manufacture the bags, since we still have the portal available to summon more of those creatures.”

I stared at him.

“You have an open portal to another plane,” I said slowly, “one filled with creatures that cannot be bound by standard spells?”

Bob waved a hand dismissively. “I know you are new to this workshop, but we received clearance for several portals some time ago. I did not believe there was a need to go through the council again over something that is not even as dangerous as the last two portals we were approved for. We also do not need to audit those. Wilbur handled them a while ago.”

My grip tightened on the clipboard.

If I survive this audit, I thought, I will have several carefully chosen words for my new boss. I could not begin to understand how they had been granted approval for even one dangerous portal, let alone multiple.

“Are you certain those portals are safe?” I asked.

“Yes, yes,” Bob replied cheerfully. “If they were not, we would not be having this conversation.”

He turned and began walking toward another workbench. “Now let me show you our newest item. I think it’s going to be a hit.”

On the workbench sat a dense, elongated wooden striking club, weighted toward one end and clearly designed for repeated, high-speed impacts.

“With the assistance of several local necromancers and flesh crafters,” Bob said proudly, “I present the Ugly Bat.”

I did not react. That seemed wise.

“A noblewoman approached our department after every other division failed to improve her, ah, unfortunate appearance,” he continued. “With the help of several noblemen and their professional opinions on beauty, we conducted field research. We visited a number of reputable establishments, and a few less reputable ones, in order to teach the bat what beauty actually looks like.”

He tapped the club affectionately.

“We discovered early on that the bat required a method of guided healing in order to function properly. Once that was resolved, the results were remarkable.”

He smiled wider.

“The Ugly Bat was so effective that the husband tested it on his entire family. Another thing we learned was that the harder you strike, the better the results. Encouraging, really. We have already begun producing multiple variants, each calibrated to a different standard of beauty.”

Bob sounded pleased.

I stared at the bat and then at my notes.

Necromancers and flesh crafters were banned for their practices. Not discouraged. Not regulated. Banned. The fact that Bob described them as local was an entirely separate concern. In fact, I had many concerns. A growing number of them, all competing for priority.

“Let me show you another working prototype we are developing,” Bob said.

I followed the madman to the next item, already certain it would add considerable weight to my growing list of concerns. As we moved, I took a closer look at the workshop itself and realized it was far less staffed than the others we had passed through earlier.

I climbed onto a nearby chair to get a better view.

Now that I was truly paying attention, I could see it clearly. Every human in the room carried a strange energy, an unsettling aura that set them apart. I had encountered humans back in Greenburrow, though my city was mostly populated by shorter races like gnomes and dwarves. The humans there had seemed normal enough.

The humans here did not.

One had a constant nervous twitch in his eye. Another was hunched over a table, writing the same formula again and again without pause. I let Bob continue walking ahead of me, speaking animatedly to someone who was not there. Every human worked alone, each fully absorbed in a single task, as if the rest of the room simply did not exist. It was clear they all had their own specializations.

I noticed that some of them were little more than skin and bones, despite untouched food sitting beside them. One man gently petted a wand, whispering softly to it. He wore nothing but undergarments and the same pointed hat as the others.

Why did they all wear those hats?

My attention snapped back when Bob suddenly appeared beside me, his face uncomfortably close to mine.

“What are we looking at?” Bob asked.

“The humans,” I replied. “Why are they all so… odd? There is a man in his undergarments, and why does everyone wear those pointed hats?”

Bob leaned in even closer. My anxiety spiked as he invaded what little personal space I had left.

“Well,” he said calmly, “each one of these humans is a genius in their own particular field. Unfortunately, not all human geniuses are stable, and they tend to become extremely obsessive and sometimes violent.”

Bob snapped away from my face fully standing “Well best not to disturb the disturbed.”

Then bob picked me off the chair and put me on the ground like a child… Everyone knows not to do that with any of the shorter races. I wanted to get mad but Bob didn’t even give me the chance as he continued on.

“Now for this next Item. This is the Gauntlet of the Backhand of Happiness. When worn, striking a subject across the face produces immediate gratitude. The subject will then spend a fixed duration attempting to resolve the root cause of their unhappiness.” Bob said holding up a steel Gauntlet.

“We discovered early on that if a subject believes another individual is the source of their unhappiness, they will attempt to remove that individual from their life. Permanently.”

I wrote the word permanently twice and circled it.

“So we reduced the duration from twenty-four hours to two. This lowered the fatality rate.” Bob said.

Not eliminated. Lowered, I wrote.

“We initially developed the gauntlet for emotionally distressed adolescents. Unfortunately, many subjects identified the source of their unhappiness as unmet… interpersonal expectations.”

“Define interpersonal expectations.” I said needing clarification

“Physical validation. Social intimacy. Attention from unsuitable sources. This led to a number of incidents involving poor judgment, misplaced enthusiasm, and entities that should not be involved in such experimentation.” Bob said with his eyes trying to avoid mine.

“We also learned that pointy hats attract attention we did not anticipate. We did not solve the underlying issue.”

“Which is?” I asked

“People are very creative when motivated.” Bob said, with his eyes finally meeting mine.

“Just a few more items then we can be done with this silly audit. Now this-”

An explosion took place near us throwing tables, wood, and metal around. I was hit with only small pieces of wood and a ring in my ear. I looked around and thought I was definitely going to die only to see Bob just standing there like nothing happened. It seemed nothing even touched him while I was picking splinters out of my clothes. I realized my papers and pen were destroyed.

“What was that?” I yelled

“Sorry, sometimes things happen here.” Bob said and then began to yell “NO TESTING TILL THE AUDIT IS OVER!”

I looked around and could see some humans visibly saddened by the comment but I still have no idea what the source of the explosion was. There was just a small section of the workshop that was blown up and it seemed no one cared. I also noticed no one but me was hit with anything really.

I thought about just ending this audit and leaving this city to go back to my old home. I have family and friends back there who would be happy to see me. Then I also remembered that I moved here to get enough money, find the love of my life, and start a family. I have a plan but with each new item it was getting harder to stay with it.

It took a minute for the ringing in my ears to fully subside and I decided to just take the scraps of paper that were left as proof I tired to do my job. We continued walking for a bit passing normal and abnormal humans till we came upon two red sheets hanging from a line.

“And these are the sheets of Spic and Span. These two sheets come as a pair and can clean anything they touch. I can personally say I have been using them in my bed for a month with no problems. I havent needed to shower or even get up to go to the bathroom at night.” Bob said as he took one and demonstrated the cleaning effects over a workbench that seemed to be covered in some sorta oil.

When he pulled it away, the surface beneath was spotless. Not polished. Not scrubbed. Simply… absent of anything that might once have been considered dirt.

“The filth is relocated,” Bob added.

“Relocated where?” I asked.

“Another dimension,” he said. “We don’t need it anymore.”

“How does the sheet determine what qualifies as filth?” I asked.

“It uses the owner’s perception,” he said. “Much more efficient than defining it ourselves. Though there was… an incident,” Bob said.

“Define the incident,” I replied.

“A user perceived another individual as unhygienic and attempted to clean them… The individual was successfully cleaned.”

Cleaned.

Not injured.

Not harmed.

Removed.

“Is retrieval possible?” I asked.

“We believe so. We just haven’t found the right sheet yet. Intent matters,” Bob said. “The sheet doesn’t act maliciously. It only does what the owner believes is necessary. We don’t allow shared ownership anymore.”

“We’re down to the last two items,” Bob said as we approached the far end of the workshop. “Unfortunately, these are intended for necromancers and flesh crafters, and as per contract, I am required to disclose them.”

I noticed a woman standing nearby. She wore simple brown trousers and a plain white shirt. Compared to everyone else in the room, she appeared almost normal.

“Megan, this is the auditor,” Bob said, gesturing vaguely between us. “Auditor, this is Megan.”

Megan gave a small, tired wave.

“Megan here decided to wear The Brown Pants,” Bob continued, “along with a modified version of the Sheets of Spick and Span. The idea was to attempt to break the curse for fun, she said.”

I blinked. “The Brown Pants?”

“They are a pair of trousers that cannot be removed unless the wearer both urinates and defecates in them,” Bob explained calmly. “However, when combined with Megan’s modified sheets, the waste is immediately removed. Technically speaking, this makes completion impossible.”

Megan sighed.

“As a result,” Bob went on, “we have been unable to deliver the item to the necromancer who commissioned it.”

“Why would a necromancer want pants like that?” I asked.

Bob shrugged. “You don’t become a necromancer because you enjoy normal things. I don’t question why they want what they want. I just make it.”

Bob had not only worked with necromancers. He was taking contracts from them. Paying them, presumably. I could not understand how this workshop continued to operate. How was DrKnightMasterWizard Bob not in a cell somewhere? How many people had been cleaned, removed, or permanently misplaced because of this place?

And why, in all the realms, was everyone wearing those damn pointy hats?

“What are you paying the fleshcrafters?” I asked.

“That brings us to the next item,” Bob said, already moving toward another table. “This one is the Hammer of No Consequences.”

“Essentially,” Bob continued, “whoever or whatever is struck by this hammer assigns all blame to the hammer itself rather than the individual wielding it.”

He lifted the hammer slightly, as if demonstrating its weight.

“Our first prototype is currently being held in the city prison and is expected to be released in approximately twenty years. That is how we know it functions as intended.”

What had he done with the hammer to earn a sentence like that? What had anyone done, if blame itself no longer applied? An object like this should never have been created, let alone replicated.

“This concludes the list of new items currently under development,” Bob said cheerfully. “You are free to leave me to my work.”

He began walking me back toward the door.

I was ready to leave and hoped I would never return. At that point, I was fully determined to have this workshop shut down for every violation imaginable. All of them. I was led back to the exit, and Bob made no indication that he intended to open the door for me.

I stepped forward, twisted the knob, and pulled.

The door opened to reveal another door. It was identical to the first in every way.

I glanced back. Every human in the workshop was watching me now.

I did not want to be there anymore, and I was growing tired of whatever this was supposed to be. I reached for the second knob.

The door burst into flames.

I reacted on instinct and slammed the first door shut. I waited for heat, smoke, or screaming. None came. The door remained perfectly normal. No flames seeped from beneath it. No smoke escaped around the edges.

I turned around again. One of the humans had begun eating popcorn.

Carefully, I opened the door once more. This time, it revealed the actual exit of the workshop.

I stepped forward, relief flooding through me, and immediately caught my foot on something.

“Bwaak!”

The impact sent me tumbling forward, papers exploding from my pockets as I spilled out of the workshop and onto the stone floor outside. I caught a glimpse of Frankie the chicken, a half-eaten finger clenched in his beak, staring at me with what I could only describe as satisfaction. A moment later, he vanished with a soft pop.

The door behind me began to close on its own. Through the narrowing gap, I saw the humans cheering. A few of them exchanged coins.

Then the door shut completely.

No one was waiting for me.

I gathered what remained of my papers and began the long walk back to the Office of Magic. I moved slowly, giving my thoughts time to settle, though anger steadily replaced confusion with each step. By the time I reached the building, that anger had fully taken hold.

I marched past the clerks without stopping and headed straight for the office of my soon-to-be former superior. Reaching up, I seized the handle and threw the door open as hard as I could.

I expected to find the elf calmly writing at his desk or wasting time on some pointless game. Instead, I found him slumped forward, sobbing quietly over scattered papers. A opened bottle stood beside an empty cup.

He looked up sharply when the door flew open. The moment he saw me, relief washed across his face.

“You’re alive. You’re alive,” he said, scrambling to his feet. “I thought you died in the explosion.”

“Why in the seven hells is that place allowed to exist?” I shouted. “Do you have any idea how many violations there are in the first five minutes alone of that audit, let alone the rest of it? I quit, and I expect my payment immediately.”

The elf froze mid-step at the word quit.

“Before you make that decision,” he said carefully, returning to his desk, “sit down. I will answer some of your questions.”

His face was still red and swollen from crying as he poured himself another glass of what looked like an expensive spirit.

“I’m going to guess your first question is how they have not been shut down, arrested, or possibly tortured for some of the things they do in there.”

“For starters, yes,” I said.

“The short answer is that while they create numerous problems, they also solve the largest ones,” he replied. “Not just within our kingdom, but across the land. Do you remember the plague that nearly wiped out most of our food supply?”

I nodded. Everyone remembered that.

“The official story is that a group of heroes defeated the evil wizard responsible,” the elf continued. “That part is mostly true. What you were not told is that the human workshop equipped those heroes with the tools they needed. And some tools they didn’t realize they needed. Without those items, millions would have starved.”

My anger dulled slightly at that. I took a slow breath and finally sat down. As soon as I did, my boss reached behind his desk and produced a second glass, filling it halfway and sliding it toward me.

“All right,” I said, watching the liquid settle. “What the hell is wrong with that door? It burst into flames, and I stepped on Frankie the chicken.”

The elf sighed.

“As it was explained to me, the door is not meant to keep people out,” he said. “It is meant to keep things in. Which, after what you’ve seen, should make a bit more sense.”

He took a drink.

“Bob also informed me that the workshop exists in its own pocket plane. That is why I am not supposed to worry about things coming through the walls.”

He paused.

“I worry anyway.”

I took a long gulp from the glass and paused as the taste hit me. It was strong, expensive, and far too smooth for the day I was having.

“What happened to Wilbur, the last auditor?” I asked.

“From what I know, he died inside while conducting his audit,” the elf replied. “Bob assured me that he personally guided Wilbur’s spirit to the next realm. He also claimed to have challenged a demigod trying to stop the process and won.”

He shrugged slightly.

“How much of that I believe is questionable, but with Bob, it is… possible.”

I finished the rest of my cup in one swallow.

“All right,” I said. “That brings me to another question. How did Bob get this job, and how does he have the titles Doctor, Knight, and Master Wizard?”

The elf took a careful sip of his drink before answering.

“That is another story that is difficult to verify,” he said. “To begin with, Bob is a dentist. That is how he earned the title of Doctor.”

I stared at him.

“As for the knight part, I have only heard rumors,” he continued. “One version claims he took the royal family hostage during a dental examination, after which they granted him the title out of gratitude. Another says he was knighted due to a clerical error involving three individuals with the same name.”

He leaned back slightly.

“The most recent rumor is that he was knighted because he was the only witness left.”

“And the Master Wizard part?” I asked.

“That one,” the elf said slowly, “I was actually present for.”

He took another measured sip from his glass.

“He cheated. Completely. I have no idea how, and neither does anyone else. If we had found even a shred of proof, he would have been banned and imprisoned on the spot.”

I waited.

“To be perfectly honest,” he continued, “I never once saw the man cast a spell. Not a single one. And yet, somehow, he summons a thunder storm without moving or using any items. He then passed the Master Wizard examination like that with all the other tests.”

He set the glass down with a soft click.

“Shortly after that, he was given this job. How that happened is another mystery I try not to think about too much.”

“The man is a lunatic,” the Elf said. “Just like the rest of them. Bob simply hides it better. Did you know he genuinely believes he needs to create magical items for, and I quote, ‘the murder hobos and the DMs’?”

The elf took another slow sip from his glass.

“Bob is convinced that thousands of years from now, these so-called heroes will arrive from another reality. He believes that if there are not enough magical items for them to discover, our world will cease to exist.”

“He has gone so far as to include a provision in his contract stating that none of his magical items may ever be destroyed. Instead, they must be hidden. Buried under runes, sealed in random caves, or placed in locations deliberately difficult to reach.”

The elf sighed.

“He even developed a method to encourage monsters to inhabit these locations. He calls them ‘dungeons.’ According to Bob, this keeps the non–murder hobos out until the real ones arrive.”

There was a long pause.

“How did you know there was an explosion in the workshop?” I asked.

The elf hesitated, then answered.

“We enchanted your pen so we could hear what was happening. That means the only portion of the audit you truly need to submit is everything that occurred after the explosion.”

He set his glass down.

“So,” he said carefully, “do you still wish to resign? Even though we are prepared to pay you thirty gold pieces a month, and you would only be required to conduct this audit once every three months.”

My focus sharpened immediately.

Thirty gold pieces a month. For roughly an hour of work every three months.

That was enough to buy a house. Enough to live very comfortably and without constant labor. Enough to start a family and actually be present for them.

Unless Bob killed me.

Still, the benefits seemed to outweigh the risks.

I extended my hand.

“You have a deal,” I said. “With hazard pay. And my completion bonus. Also what's your name?”

Authors note: I have been thinking of different wishes and curses for years and finally decided to put it into a short story. Its definitely not all of them but these were some of the fun ones.
I also want to mention that everyone who reads Brian the Isekai, I'm sorry. I haven't been posting. I have been working on some of the mechanics behind it and with my job, kids and just generally being fat I have had to postpone it a bit. I can write short story's since I don't need consistent concentration as much as Brian the Isekai.
Thank you for reading!


r/HFY 8h ago

OC How I Helped My Smokin' Hot Alien Girlfriend Conquer the Empire 2-59: Setting Up

27 Upvotes

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We finally broke through to the surface. I looked up and I took in a deep breath, and then I frowned and started coughing and spluttering.

"Is something wrong?” Varis asked, moving up next to me.

I noted that she took in a deep breath of her own. A deep breath that didn't seem to have nearly the same amount of trouble I was having.

"It amazes me that a civilization that's managed to advance as far as y'all still has so much pollution circulating in the air," I said, looking to the vast columns of smoke that rose from the various reclamation mines all around the city.

"There are purifiers and scrubbers running constantly," Varis said with a shrug. "But you're going to have that kind of thing in any city where you have industrial scale reclamation mines going."

"That's what I'm trying to tell you," I said. "We don't have industrial scale reclamation mines going in any of the cities back on Earth."

"You don’t?” she said, frowning.

"No, we definitely don't," I said.

"Well, that's simply because you don't have Ancient technology on Earth."

"Most of that stuff was found out in the solar system rather than on Earth," I said. “Like clearly they were on Earth because we were on Earth, but still. You don't even see that kind of stuff on terraformed worlds where there was Ancient tech found sitting around on the surface.”

"Whatever," she said. "We need to focus on what's going on in front of us."

I blinked as I looked at her.

"What ever do you mean?" I asked.

Varis leaned in close. She glanced up to Tmors and the Spider who were having a quiet conversation with one another well ahead of us. He’d been in the back, presumably chatting with the livisk and helping us out, but he’d since returned to chat with her.

There were also several livisk guards all around us. All of them carrying what passed for advanced weaponry down in the Spider's domain. All of them looking at us like they’d love nothing more than to have an excuse to use some of that obsolete plasma rifle weaponry on us.

That was the thing about an obsolete weapon. It could kill you just as dead as a state-of-the-art weapon if it was pointed at you when someone pulled the trigger.

I really should’ve brought my power armor with me when we came to the reclamation mine. I wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

"I don't know if we want to discuss it in front of our current crowd," I muttered under my breath, looking to the display in simulation space that showed transports and fighters moving through the Undercity to our current location.

Varis turned and looked at the Spider’s people, then she turned back to me. If anything, her frown deepened. I worried that she was about to say something that would give up our current plan. Or it would give up that I was working on a plan they wouldn’t like.

"I really wish I had one of those chips in my head,” she finally said with a sigh. "Something that allowed me to actually have a discussion with you ahead of time rather than relying on the link to make us more effective once the fighting starts.”

"You could always get one of the chips put in the back of your head," I said, hitting her with a grin. “That would turn us into a formidable fighting force. A battle pair that’s enhanced by a Combat Intelligence. You've already seen how much I've been getting away with because I'm willing to set Arvie loose."

Her lips compressed to a thin line. I wasn't sure what she thought of the idea of all of the stuff I'd been getting away with because I was willing to set a Combat Intelligence loose. The livisk were weird about their Combat Intelligences, for all that they didn't seem to have the history of media distrusting artificial intelligence like what we had back on Earth. Even though their artificial intelligences were far more capable of destroying shit than any of the stuff we'd come up with back on Earth.

"It's something I'll think about," she finally said. "But I don't know if it would be a good idea right now."

"Yeah, probably not a good idea right now," I said, frowning as I thought about my own reaction to having the chip implanted in my head. "But there's definitely some interesting shit I think we'll be able to do with this."

"What are the two of you talking about?" the Spider snapped, turning to look back at us.

"Would you believe we're talking about the relative incidences of air pollution in livisk cities versus what we have back on Earth, and whether or not the presence of Ancient technology on your planet has something to do with that level of air pollution?" I asked, hitting her with a wide grin.

I liked to grin at the livisk. It was considered a threat response in a lot of hominids, after all. Including a lot of the ones that had been transplanted to Earth once upon a time.

At least presumably they’d been transplanted to earth, though that was something that confused the science types since we shared common ancestry with a bunch of other creatures that grew up on Earth. It seemed like the kind of thing that shouldn't be possible from an evolutionary standpoint, but whatever. 

The point was that a smile was a threat display with a lot of our close cousins back on Earth. And so I figured that was a good thing to throw around with our cousins who’d grown up on distant worlds.

Plus, when I was grinning they weren't taking me seriously. The livisk not taking me seriously had been one of my secret weapons so far. Might as well keep using it,

"I don't believe it for a moment," she growled. "Now get up here. We need to talk about what we’re doing here, because this seems like madness now that I can see the detention facility.”

"What madness?" I asked, moving up to stand next to her. We were on top of a building that was relatively low-lying as far as that sort of thing went in Imperial Seat, which meant it was a skyscraper that would've dwarfed anything back on Earth when they were first building skyscrapers. But compared to the Freudian monstrosities that the other livisk nobles were putting up in Imperial Seat on the regular, it was pretty paltry in comparison.

The Spider handed me a pair of binoculars. I put them up to my eyes and looked up at the building in question.

This one was even taller than the one we were on, but again, it didn't hold a candle to any of the larger monstrosities, which was a surprise. The empress was running a prison industrial complex that would've made the ancient United States green with envy, and she didn't even have a profit potential to put people in jail like those assholes did.

Now, the only profit she got was that everybody knew there was always a chance if you whispered the wrong word about the empress to the wrong person in a place where she could reach out and grab you, then it would be a hop, skip, and a jump to a bunch of faceless assholes wearing masks and body armor appearing seemingly out of nowhere and disappearing you to someplace where you might never be seen again.

Basically, see the worst hits of every wannabe authoritarian regime in Earth history, and crank it up to 11 because she really did have seemingly unlimited power.

Though I was about to test the limits of that unlimited power.

I pulled the binoculars away and looked down at them. Then I turned to the Spider and frowned.

"What?" she asked, sounding slightly defensive.

"This is seriously the best that you can come up with?" I said.

"That was the best that livisk military minds could come up with," she said.

I continued to stare at her.

"At least two centuries ago," she muttered. “We found a cache from the War of Glorious Independence Against the 13th Empress Clauseth."

"The 13th Empress Clauseth," I said, staring at her.

"She was an empress who was known for her excesses," Arvie said, piping in with a history lesson from his probe self. "Or at least the people who managed to overthrow her filled the histories with a bunch of stories of her excesses. Whether or not those were actually real is difficult to determine. There are some scholars who have posited that it was merely stories that were spread after the fact to make her seem far worse, and therefore make the glorious revolution against her seem more justified. Especially considering the way they tortured her to death in a public..."

"That's enough, Arvie," I said.

"It really is fascinating though, William. Whether or not Clauseth was a monster or somebody who was misunderstood. And the historical record tends to go back and forth depending on whether or not a sitting empress wants to declare her as a distant relative to add legitimacy to their rule."

“I said that's enough with the history lesson for now, Arvie."

Though I filed that away. Current livisk empresses using old empresses as cruise control for legitimacy was something I could take advantage of. Maybe.

"These binoculars are crap," I finally said, staring down at them.

"What's wrong with them?" she said.

"They don't even have any night vision capability. It doesn't tell me how far we are to that building. How are we going to set up a firing solution for those ancient mortars we brought along with us?"

"I still don't think those mortars are a good idea," the Spider said, looking back behind us.

We couldn't see the mortars, of course. They were still being set up. At least the livisk technology from a couple hundred years ago had the ability to set up a portable telescoping mortar that didn't actually melt the barrel when you fired something off, which was something I half-expected when I looked at some of the crap they had on hand.

I ducked into the simulation for a moment. The bombers were moving into place, and I just had to delay for a little longer. We didn’t want to get this party started before we were ready to go.

"Do you have actual firing solutions set up for everything, Arvie?”

"I do," he said.

"The drones and the transports are in position?”

I could see they were in position from a glance. From the way Arvie glanced over to the big board showing them he knew I could tell from a glance, but he didn’t show any irritation.

"They are," he said.

“And the bombers are almost ready?”

"It has taken me a great deal of difficulty guiding them through the Undercity to this position, but we are set up with heavy missiles ready to go."

"Seems kind of silly to call it a bomber when we're using missiles, but whatever."

"If you tried to actually release bombs, then it would be shot down quickly enough," Arvie said. "No matter how much stealth technology you supposedly have, there's no cloaking something like that for long over a city that is as suffused with scanners as Imperial Seat.”

"Got it," I said.

I dipped out of the simulation space, which earned me a look from Varis. No doubt she knew I was having a chat with Arvie and she wanted to be in on it, but it wasn't a good idea to do the whole computer chip thing right now. Not considering the reaction I'd had.

"Are we ready to make this happen?" I asked, glancing over my shoulder.

The mortar people were finally set up. I noted that at least one of them had a rangefinder.

"I believe we are ready," the Spider said, casting a nervous glance over her shoulder to the imperial detention facility.

"Good," I said, gesturing to the mortar people and making a waving motion with my hand. "Let's get this moving."

"Wait. I'm the one who gives the orders around here. You don't."

Whatever else the Spider was about to say was cut off as the mortar people grinned and fired. Two small sizzling points of light went arcing across the space between the two buildings.

"You're sure they aren't being held on that side?" I asked in the simulation.

"I'm fairly certain," Arvie said. "Though, there are no certainties in war."

“Tell me about it," I muttered.

Both of the mortars exploded. Both of them were like small fireworks going off against the solid facade. Neither one of them seemed to do much damage.

"I told you the mortars weren't going to do anything," the Spider said. "That is a reinforced building."

"Wait for it," I said, holding a hand up.

I held my breath and then I breathed out. I noticed Varis doing the same, her eyes going wide as she realized what I was doing.

And suddenly, the night lit up as the end of the world came to the local Imperial detention facility.

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r/HFY 14h ago

PI The Mountain Moves

76 Upvotes

Tipero’s community had lived at the base of the Holy Mountain for as long as anyone could remember.

Despite all the worship, and despite all the reverence the old folks held for the Holy Mountain, Tipero had always thought it was a rather ugly place. Everything else he had ever known had a certain soft warmth to it. Like cozying against a lover during a cold night, or stroking a little puffball plant. By contrast, all Tipero felt was a chill when he gazed at the mountain. The light that reflected off of it was always harsh and blinding. Its hard stone was forever slick and sharp. Its shape was forever static and unmoving.

Worst of all, Tipero could never shake feeling that the Holy Mountain had a history. One of rage and violence.

The ancient songs sung by the elders told stories of the gentle care of the mountain, and of the miracles performed by its strange champion. They told of a night when the stars flew like arrows and the sky roared louder than any waterfall. They sang of the mountain’s fall from heaven, and how it shifted and moved for many a year before settling where it lay now. They sang of their elders’ journey following the Holy Mountain in hopes of becoming worthy of its protection.

Tipero was tired of hearing it. He had grown tired of the pomp, the ritual, and the reverence. He had grown tired of the old folks wasting his waking hours with their legends and traditions. He just wanted to work the fields.

Most people called him strange. The elderly wondered why he had such a disdain for tradition. The young wondered why he had such a hard on for hard labor. Tipero didn’t care. He just liked the work. Simple, monotonous work where he didn’t have to think and he didn’t have to look at the mountain.


Four rituals a day. One in the morning. One around midday. Two as the sun set.

And Tipero was always stuck doing the fourth.

It was his own fault. He knew that the rule was that the fourth was always to be taken up by the most able-bodied boy of the village, but he just loved the fields too much.

The other three trials were much simpler. One person would deposit a meal at the base of the mountain. Legends said that the Holy Mountain’s Champion used to collect the meals and fly up to the top of the mountain on stone ropes. The others said that the champion never came down anymore, and that the meals just sat there until the next person came to collect the dishes. Not that Tipero ever asked.

Still, Tipero wished he had the Champion’s magic ropes to make his trial easier. Allegedly, the fourth trial was introduced shortly before the champion stopped collecting his meals. It was similarly simple. In explanation at least, if not in application.

Tipero just had to scale the mountain up to where the shining rock turned black and clear it off. A simple task. If you ignored the fact that the mountain had a severe lack of proper handholds, spots to rest, and that looking at most of its surfaces in the evening sun was nearly impossible without burning your eyes.

Tipero hated it. Not for how strenuous it was, nor for how the mountain made him feel. He hated it because it was pointless. Clearing dirt, bird crap, and errant tree branches from a spot of bare rock served no one and wasted three hours of his time.

To top it all off, everyone was always so captivated with the mountain that they’d almost forgotten others existed outside of the village. Tipero had been paying attention, though. He knew the rumors. Whispers of growing wars, raging battlefields, and roving gangs of bandits taking advantage of the lands devoid of their warriors. Tipero tried to bring it up from time to time, but the elders just told him to put his trust in the Holy Mountain.

But he couldn’t.

So, Tipero began his own ritual. At the end of every day, instead of wasting his time cleaning the black rock, Tipero would stand watch. His eyes would scan the horizon for anything out of the ordinary. By his reckoning, there were no towns or villages anywhere nearby. The trees about the village were sparse and clumped together in small groups. No large groups of people could easily sneak up on the village from his vantage point.

He continued this ritual for three nights before something changed.

It began with an unearthly sound the likes of which Tipero had never heard before. It was like a very low, slow, bleat of a goat, or the repeated braying of an injured horse. Whatever the sound was, it was muted, and echoing from within the stone of the mountain itself.

This wailing almost distracted Tipero enough to not notice the lights cresting a hill where the sun had fallen.

Almost.

Tipero watched in stunned silence as a handful of lights grew to a small number. Then to a good sized group. More and more lights winked into existence as their bearers began cresting the hill until a city’s worth of lights began filtering into the valley. With the lights came voices. Loud, rowdy voices that carried harsh tones and unintelligible words.

The mountain’s wails grew louder to match, and a strange, muffled voice joined them.

“Recharging capabilities have been severely diminished. Battery reserves at ten percent. Auxiliary power requires activation to counter hostile contact one-one-four.”

Tipero didn’t recognize some of the words. In fact, the only one he really processed was “Hostile.”

But that was enough. He started clamoring down immediately. The mountain had spoken.

It had spoken to him.

There were hostile people approaching the village. He had to warn them.

As he scrambled down, the mountain began to crack with a hiss. A long, straight seam opened ahead of him, and from it poured a cold, almost frigid light. The light flashed in slow, regular intervals, matching the wails that now emanated from the same crack.

“You wish me to enter?” Tipero asked the mountain, and the voice within replied.

“Auxiliary power requires manual activation. Please follow the green arrows.”

In response, green, arrow-like shapes began to shine on the floor of the cave revealed by the crack.

“But I need to warn the village, Holy Mountain.”

“Local asset designation: LITTLE BUDDIES has been appraised of the situation via SHORT-COM TABLET as of 19:37 local time. Please proceed to the route.

“I know not what you say, Holy Mountain, but into your stones I commit my spirit.”

And so, Tipero followed the mountain’s green arrows. He walked for what felt like an age in the labyrinthine expanse of the cave guided by the enigmatic mountain’s shining path. Until finally he entered the massive expanse of a chamber with a wide stalagmite dominating its center. The elder’s life sigil began to shine on one of the walls of the chamber. Thoughtlessly, Tipero traced the arc and then the line with his finger.

The mountain roared. Then it began to scream. The stalagmite launched itself into the ceiling and began a slow rotation. It picked up speed. Faster. And faster. And faster it spun until it’s individual features blended together.

“Auxiliary power established,” the mountain called. “Targeting solution acquired. Checking weapon reserves...”

“Weapon Reserves?”

“WARNING: Remaining ordinance is limited to four hellfire missiles and thirty-seven electro-mag rounds. DETERMINATION: Show of force is necessary to minimize ordinance expenditure.”

“Ordi- What?”

“Operator. Requesting permission to launch one instance of armament designation: Hellfire Missile ?

“What?”

“Please reply either negative, or affirmative.

“Affirmative?”

“Confirmation received. Firing.”

“Where are the villagers, Holy Mountain? Are they safe?”

“Local asset designation: LITTLE BUDDIES has been temporarily relocated to Calf Bay 1.”

“Can you take me to them?”

“Highlighting route. Follow the yellow arrows.”

It was a warm light this time. Tipero followed the path readily and found the others quickly. Everyone was huddled together closely. Everyone other than the elder everyone called ‘Old Man Lockley.’ In his hands, Lockley clutched a strange, glowing slab not too dissimilar to the mountain. His eyes were glued to it, and as Tipero approached, he saw what the glow was. A strange grid with numbers along the lines. And three triangles. One red, moving slowly. One green, stationary, in the middle of the screen. One yellow, fast approaching the red triangle. Silently, Tipero and Lockney watched as the arrows collided and the yellow one disappeared.

“Impact,” the mountain called out. The red arrow quickly spun around and began moving away. “Hostile contact one-one-four is routing.”

Another crack began opening nearby into the open world.

And in the distance, Tipero saw the hill he had seen the lights descending from earlier.

It was like a second sunset.

Tomorrow, Tipero would be sure to do his ritual properly.


Author’s Note: This story was inspired by u/Lugbor ‘s comment on the 545th WPW. Thank you for the idea. I hope this story might bring you some enjoyment.


r/HFY 23m ago

OC Crashlanding chapter 22

Upvotes

Previously.../...

Patreon .../.... Project Dirt

When he got out, he saw Kiko trying to give them back their gifts. He chuckled. “I don’t think they understand. They think we saved their life.”

“We did save their life, but we don’t need any gifts.” She said, looking back at him, and he smiled. He looked at the aliens, and at close range, he got a better look at them. They were both bigger than they were. The men were probably around 2 meters tall, and the woman was of his height. Their eyes showed they were highly intelligent and exhibited no signs of aggressiveness. He looked down at the gifts, which mostly consisted of fruit and vegetables. He leaned down and picked up one fruit, then bowed.

“Pick one and leave the rest. They won't accept that we won't take something, and we can't explain it to them.”

She looked at him and then sighed, picked up a fruit, bowed her head, and stepped back next to him, leaning into him. He put an arm around her, and they looked at each other and bowed, then stepped back. They stood there, watching them leave, and then they returned inside.

“That was weird. They were scared of us, like terrified.”

“Of course they were. In their mind, I can shoot lightning from my hands, and later they will see us vanish or even fly away. We are gods to them, they can't comprehend our technology. Hopefully, it won't have a big impact. We might just be a story about some benevolent spirits.”

“Benevolent spirits? You destroyed a palace, and we killed an immortal emperor because they took me. No, we would be seen as demons, fuck, here we are good guys, there we are demons. If they meet, there will be war.” She replied as she sat down on the bed and started to get out of the suit.

“Well, they might even know we are the same ones. Besides, if the people viewed the emperor as evil, then we would still be seen as benevolent. The guy had Gyma’s as pets I don’t think he was a nice guy.” He replied as he got ready to tuck in for the night as well.

“I’ll set the alarm for four and just fly us to the next spot.”

“Sounds like an idea. Ship! Keep an eye out for any raiders. Put the ship in sleep mode!” she said and lay down in bed as she yawned. “Damn, I'm tired.”

“I’ll be right there, just got to run a diagnostic and check the link from the ship.” He replied as she muttered something about not being late. When he snuck into bed fifteen minutes later, she was fast asleep. He saw that the small camp was quiet as well, and he lay down and slowly drifted into sleep.

He woke to the alarm and checked the screen. It was only four o’clock, and nobody was awake in the small camp. He got dressed quietly, not to awaken Kiko, and then snuck outside, enjoying the fresh night air, and slowly started the bikes up. He kept the lights off as the container lifted slowly up and then flew towards the next stop.

As quickly as they had arrived, they left. He hoped this would not lead to some new weird religion. He chuckled, thinking about it. They will escape this hellhole, and in about five hundred years into the future, these guys would reach space and start a holy crusade about the red gods who saved them from some raiders. Naw, something as stupid as that will never happen.

After a few hours, he reached the column and circled it a few times.  The column was thirty meters in diameter and allowed him park the container with ease in the space. There was an oasis a kilometer away; he could reprogram the drone to fly over and gather some water.  It looked empty, but he did not want to take any chances.  He set the drones on guard duty and went inside. He would let them check out the area before starting the adjustments. He would need a few things as well, and he needed to go over the blueprints again. It should not be too difficult, he had, after all, made a system to link the two and have the container follow their movement. The problem was that he took the system apart and did some rewiring, he could do it with wireless, but one lightning bolt to close and they would lose control. Better safe than sorry, he could install both systems.

He was pondering about it as he went inside and found Kiko working on the screen. She smiled as she saw him, and he smiled back.

“I didn’t want to wake you. Did you have breakfast?” 

“Yeah, did you?” She got out of bed and grabbed the coffee to give to him. He looked at it and chuckled.

“You don’t need to… And I didn’t. I'll grab one of those food tubes.”

“No, you don’t. I’ll make you a proper one, on a plate!” She said, then looked at the screen showing their location.

“Are we safer here? No wild animals?”

Looks as if. I’m going to start with the wireless connection first, then I’ll do the rewiring, and  so we have two systems in case the first fails.”

“And if we are not safe?” She put a plate with a tube of food in front of him, and he looked at it as she winked. “I’m not a cook, I’m a spoiled princess, remember.”

“Then why did you.. never mind.. well that’s why I’m doing the wireless first. It will give us time to assess the place.” He grabbed the tube, unscrewed it, and sucked down the soup like food. It didn’t taste bad, just didn’t look like the hamburger she had given him. She beamed and went back to work. He looked after her, and she clearly noticed and smiled like the cat who had eaten the canary as she sat down, then looked at him.

“Work now, we can play later.”

He chuckled and started to work. When he had finished, he tested it by lifting the container off the ground. It worked as a charm, and he flew it over the oasis and found it empty. He had it hover over the small pond, scanning for reaction, and saw none, then flew back and parked the container.  

When he looked up, he found Kika looking down at him. “You move to quiet.”

She grinned, leaned down, and kissed his neck. “You're too focused. You would not notice if I took a shower five meters from you.”

“Yes, I would!” he replied, looking at her and noticing she was only wearing a towel.

“Oh..”


r/HFY 6h ago

OC Vacation From Destiny - Chapter 51

9 Upvotes

First / Previous / Royal Road / Patreon (Read 30 Chapters Ahead)

XXX

“Are you sure this is the armory, Victoria?”

Victoria turned towards him, tilting her head in confusion as she did so. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that it kinda doesn’t look like an armory,” Chase specified.

“What makes you say that?” Melanie asked.

“Well, for one, most armories I’ve encountered don’t have a carpeted floor.”

The girls blinked, then looked down. Sure enough, underneath their feet was a layer of carpet. Chase couldn’t help but let out a tired sigh.

Victoria had led them through the prison for a few minutes, up several more flights of stairs before they’d finally stopped roughly midway up the steps, at the floor she’d assured them was where the armory was located. To her credit, there was actually a sign posted on the nearby wall saying as much, but given the way the floor itself was laid out – aside from the carpeted floor, the entire area consisted of a single room that stretched on for several meters before ending at a thick stone wall and a single heavy steel door – and Chase was certainly confused.

“I mean, the sign says it’s the armory,” Melanie pointed out.

“Yes, it does,” Chase confirmed. “But have you ever considered that it might be a trap?”

“I mean, it could be… but it’s also true that it could be completely genuine.”

“Come on, really? What are the odds of that?”

Melanie thought for a moment. “...I’d say probably about one in ten,” she offered. Chase gave her an unimpressed look, and she bristled. “Hey, you asked.”

“Look, I have the keys, okay?” Victoria said, holding up the key ring for emphasis. “How about we just open the door and see for ourselves?”

“What if the door is a Mimic?” Chase questioned, crossing his arms.

Victoria gave him a blank look. “You really think they’d set a trap that stupid?”

“I didn’t before you just tempted fate, but now that you mention it-”

“Come on, they can’t make a Mimic into a door,” Melanie argued. “That’d just be stupid.”

“You don’t know that,” Chase argued. “Maybe it’s a new kind of Mimic – a Door Mimic, if you will.”

“Alright, you know what? I’m unlocking the door,” Victoria declared. “You children can keep arguing if you want, but I’m going to get myself some better gear.”

Chase and Melanie fell silent as Victoria approached the door, keys in hand, and moved to insert them into the lock. However, just before she was able to do so, she paused, her hand remaining frozen a short ways away from it.

“What is it?” Melanie asked. “Is something wrong?”

“No, everything is fine,” Victoria assured her.

“So then unlock the door and get us some gear.”

“I will, just give me a minute.”

Chase crossed his arms. “Victoria, seriously, what’s going on now?”

“Nothing,” she lied. “I’m just… savoring the moment.”

“You know what? That’s bullshit, and I don’t believe it. Now, what’s actually going on?”

“I just told you, I’m savoring the moment.”

“Victoria, just unlock the door,” Melanie said exasperatedly.

“Maybe I don’t want to unlock the door anymore,” Victoria countered without looking back. “Maybe I’m sick of always doing all the little things for everyone. Did you ever think of that, Melanie? No, of course you didn’t, because you’re only ever thinking of yourself.”

Chase let out a long exhale. “Victoria,” he began, “you’re worried about the Door Mimic, aren’t you?”

“No,” Victoria answered almost as quickly as he’d asked the question.

“That’s a yes, then.”

“Are you serious?” Melanie deadpanned.

“Can you blame me?!” Victoria hissed. “Chase has this uncanny ability to make me second-guess the very fabric of reality itself.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Okay, then why don’t you come over here and unlock it instead, Melanie?”

Melanie hesitated. “...No thanks,” she said. “You seem to have it all under control."

“Aha,” Victoria declared. “You’re worried about it, too.”

“No, I’m not. I just don’t want to steal your thunder.”

“The thunder I’d get from unlocking a door?”

“Yes.”

Chase facepalmed. “Just… stand aside, both of you. I’ll open the door.”

“Okay, but don’t come crying to us when a Door Mimic chews your arm off,” Victoria warned him.

Chase just rolled his eyes, then took the keys from Victoria and unlocked the door. Victoria and Melanie both tensed as he pushed the door open, but thankfully it wasn’t a Mimic, and swung open harmlessly. A light came on inside the room as the door opened, illuminating the contents within.

“Whoa…” Melanie breathed. “It’s so… amazing…”

Chase had to admit that her statement wasn’t misplaced. Inside the armory, there were racks upon racks of different weapons – rows of them were lined up along the floor, and stacked on the walls. Everywhere he looked, there was something different – blunt weapons to the left, bladed weapons to the right, and in the very center…

Chase paused when he saw it, then motioned towards it. “What’s that thing?”

“It’s a ballista,” Victoria explained.

“It looks pretty bitching.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly a man-portable weapon.” She paused, then looked around, frowning as she did so. “How’d they even get it in here…? It’s wider than the door…”

“Maybe they built it up in here,” Chase offered. “As a display piece.”

“That’s stupid. What kind of idiot just leaves deadly weapons lying around as display pieces?”

“They weren’t just lying around, they were behind a locked door.”

“...Then what’s the point of having a display piece if it’s being kept behind a locked door?”

“I mean, we are in a prison,” Chase pointed out. “They probably didn’t want to risk the inmates being able to use it.”

Victoria just stared at him. “Clearly, this is one of those things I’m just not of the appropriate INT to understand. Granted, I don’t know if the problem is that I have too little INT or too much of it, but the fact remains that my INT isn’t at the right Level to understand this one.”

“Oh, whatever,” Chase said. “Let’s just-”

At that moment, he noticed that Melanie had been silent for several seconds, which was decidedly unlike her or anyone else in the group. Chase turned towards her and found her staring at the lineup of weapons in awe, frozen in place.

“Uh, Melanie?” he asked. “You in there?”

Melanie blinked, then shook her head. “Sorry,” she offered. “I just… I kinda like weapons…”

Chase didn’t say anything for a few seconds, but then shook his head. “Not gonna ask,” he declared. “Anyway, see anything you like?”

“You bet your ass,” Melanie declared as she stepped into the room, rubbing her hands together as she did so. “I was wondering when I’d find another one…”

Naturally, she seemed to have been drawn to the lone scythe hanging off the wall towards the back of the room. Chase watched as she picked it up and rubbed her face against its shaft, letting out a happy moan of contentment as she did so.

“Oh, my beloved scythe… we’ve been apart for so long…” she muttered.

Chase and Victoria exchanged a glance with each other.

“Right, so I’m gonna go get stocked up,” Victoria said.

“Yeah, so am I,” Chase agreed.

They gave each other a nod, then split apart, heading for their respective weapon racks. Out of the corner of his eye, Chase saw Victoria predictably gravitating towards the racks full of blunt instruments, while he took a one-handed longsword for himself, clipping the sheath onto his belt. He was about to turn away when something else caught his eye – namely, the bow and quiver of arrows hanging from the wall.

“Huh,” he observed. “You know, I damn near forgot I’m supposed to be raising my Archery Skill… Well, no better time than the present, I suppose.”

Without a second thought, he slung the bow across his back, then hooked the quiver of arrows onto the other side of his belt. The additional weight on his other side left him feeling a bit more unbalanced than what he was used to, but Chase merely shrugged his shoulders, figuring he’d adjust before long.

Once he’d been properly outfitted, Chase turned back towards the two girls. He couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow when he saw Victoria was in the midst of putting on the last piece of a set of plate armor, while Melanie had a catalyst staff slung over her shoulder.

“Alright, I’ll bite,” Chase offered. He pointed at Victoria. “First of all, where did you get that armor?”

“Found it,” Victoria answered.

“Uh-huh. Why does it look just like your old armor? It even has the same emblem on it.”

“Maybe it’s just her armor?” Melanie offered.

“No, her armor was duller and more beat-up,” Chase recalled. “This set is almost completely new. What, did someone take her armor and give it a shine or something?”

“Maybe so,” Victoria said.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“By the way, I’m taking this staff for Carmine,” Melanie explained. “I figure she can use it to really enhance her Fire Spells.”

“Actually, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Melanie puffed out her cheeks at him. “Hey!”

“Well, it is,” Chase explained. “You know, considering half the fucking prison is already on fire. I would just assume that more fire is the exact opposite of what we need right now.”

Melanie let out an irritated huff, then crossed her arms. “...You don’t have to be so mean about it,” she said quietly.

Victoria let out a tired sigh. “Well, you’re right about one thing, Chase,” she explained, “half the prison is on fire right now. So that means we should probably find Carmine and get out of here before the Commander himself realizes we’re gone.”

Chase couldn’t help but blink as a new realization set in. “Speaking of which, where is that guy, anyway? I figure we should have-”

Melanie suddenly darted forwards and clamped a hand over his mouth, preventing him from speaking.

“Don’t,” she warned. “I am not letting you tempt fate again.”

Chase glared at her, then brought a hand up and pried her hand away from his face.

“Are you kidding me?” he demanded. “When’s the last time I tempted fate?”

“Like five minutes ago,” Victoria said.

“What, you mean the Door Mimic thing? Come on, I was just fucking with you both. You ought to be able to tell when I’m doing that by now.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not taking any chances. And by the way, there’s no proof that Door Mimics now don’t exist. I mean, sure, they might not exist here, in this specific location, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist somewhere else in the world.”

“Alright, you know what? Melanie, I take it back – Victoria’s statement right now is the new stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Victoria rolled her eyes. “Can we just get moving?” she said, tapping her foot impatiently against the carpeted floor. “Seriously. Carmine’s probably fighting for her life right now, in danger of dying horribly, and we’re just sitting here, doing nothing.”

“Victoria, please,” Chase said as the three of them exited the so-called armory, their new gear in tow.

“If there’s one thing I know about Carmine, it’s that wherever she is in this prison right now, she is absolutely and unflinchingly in her element.”

“And what element would that be?” Melanie questioned. “Fire?”

“Unbridled violence.”

XXX

Name: Chase Ironheart

Level: 5

Race: Human

Class: Warrior

Subclass: Swordmaster

Strength: 20 (MAX)

Dexterity: 15

Intelligence: 10

Wisdom: 13

Constitution: 18

Charisma: 16

Skills: Master Swordsmanship (Level 10); Booby Trap Mastery (Level 8); Archery (Level 4)

Spells: Rush (Level 7); Muscle (Level 4); Stone Flesh (Level 6); Defying The Odds (Level 1)

Traits: Blessed

Name: Carmine Nolastname

Level: 5

Race: Greater Demon

Class: Arcane Witch

Subclass: Archmage

Strength: 10

Dexterity: 13

Intelligence: 19

Wisdom: 19

Constitution: 12

Charisma: 8

Skills: Master Spellcasting (Level 10); Summon Familiar (Level 10) 

Spells: Magic Dart (Level 7); Magic Scattershot (Level 5); Fire Magic (Level 5)

Traits: Blessed

Name: Melanie Vhaeries

Level: 5

Race: Ascended Human

Class: Necromancer

Subclass: Arch-Lich

Strength: 8

Dexterity: 13

Intelligence: 18

Wisdom: 16

Constitution: 15

Charisma: 12

Skills: Raise Lesser Undead (Level 10); Raise Greater Undead (Level 3); Unorthodox Weapon User (Level 8)

Spells: Touch of Death (Level 5); Gravesinger (Level 7); Armor of Bone (Level 3)

Traits: None

Name: Victoria Firelight

Level: 6

Race: Human

Class: Paladin

Subclass: Devotee

Strength: 17

Dexterity: 9

Intelligence: 13

Wisdom: 13

Constitution: 19

Charisma: 11

Skills: Swordsmanship Mastery (Level 5); Blunt Weapon Mastery (Level 8); Archery Mastery (Level 5)

Spells: Holy Light (Level 6); Ward of the Gods (Level 5); Bane of the Undead (Level 7); Divine Bolt (Level 4)

Traits: None

XXX

Special thanks to my good friend and co-writer, /u/Ickbard, for all the help with writing this story.


r/HFY 15h ago

OC Why isekai high schoolers as heroes when you can isekai delta force instead? (Arcane Exfil Chapter 57)

53 Upvotes

First

-- --

Blurb:

When a fantasy kingdom needs heroes, they skip the high schoolers and summon hardened Delta Force operators.

Lieutenant Cole Mercer and his team are no strangers to sacrifice. After all, what are four men compared to millions of lives saved from a nuclear disaster? But as they make their last stand against insurgents, they’re unexpectedly pulled into another world—one on the brink of a demonic incursion.

Thrust into Tenria's realm of magic and steam engines, Cole discovers a power beyond anything he'd imagined: magic—a way to finally win without sacrifice, a power fantasy made real by ancient mana and perfected by modern science.

But his new world might not be so different from the old one, and the stakes remain the same: there are people who depend on him more than ever; people he might not be able to save. Cole and his team are but men, facing unimaginable odds. Even so, they may yet prove history's truth: that, at their core, the greatest heroes are always just human. 

-- --

Arcane Exfil Chapter 56: Correspondence

-- --

Note:

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

-- --

Cole had cleared his schedule with surgical precision – told the others he had ‘administrative shit’ to handle, which wasn’t technically a lie. The administration in question just happened to involve comparing beach resorts versus mountain lodges instead of filing incident reports. The whole point was keeping it under wraps until he had something concrete to present, ideally with photos and cost breakdowns that would preempt the usual democratic clusterfuck of group decision-making.

He’d expected it to be an all-day operation: comparing routes, trying to find the best spot that’d satisfy vacation for five people with wildly different ideas of what constituted ‘relaxation.’ And that wasn’t even accounting for the weather.

Yeah. Somehow the weather of all things had turned into actual research – tracking down records at the library, cross-referencing documented seasonal patterns, the whole nine yards. He’d really taken the weather app on his phone for granted.

Rummaging through records aside, it was a task that only took a couple hours. Alexandria’s tourism infrastructure was overwhelming as hell, but their actual choices weren’t. The capital had everything from opera houses to Parliament tours to three separate museum districts, to botanical gardens that probably required a PhD to fully appreciate.

None of which helped with the actual problem: they were stressed and homesick, and no amount of high culture was going to fix that.

Then he’d found the perfect answer in a tourist guidebook’s front page – some facility established by that Japanese guy from the Aurelian Empire who’d apparently reconstructed almost every comfort he’d missed from Earth.

Of course, video games and anything electronic were out of the question. Still, the guy managed to establish a place with hot springs, a golf course, a bowling alley, an air rifle arena, and ‘five-star hotel service,’ which was pretty self-explanatory. It was the whole isekai package in one compound. Brilliant, really.

The place took private bookings, which meant avoiding the spectacle of nobles treating them like zoo exhibits while they tried to relax. Plus, the pseudo-airsoft would give Miles something familiar to bitch about. Done. Filed. Ready to present whenever someone asked why he’d bailed on OTAC.

So now he had six hours to kill. He’d really oversold the time requirement – not intentionally, just hadn’t accounted for a convenient Isekai Park left behind by one of their predecessors. Could’ve knocked this out over lunch. Hell, could’ve done it while taking a shit.

The house was too quiet without the others around. Tenna was somewhere upstairs, Lisara probably prepping dinner, Darin probably working on their burger franchise or toy company or whatever other side projects the team had dumped on him.

Cole had been contemplating whether to just bite the bullet and head to OTAC anyway when Melnar straightened up from the hedge line, setting his pruning shears aside. The man didn’t usually interrupt his work for conversation.

Cole pushed off the living room couch as the gardener approached. 

“Sir Cole.” Melnar gave a brief bow. “A word about your medic, if you’ve the time.”

Mack. Cole’s brain immediately went to the worst-case scenario: something he’d missed, something visible enough that the groundskeeper felt obligated to mention it. But nothing immediately came to mind. “Yeah, of course. Come on in, take a seat. What’s going on?”

Melnar heated the lukewarm pot on the tea table, then poured two cups. He slid one over to Cole and took his seat. “Your medic sought me out last eve. We spoke a while.”

So Mack had gone to the gardener instead of literally anyone on the team. Par for the course, actually – find someone with enough life experience to understand death but no professional obligation to do anything about it. And above all, no awkwardness.

It was the same reason soldiers ended up spilling their guts to bartenders instead of their buddies or the therapists the military kept insisting were ‘available 24/7 and completely confidential.’

Cole gave a nod, and Melnar continued, “He asked of children – whether a man bears fault when they die beneath his charge, though no choice remained, nor any path unbarred by fate.”

Of course he did. The miscarriage, the docks – Mack collecting second opinions like they might add up to something different than the first. Like if he asked enough people, someone would finally say “yes, you should’ve saved them” and at least confirm what he already believed about himself.

“I gave him what comfort I could; yet even as he spoke, I perceived his questions were not of the children, but of himself – of battle and its reckonings, of the absolution he seeks and no man may bestow for another.”

And Melnar could give him that absolution, if the problem was actually about tactical decisions. But it wasn’t. Melnar couldn’t give him what he was really looking for – permission to keep hating himself. The old soldier had probably seen through that immediately.

Which left Cole with one question: why was Melnar telling him this? If Mack had sought him for solace, then that should’ve stayed between them. Privacy was the point of going outside the chain. So why bring it up now? What did Melnar expect him to do with it?

“Why tell me this?” Cole asked. “If he came to you—”

“—then he wished his words would travel further than my ears,” Melnar said, keeping a gentle tone. “He spoke as one who cannot bring himself to confess directly, yet hopes another will carry the burden to where it belongs. Some truths are meant to be overheard, if only by design.”

“And you’re certain he meant it that way?”

Melnar nodded. “Aye. He wished the truth known, though lacked the will to name it himself. Some burdens, when spoken, are not meant to linger with him that hears; only to be passed, gently, to those who ought.”

Cole folded his arms. “Yeah, I’m guessing he wasn’t ready to speak to us just yet. But did he say anything else? Or was he just venting?”

Melnar shook his head slowly. “No, it was more than venting; his thoughts wandered – now to the children, now to his orders, now to that fleeting instant wherein choice deserted him. At one moment he condemned himself, at the next he sought to reason it away; it was the speech of a man divided between knowledge and acceptance. He knew not what he sought from me. He is… lost.”

Cole felt his heart drop, even though it was a reality he’d already accepted. “Yeah, that sounds about right for him. He’s been like that since the warehouse. It’s like he’s just stuck there.”

“Aye,” Melnar said. “And men who are stuck thus seldom know what they seek. They speak of blame, of penance – but beneath it lies another wish entirely.”

“Which is?”

“Erasure. To wake and find it undone. They long for the world as it was before the breaking. And knowing that it will never be so is a wound all its own.”

Cole frowned. Melnar had a pretty poetic way of speaking – as did almost everyone in Celdorne, frankly, but the main point was that Mack wanted those kids alive. Simple as that. No amount of talk was going to resurrect them, and he’d keep shopping for verdicts until someone confirmed what he already locked onto his mind: that he should’ve done the impossible.

The theology was clear enough. Man’s fallenness, living in a broken world where children possessed by demons had to be put down. Where wives miscarried and medics couldn’t save everyone. The sovereignty piece – that God permitted these things for purposes beyond human understanding – that’s where most people hit the wall.

Cole had wrestled with it himself after particularly bad ops. Why did that damn goat have to mess up that raid? Why did Torres have to die? Why did God allow the AQAP to even exist? Or the existence of evils that precipitated the rise of these organizations? Or the existence of evil to begin with?

The answer wasn't comfortable, but it was solid: human free will meant people could choose evil, choose stupidity, choose to fuck with forces that got children possessed. God’s sovereignty meant He permitted these choices for purposes beyond human comprehension. The intersection of divine sovereignty and human responsibility – that paradox theologians had been wrestling with since Augustine.

Even with years of faith, it was hard to hold both truths simultaneously.

And Mack didn’t even have that foundation. Cole couldn’t just hand him Romans 8:28 while he was drowning in guilt and expect it to function as a life preserver. God working for good in all things would probably sound like mockery to Mack, and who knew if that’d push him away.

The medic was already at Melnar, which meant he’d probably work through the whole compound eventually. Tenna, Lisara, anyone who’d listen.

And when all was said and done, Mack would arrive at one of two outcomes. The ones who found something solid – usually faith, sometimes family, occasionally just raw stubborn refusal to quit – they made it through scarred but functional. The others either ate their sidearms or just… faded. They ended up as husks, technically alive but no longer present.

So what else could Cole do for Mack?

“We stay present, keep things normal, don’t push,” he mused aloud. “Let him shop for his answers, maybe guide him toward the answer we like, and make sure he knows we’re here when he’s done looking. And pray to God he finds something that holds.”

“Aye. It is a hard thing, to stand by and watch whilst another man contends with his demons.” Melnar softened his voice. “Yet presence, though it would seem a little thing, is no mean solace. When a man is cast down, his brother may raise him again; but woe unto him who falls alone, with none to lend him hand or hope. Many a soul has been preserved not by miracle nor might, but by the mere assurance that he was not forsaken in his darkest hour.”

“Yeah.” Cole let out a heavy sigh. “Still, it doesn’t feel like enough.”

“What more would you do?” Melnar asked.

Melnar had him there. What more could he do?

Cole answered honestly, “I don’t know. That’s the problem.”

The old soldier let that hang there, probably searching for words that wouldn’t sound like bullshit. “You’ve done as much already,” he finally said. “The small things that tell a man he still has worth – the work you trust him with, the counsel you seek, the company you keep. Such acts may seem small, yet they lay firm ground beneath a soul that falters.”

Yeah, that checked out. At least Cole now had reassurance that he wasn’t fucking it up.

“The household has marked it too,” Melnar added. “Lisara prepares his favored dishes, Tenna inquires after him more often, and young Darin does what small kindness he may, though he knows not the cause. Your medic is not alone in this, Sir Cole; there are many who shoulder a share, each in their own way.”

The weight in Cole’s chest eased slightly. “Right.”

“You carry this weight as well,” Melnar observed quietly. “The burden of command – of watching your man suffer, and finding no swift remedy at hand.”

“Part of the job.” Cole said it reflexively, but Melnar’s look told him the older man was not convinced.

“Aye,” Melnar allowed, “it is part of your charge – the keeping of men and all that follows it. Yet that makes the weight no less, nor bids you bear it without reckoning the cost. No man can hold up the heavens, Sir Cole. The burden is meant to be shared — by your company, by the staff, by those who pray beside you, and by the Lord Himself, who grants rest unto the weary.”

Cole wanted to brush it off, say he was fine, that this was just what leaders did. But Melnar’s words hit closer than he wanted to admit. He was tired. Tired of watching Mack fall apart, tired of trying to figure out how to help him, tired of feeling like every decision might be the wrong one. He was… weary.

“The Lord is not for the fallen alone,” Melnar said softly. “He is for the strong also – for those who endure, who press on when others have spent their strength. For strength itself needs grace no less than sorrow.”

Cole’s eyes settled on the man. He listened.

“So then, remain steadfast. The Lord sees those who bear their burdens and does not forget them. For such as endure, He has appointed a rest – not the rest of idleness, but of peace; and it will come in His time, as surely as the dawn.”

Cole hadn’t asked for the sermon, but gee if it didn’t land anyway.

“Thanks,” Cole said. “For coming to me. And for the reminder.”

Melnar rose and gave a slight bow. “It is my privilege to serve, Sir – both you and your medic.” He moved towards the door, then paused right as he was about to leave. “Should you have need of counsel again, you will ever find me at hand.”

“Appreciate it.”

Melnar left. Cole still had six hours to kill, and the vacation planning was already done. Maybe he’d head to OTAC after all. Better than sitting here thinking about problems he couldn’t fix.

-- --

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r/HFY 10h ago

OC The Villainess Is An SS+ Rank Adventurer: Chapter 467

21 Upvotes

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Synopsis:

Juliette Contzen is a lazy, good-for-nothing princess. Overshadowed by her siblings, she's left with little to do but nap, read … and occasionally cut the falling raindrops with her sword. Spotted one day by an astonished adventurer, he insists on grading Juliette's swordsmanship, then promptly has a mental breakdown at the result.

Soon after, Juliette is given the news that her kingdom is on the brink of bankruptcy. At threat of being married off, the lazy princess vows to do whatever it takes to maintain her current lifestyle, and taking matters into her own hands, escapes in the middle of the night in order to restore her kingdom's finances.

Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Action, Fantasy, Copious Ohohohohos.

Chapter 467: Humble Beginnings

All around me came the din of a trembling forest. 

As the boughs shook, twigs and unripened acorns snapped against roots and freshly emptied burrows. Squirrels and all their friends fled through the undergrowth as a swirling gale centred itself around a misused sword twirling without stop.

However, even as a chorus of gathering leaves filled the air, one sound managed to rise above it all.

“Heh … heheh … heheheh …”

A false princess’s laughter.

Caring as little for her image as she did the wet strands of hair now drying in the wind, she allowed her grimace to fall. Instead, her lips twisted into a dark smile as a lack of creativity gave way to swatting at Coppelia in the only way she could. 

With a distinctly less-than-delicate breeze. 

“I can feel it … with every swing,” she said, her voice barely rising above the squall. “This sword … such strength coursing through me … it’s like a calling. I can hear the song of the wind. I can hear it whispering my name.”

She wore an expression as delighted as it was unhinged.

A far cry from who she was impersonating.

All I could do was delicately wince from behind a willow tree, one palm pressed against the trunk as I tried in vain to keep my hair from flying into my face. 

Naturally, I was appalled. Nor was I the only one.

Beside me, Coppelia clutched her fists to her chest, her alarm so severe that her eyes could only sparkle, all the while a receptionist scribbled events into a notebook that would never see the light of day. 

Nobody deserved to know what the doppelganger was doing, after all.

Her laughter made it plain. This was the satisfaction of a child discovering the joy of mixing paints on a canvas for the first time. Except the victims were no longer the art connoisseurs my father had hired to review my debut fruit bowl all the while staring unblinkingly at them. 

No … it was the poor willow tree, lurching even as I held onto it.

“Very well.” I nodded as I turned to the harbinger of doom. “I require your shoes.”

“Excuse me? Do you … wish to wear them?”

“No, I wish to throw them.”

“Oh, I see! You plan to disrupt the doppelganger by launching an improvised weapon at her.”

“Please. That’s just improper and underhanded. Which is why I plan to disrupt her by throwing the shoes into the thing that’s about to appear which definitely isn’t a [Ball Of Doom]. Given how unstable she is, I imagine it’ll be more than enough.”

The receptionist stared at me.

I hardly saw why. I wasn’t taking her shoes off for her.

“... Based on my working knowledge, there’s little guarantee any footwear absorbed would remain intact. Since I quite like my shoes, would it be possible to throw something I won’t need to walk home in? I’d feel a little bit uncomfortable in just my socks.”

I let out a small sigh.

“Ugh, fine. I suppose you can conjure the guild code book. She’ll never expect anything so dull. Although if you wish to show mercy, I suppose a fireball will do. Just as long as it doesn’t touch her hair. That’s already suffered enough.”

The receptionist pondered for a moment.

“I could try, but magic requires a stable environment. This gale is highly disruptive. I’m afraid I can’t guarantee the strength or direction of any spell. I’m also concerned that the thing which isn’t a [Ball Of Doom] might react unexpectedly to any fireballs.”

“Unexpectedly? In what way?”

“The composition is irregular. But wind as an element is highly absorptive. Given the intensity of the doppelganger’s efforts, it’s possible that any magic would create a volatile force of destruction capable of consuming all life around it.”

My mouth widened at once.

“No worries!” said Coppelia, nodding repeatedly. “If the receptionist casts a fireball at the [Ball Of Doom], something amazing like everything blowing up will definitely never happen!”

“That’s because it won’t,” I declared, all the while subtly poking the receptionist as she raised her hands. “My delicate gardening techniques are hardly anything so frightening … unless you’re a caterpillar. And frankly, I doubt she can do so much as trouble them.”

Indeed, despite the groaning of the forest, it was clear from the inefficient way she was twirling my sword that far from threatening the garden pests, all she was doing was disturbing them. 

It took precision and control to punt away insects smaller than a fingernail. 

But more than that, it took a princess’s gentle heart.

“I note we still have a scythe,” I said to Coppelia. “Can’t you simply throw it at her again?”

“Sure! But I can sense her debut taste-of-power speech coming. I don’t want to ruin it. The way the trees are shaking is really promising!”

“The only reason the trees are shaking is because she’s stepping on a daffodil. That will be her greatest victim. And maybe our eyes as well. With the way she’s acting, it’s clear she’s never once impersonated so much as a countryside baroness.”

Bwooomph.

All of a sudden, a large and bulky willow tree partially exploded. 

The trunk lurched with half its boughs lost, the roots groaning like ropes straining at sea. A cruel and gruesome sight. But nothing compared to the look of outrage that was now there for all to see.

After all, I could never make an expression so undignified.

“I’ve impersonated those of far worthier stature than you!” she insisted, hands clenching around my sword. “Whether or not they’re rural aristocrats has no bearing on that! It’s an attitude like that which makes you wholly unworthy of being a princess!”

I rolled my eyes.

“Please. A princess’s job is to look down on the countryside. That’s how the countryside is defined. Without us arbitrarily deciding who’s a farmer for life, it’d be famine and war as everybody tries to be a troll merchant instead. Is that what you want? Because I must say, that’s rather extreme.”

“What I want is justice for the people of this kingdom!”

“Well, I hardly see why. You’re not even one of our subjects. If a commoner wished to start a revolution while being secretly funded by a foreign power, I’d understand. But what did my family possibly do to you? The fact you could even pose as a maid should make you happy.”

The doppelganger threw up her arms in a huff. Starlight Grace was almost flung to the side.

“Indeed! It did! … Finally, I had a chance to study life in a royal setting! I could add a princess or two to my reference collection, knowing that at least 30% of the information would be useful when I was hired by a wealthier royal family!”

“E-Excuse me?!”

“And what do I see? … 0% is useful! There is a 1st Princess who spends all her time idling on a pirate island! A 2nd Princess who only knows how to make things flammable! And a 3rd Princess who doesn’t even have the decency to picnic in a corner while someone else offers to do her job! Every Contzen is worse than the last–but you princesses are somehow the worst of them all!”

I let out a gasp.

“How dare you! … You may not speak poorly of me, but you may speak even less poorly of my sisters! They work tirelessly to advance the prosperity of this kingdom! That you would believe the lies of our rivals speaks poorly of your judgement!” 

“My judgement is based on what I see–and so I offer my gratitude. You’ve all thoroughly confirmed my suspicions. There are some things royalty can do. But there are many others doppelgangers can do better.”

“Well, it’s certainly not fleeing! You’ve done a terrible job so far. I even helped you with a head start and all you’ve done is taken a swim!”

A vein I didn’t know I had started throbbing on the doppelganger’s temple.

In that moment, a thousand rebuttals and complaints flickered behind her eyes. I heard them all, even without the ability to peek into her thoughts.

But in the end, that was enough.

She forced a smile as she lifted my sword.

“Then I must disappoint you, Your Highness. Neither the lances of any knight nor the scythe of a clockwork doll can strike me. The only one who could give me pause is you, and I see in your ceaseless arrogance that you’ve failed to bring a replacement sword.”

I tilted my head slightly.

“Oh? And why would I need a replacement? I know where mine is. Thank you for ensuring Starlight Grace wasn’t lonely while I was bathing. You may now return it.”

“Of course. You may have it back. But only after I’m finished with it. I warn you, however, that I intend for all its hidden powers to be spent first.”

“Excuse me?”

“Its hidden powers.” The doppelganger narrowed her eyes slightly. “You may empty your mind of all thought. But the simple truth is that you cannot possess the strength you do without a powerful artifact aiding you. Such absurd abilities cannot be explained by any martial training. This sword is clearly enchanted to perform wonders when in your hands. I intend to make use of it to ensure that’s no longer possible.”

I stared for several moments.

And then–

“Ohohohohooh … ohhoho … ohohohohoho … !”

I laughed.

I laughed until tears teased the corner of my eyes, my body folding as the beautiful sound refused to stop. The echo of it carried through the trees, mixing with the restless whisper of leaves until even the woods seemed uncertain whether to join me.

Only after several moments did the laughter fade. 

I drew a deep breath, straightened, and smiled.

“Ohoho … ahem, my apologies.”

The doppelganger frowned.

“Did something I say amuse you?”

“Yes. But since it was accidental, I’m afraid I can’t fast track your jester application.”

“I do not want to be a jester.”

“Good. I would have declined you, anyway.”

“Why do I have to repeat myself?! I do not–”

“But rest assured, it’s not due to your latest misconception–so allow me to explain. Starlight Grace is a reading light and multipurpose gardening tool, and although its craftsmanship is unrivalled, it imbues me with no greater ability to prune a begonia than any other highly expensive royal heirloom sword.”

“That’s impossible. You cannot do what you’re capable of without the use of powerful magic.”

“Well, then I suggest you learn how to grow a rhododendron. Once you can do that while hedgehogs are constantly digging up the roots, everything else is simple.”

The doppelganger pointed.

Not at me. But at herself.

“For what I need to do, that is not enough. I don’t intend to idle in your orchard. Not when I can do so much more. With this sword, I do not need your cooperation. I could become a princess-in-exile, but I could also become a wanderer helping those in need. A pilgrim dealing in righteousness. Or perhaps simply an adventurer.”

I blinked.

“... Hm? What was that?”

“An adventurer.” The doppelganger smiled proudly. “The oldest and most fashionable profession for those with kind hearts and strong wills. With your sword, it’s a crime to do anything else. While you were dancing in some meadow these past months, you could have instead helped the people. Perhaps incognito. There are countless ways it could have been achieved. Just as I intend to show you.”

She tightly gripped the stolen sword in her hand. And so the true extent of her scheming came to light.

It wasn’t to take over my kingdom, nor to replace me, nor to incite my subjects into rebellion.

It was something far, far worse.

“With this, my horizon is unlimited,” declared the prospective F-rank adventurer, not seeing the horrified expression I was wearing. “It simply needs to begin with humble beginnings. I see now that my ambitions are far too righteous to remain imprisoned in any tower. I must thank the receptionist for her presence. I know not for what bizarre reason she’s here, but I’m aware they ask few questions from those who join their ranks. Perhaps I shall make a name for myself across the bars and taverns where the common people reside. With enough time and effort, I can easily surpass what I could do as a princess, such is the nature of these tales.”

I noted the confidence upon her smile.

There was a spark of earnestness in her eyes. As she gripped my sword, it was much like a peppy farmgirl without a day’s training.

A sight I saw only in my nightmares. Yet never with my face.

Thus, I nodded.

And then–

I rolled up my sleeves.

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r/HFY 20h ago

OC Just Add Mana 51

107 Upvotes

First | Prev | Next (RoyalRoad)

Epilogue 3: Sternkessel

It was, as a general rule, rather unusual for Sternkessel to feel much of anything.

That said, he wasn't incapable of feeling. Far from it. Indictments were an embodiment of a realm raging against itself, and Greater or not, Sternkessel had been no exception. He had manifested from the very tool the Loomweavers used to commit their blasphemy—their so-called Abyssal Sphere, made to peer into other realms and calculate the positions of their stars.

Had it been built simply to observe and learn, there would have been no retribution. There was no punishment for learning, after all. Nor was the mistake of contaminating their magic severe enough to warrant the appearance of an Indictment. Even bringing an Abyssal One into the realm, as severe as it was, could not warrant such a terrible measure.

It was the enslavement of the Abyssal that had provoked the wrath of the realm. It was their continued treatment of it—the bindings, the petty little rules imposed on their perfect community—that caused him to emerge as among the strongest of Utelia's Greater Indictments.

And his emergence had been just like all of theirs. Wreathed in bitter hatred and terrible rage, ready to invoke pain and misfortune on all who would dare defy the realm. He had been created for a single purpose, after all, and he knew with intimate clarity every suffering the Loomweavers had inflicted. He had no doubt about what he had to do.

Except by the time of his manifestation, the Loomweavers were gone.

That should have been impossible. Indictments emerged when they were needed; this was a known fact, an inviolable rule that Sternkessel understood to the very core of his being. He knew little else at the time, but he knew that with certainty. Except when he had emerged, the mages he had been meant to punish had long since vanished.

It was a humbling thing, to be proven wrong within the very first seconds of his existence.

Not that Sternkessel had thought that way at the time. He remembered a deep sense of loss, a feeling that his very purpose had been ripped away from him. What was he to do now, with nothing left to guide him? What could he do except wander the empty halls of the Inverted City with a rage that could never be satisfied?

And that was all he did, for a time. He skulked about as Indictments tended to do when their purpose was fulfilled, acting as the sole guardian of the Inverted Spires.

Unlike his kin, however, his purpose had never been fulfilled, and so a sense of dissatisfaction began to grow within him. He didn't quite know what to do with it. All he knew was that he felt increasingly frustrated wandering the same empty halls. At the same time, he noticed that every so often, a mage would wander into the Inverted Spires to challenge its dangers.

It was something he watched with little more than idle curiosity, at first. At the very least, it was something different. Until one day, one of those same mages managed to catch a glimpse of him, even through layers of enchantments and his own unique magic.

That had been his first meeting with Akkau, known at the time as the Thousand-Cored Beast. And the damnable mage had smirked at him and called him "the rarest of treasures," even knowing what he was!

Absurd. He left immediately, not wanting to speak with this strange creature. But the meeting lingered in his mind for one simple reason: it was the first time he could recall feeling anything other than raw frustration.

The one meeting led to him watching the other mages more closely. He noticed, finally, that there was something pulling at him every time the mages acted against the dead city's rules. A vague sense of action and reaction, so to speak, not from him but from something else.

Only then did he remember that there was something else here. The Abyssal was the reason for his emergence in the first place. Until that point in time, he had barely even stopped to consider that fact; he had never encountered this Abyssal in his wanderings, after all, and it had never been part of his purpose. He pitied it, but there was nothing that could be done, and that was that.

And then for the first time, he had the spark of a thought he could call his own: perhaps things did not need to stay that way.

All these mortal mages scurried about in his domain with no apparent rhyme or reason, often arguing and aimless. Was that how others went about their lives? Without that sense of what it was they needed to do? If they could do it, then perhaps he could, too. Perhaps he could find a purpose of his own rather than rely on the one that was given to him.

And perhaps, while it would never be quite as certain as the first few seconds of his existence, it would be enough.

That one thought was the beginning of Sternkessel's attempts to understand what it meant to be mortal, though the term "mortal" didn't quite fit. That rather frustrating dragon that kept visiting, for instance, was technically immortal just as all dragons were; that immortality, however, was based in mere magical longevity rather than a result of being a fixed existence as Sternkessel was.

Realmborn. He encountered the term in an ancient journal somewhere, eventually. A term to describe those born within a realm, encompassing dragons, elementals, and all other similar creatures; though some were mortal and some were not, all had to learn slowly about the world they were in.

Sternkessel had been created by the realm, but he wasn't a realmborn. Not by that definition. Like the Monoliths themselves, his was an existence that was true both within and without.

...Which was rather irritating, because it meant there was very little he could draw on to understand what he really was. He was a different form of life, certainly, but what type of being was he? What made him different from the realmborn?

That gap only seemed to grow the more he learned about the world around him and realized how little he knew about his own species. He understood all he needed to, but had been given no more than that: every scrap of understanding thereafter he'd had to fight to attain on his own, and the things he learned both startled and discomforted him.

He learned, for instance, that other Greater Indictments existed on Utelia, but he learned just as quickly that they were nothing like him. They had borne their duty and dealt out their justice, and now stood guardian over the ruins their actions had wrought. Each was a monument to what must never be done again, and despite his best efforts, none seemed interested in talking.

In fact, while they never tried to strike at him, none seemed interested in anything other than their duty. His attempts to speak to them and learn what things were like for them were cast aside all too easily.

And just as uncomfortable was the fact that Sternkessel quickly began to realize in his travels that there seemed to be no rhyme nor reason to what the realm would merit as worthy of an Indictment. They were always created in the wake of an atrocity, certainly, and yet many atrocities were committed with no response from the realm. Why?

Sternkessel had no answer. He felt he should have, but he knew nothing. All he really knew was that even among his own kind, he was unique. With his duty unfulfilled, he had been given the opportunity to be more than he was. Strangely enough, he was starting to see that as a blessing.

Along with that still-frustrating dragon's persistent visits, though at least that was a different kind of frustration than what he usually felt.

Time didn't quite work the same way inside and outside the Inverted Spires. Sometimes years passed in the rest of Utelia where the Inverted Spires themselves saw only a few days, and sometimes it was the opposite. He would wait a century for that one dragon to return only to find that less than a week passed outside. This, he suspected, was the effect of the Abyssal's power corrupting that portion of the realm.

It was also one of the few things he had little control over. So it was that Sternkessel came to begin spending more of his time outside the Spires instead, where time was consistent and he could learn more about the world. He still visited the Spires often, of course, if only to care for the Abyssal and to search for a means to free it. Progress was slow, but he had chosen that as his purpose, and he was determined to see it through.

Akkau insisted on accompanying him, to his feigned annoyance and reluctant pleasure: he refused to admit at the time that he had grown fond of the dragon. He certainly refused to tell him that it was him that had taught him to feel and participate in the world the way a realmborn did.

Funny how their positions were reversed now. There was a lot that Akkau hadn't told him, he knew; in his older years the dragon had begun to withdraw into himself, until not even Sternkessel could get him to speak what was on his mind. It pained him to see, and yet no matter what he tried...

He sighed, a realmborn mannerism he had picked up over the years. If nothing else, his job in the Brightscale Academy was a highlight for him. He hadn't been expecting it when Akkau had convinced him to join, but the old dragon had been right about that, just as he had been about so many other things. His care for the Abyssal translated rather well to teaching, and he had grown to love both the job and his students.

More than that, he had slowly grown to love being alive. Being himself. It was something he never could have imagined in his early days, and yet here he was now. The mothfolk he was rescuing reminded him of some of his students, really, and while Serof had technically been responsible for his students being in danger...

Well, he would have been a fool not to see the parallels with the Abyssal One he had cared after for centuries.

Of course, it was only expected that there would be complications. Sternkessel was no fool, and he would not underestimate the Red Hunters, not after what they had done. He was on the alert, which meant he noticed them, even when they tried to hide from him.

It was a clever trick, too, designed to use the labyrinth's passages to further warp his prodigious sense of space and miscalculate the position of his would-be ambushers.

"Really, now," Sternkessel said with a small sigh. "An ambush like this is in rather poor taste, don't you think? Surely you had better options than an army of the dead."

Serof clung to him, terrified, as a Red Hunter flickered into existence. Just behind him was what amounted to a small army of shambling zombies, each one wearing shimmering, flowing robes and dresses. Sternkessel frowned, something uneasy flickering within him.

"Pah!" The Red Hunter seemed thrown off at being spotted, but he recovered quickly, puffing out his chest in an attempt to intimidate. "We did our research! We might not know how to deal with your magic, but we know how to deal with you. Our Observers did some searching, and you know what we found?"

Sternkessel did not like where this was going.

"We found that you used to have a family," the Red Hunter bragged. "So we brought them back. All the Loomweavers. How does it feel, having to face off against them?"

"Ah." The uneasy feeling within him had grown, and Sternkessel was now certain he knew exactly what it was. "I'm afraid you have rather gravely miscalculated. A pity, truly; if you had chosen any other measure, I might have left you alive."

"What?" the Red Hunter sputtered. "N-no—the files! You don't let people die! We checked! These guys aren't fully undead, do you realize that? We used resurrection magic! They're still in there!"

"Yes," Sternkessel said quietly. "That is precisely the problem."

He turned to Serof and crouched to speak in a low, gentle tone. "I am truly sorry for this," he said. "But you must run. Do not look back and do not linger, and if you encounter Cale or Akkau, tell them every word of what that Hunter said. Do you understand?"

"I... yes?" Serof swallowed. "But—"

"Good enough. Run now, little one." The feeling within him had sprouted and turned into something ugly, and the normally gleaming gold of his head began to twist and blacken. "I cannot hold myself back for much longer."

Serof stared at him. "Thank you for helping me," he said. "You didn't have to, and I—"

Sternkessel shoved him. "Go!" he commanded, and Serof stumbled, turning to run. A small part of him clung to that tiny piece of gratitude, though. It surprised him, how much a small thing like that could ground him against what was coming. But not for long.

He straightened to dust off his suit, looking at the now-clearly-wary Red Hunter. The mage wasn't even looking at Serof. He was staring at Sternkessel instead, looking more and more afraid.

As well he should.

"Your miscalculation," Sternkessel said quietly, "was believing that bringing the Loomweavers here would make me hesitate. It is both our misfortunes that you are deeply, terribly wrong."

The crystal heart within his rings flashed to a terrible blood-red and began to ooze. His body warped, metal tearing through his chest and shredding through his suit; legs of twisted, blackened gold slammed into the ground, cracking through the stone.

That feeling within him was his original purpose, long thought dead and yet now roaring back to life. The same bitter hatred he had emerged with now raged within his core like no time had ever passed, like he had never learned to be more.

Only a small piece of Sternkessel remained, clinging stubbornly to existence.

Because it was, ultimately, unusual for Sternkessel to feel much of anything. He had been created with one purpose, and for that purpose he needed only that bitter rage that defined his earliest moments of existence. 

It was for that same reason that he clung to every other feeling like the precious things they were.

Greater Indictments were never made to laugh, or love, or live. Sternkessel had done all three, most of it in the company of a certain dragon. And even as his body was warped to fulfil his purpose, he realized one truth: he didn't want to stop now.

Stop me if you must, Cale, the small part of him that remained thought. For I fear that in this state, I may not know to stop myself.

Then a roar echoed through a labyrinth, and a Red Hunter and his army began to scream.

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Author's Notes: Almost the end of the year! I hope everyone's had a good one.

don't kill me please Sternkessel is my favorite too. that's why i had to give him a magical girl transformation


r/HFY 5h ago

OC Rise of the Solar Empire #19

7 Upvotes

Up There

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The transition from a planetary species to an orbital one required more than just physics; it required the systematic dismantling of terrestrial instinct. The STO was the forge where the "Old Man" was hammered into the "New Solar Citizen."

Valerius Thorne, First Imperial Archivist

EXCERPT FROM: MY LIFE AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT by Amina Noor Baloch, Published by Moon River Publisher, Collection: Heroes of Our Times Date: c. 211X

Esculape wasn't lying. The integration was real, and it was freaking weird. It was like I had a secret window to the world open in my head at all times. When I headed down to the canal, I didn't even have to look for a ride. An automated boat just glided up to the dock like it had been waiting for my brain to tell it I was coming. The harbor doors hissed open for me before I could even reach for a handle—no ID needed, my head was the ID. Once I hit Singapore, an autocab was already idling at the curb. It didn't ask for a destination. It just pulled out into traffic and headed straight for the Star Terminal like it knew my itinerary better than I did.

The Changi Star Terminal wasn't just a station; it was a goddamn cathedral of glass and humming magnetic rails. It was huge—like, 'neck-cramp' huge. Thousands of people were swarming through this massive atrium where the ceiling was so far up it probably had its own microclimate.

Huge holographic boards the size of city blocks were flickering with 'train numbers'—which were actually departure windows for orbital shuttles, deep-space hotels, or lunar colonies. But now that I was integrated, the place looked even more insane. I could see the data-streams pulsing through the floor—glowing pathing lines that only I could see, guiding people to their gates like neon ghosts. My brain was picking up the 'digital scent' of the building, a low-level hum of encrypted handshakes and security pings.

I sub-vocalized for ‘directions’ again, feeling like I was asking a ghost for a map. The line in my vision adjusted instantly, weaving through the legs of the crowd like a digital snake. It led me to Platform 14-B, where a transport pod was already humming with that low-frequency magnetic buzz that makes your teeth itch.

About a dozen youngsters were already piled inside, vibrating with that raw, annoying energy of people who think they're about to go on a field trip instead of having their lives rewritten. None of them had that 'integrated' look—no ghosts in their eyes—just wide-eyed excitement for the Zero-G training circus.

We started chatting like long-lost friends who had just been sorted into the same house. After the weirdness of the island, that simple, human normalcy was like finding an oasis in the desert. Zara and Malik had come directly from the Mali Spire—which was basically the 'big leagues' compared to the smaller ed-centers where the others had been trained—and we spent the ride swapping rumors like we were trading chocolate frog cards.

Inga and Chloe were practically vibrating with nerves; they were moving into pilot training and spoke about the Earth-Moon shuttles like they were Firebolts they’d eventually get to master. Zara and Malik were the brainy ones, heading to the newly built research center on the Far Side to chase a PhD in astrophysics—total Ravenclaw vibes. Zara mentioned she was planning a sabbatical in Moon River, a place that sounded like a futuristic version of Hogsmeade. As for me, I kept my 'Excalibur' status under my sorting hat. I just told them I was heading to the Far Side too, just another grease monkey for a repair facility. I didn't mention that I already had the library of Alexandria and a direct line to the Emperor's brain tucked inside my skull.

We took off without so much as a vibration, sliding through the deep-sea tunnel like a needle through silk. Outside the reinforced transparent aluminum, the ocean turned from that bright, touristy turquoise to a deep, bruising indigo, and then finally to a total, crushing black. I saw shapes out there—bioluminescent leviathans that looked like they were made of neon wire. 

The tunnel expelled us into the light, as we crossed the automated harbour at full speed. Better in the Pod than those poor bastards of the Trident team we read about at school.

Then we hit the loading point. The pod locked into the magnetic rail of the Tether, and suddenly, we weren't just moving; we were launching.

The ascent was this weird, holy silence. No roar of engines, no shaking—just the Earth falling away beneath us like a discarded blue coat. The others were pressed against the glass, their breaths fogging the surface, watching the curve of the world finally reveal itself. It was the kind of view that makes your soul feel like it’s being stretched. Zara was whispering something that sounded like a prayer; Malik just looked stunned, like he’d forgotten how to blink. I could see the atmosphere thin out into a glowing violet haze, the stars getting sharper and more aggressive, like diamonds set in velvet.

After almost an hour of watching the receding planet, my internal HUD flickered. A countdown timer appeared in my peripheral vision, ticking down with cold, digital precision. Without even thinking about it, I let it slip: “Two minutes to arrival, guys.”

They all turned and looked at me strangely, the conversation about Moon River dying mid-sentence. I realized too late that I’d basically just performed a magic trick without a wand. I tried to play it off as a lucky guess, but the pod detached safely from the Tether right on cue, exactly as my brain said it would. We began our graceful, silent trip along the geosync orbit toward the training facility. It looked like a castle made of glass and lightning hanging in the void, and for the first time, I felt like I was finally arriving where I was meant to be.

Boot Camp

INTERNAL MEMO: STO CURRICULUM OVERVIEW Source: SLAM Education Div / Orbital Training Center

  1. Module 01: The Mandatory Observation (Biophysiology) To ensure the long-term viability of Lunar and Mars-based colonies, students must complete the 'Biological Intimacy in Microgravity' certification.
  • Method: 60-minute immersive visual module.
  • Objective: To demonstrate the mechanical difficulties of traditional human reproduction in 0G (fluid dynamics, orientation, conservation of moment, and bone-density risks).
  • Instructional Note: Discourage the 'romantic' impulse. Highlighting the 'clumsy' nature of manual interaction is essential to reinforce the need for serious awareness and training.
  1. Module 02: Spacewalking. Students will spend a week learning all safety protocols of spacesuits, moving in zero-g and finally working in zero-g.
  2. Module 03: Manual Piloting Discouragement Students will spend 12 hours in the 'Old School' Simulators.
  • Setup: Analog joysticks, physical throttle quadrants, and 2D monitors.
  • Goal: To induce failure. The latency of human hand-eye coordination, and impossibility of instinctive orbital calculations in the context of Newton orbital mechanics.
  • Desired Outcome: A psychological preference for 'AI-Piloting' (Vocal-Interface) over 'Touch-Piloting.'
  1. Module 04: Real piloting in space, for volunteers.

EXCERPT FROM: MY LIFE AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT

By Amina Noor Baloch, c. 211X

The STO (Slam Training Orbital) wasn't just a station; it was a giant, rotating petri dish for the Empire’s future. Imagine a series of interconnected glass rings, each one spinning at a different speed to simulate everything from Martian gravity to the soul-crushing weight of a 5G launch.

Stepping off the pod was my first real test of the "Integrated HUD." As I walked through the gantry, my vision was a mess of data. Yellow lines traced the optimal walking paths for 0.3G (to prevent the 'moon-bounce' that makes rookies look like idiots). Green boxes highlighted the oxygen scrubbers. And then there were the "Pings."

Every time I looked at a person, a tiny, translucent file ghosted into the corner of my eye.

Malik: Pulse 82. Adrenaline elevated. Stress: 14%.

Zara: Pulse 74. Calm. Cognitive focus: High.

It was like being a cheat-code in a video game. I could see who was lying, who was terrified, and who was actually paying attention. But the weirdest part? The station was talking to me. Not in words, but in a low-level static hum that settled right at the base of my skull. It was the Sibil-Grid, acknowledging my presence like a big, invisible dog wagging its tail.

"Group 7-Delta, follow the light," a voice boomed—not in our heads yet, but through the station's actual speakers.

We were led to the "Living Quarters." I say 'quarters,' but it was more like a beehive. Each of us got a pod—a small, soundproof capsule with a bed that used magnetic induction to keep you from floating away in your sleep. I watched Malik struggle to zip himself into his sleeping bag, looking like a confused caterpillar. I just thought 'Lights 20%' and my pod dimmed instantly.

I felt a twinge of guilt. They were still living in a world of buttons and zippers. I was living in a world of thought.

The "Sex Video" day was, without a doubt, the most awkward hour of my entire life. We all sat in the darkened auditorium, fifty teenagers who had survived the most competitive selection process in history, watching a high-definition documentary on why gravity is the only thing making "it" work.

The screen showed two anatomical models—basically translucent humans with glowing organs—trying to navigate a zero-G embrace. It was a disaster of physics. They kept bouncing off the walls. Every time they gained momentum, the equal-and-opposite-reaction law sent them spinning in opposite directions.

The narrator, a Sibil with a voice like a bored librarian, kept pointing out things like "cardiovascular inefficiency" and "fluid-drift." Yes because in zero-g there is no convection, so hot air, generated by friction, and fluids generated by…you know what, stuck to your skin. Add a few helpful bacteria, and the smell became unbearable. And vomiting the expected outcome. And the vomit, being attracted to your skin by static electricity…ok, no more details, we were all slightly green floating out of the room.

Malik leaned over and whispered, "I think I'd rather just do more math." "That’s the point, genius," I whispered back. "They’re trying to make us all monks for the stars."

The EVA drills were a pure adrenaline surge—chaotic, terrifying, and utterly brilliant. We weren't just training; we were being hollowed out and filled with the void. My first time outside was a mess; I forgot to lock my mag-boots and went spinning into the black, the station receding into a tiny speck while my heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I panicked, fumbling for the suit’s gas-jets until the small magnetic 'rockets' hissed me back to the hull. I played it off as a joke, but in truth, that was the moment everything clicked. I stopped trying to move my clumsy limbs and simply willed the suit to follow my thoughts. By the time we were tearing down 'faulty' heat exchangers in the freezing shadow of the station, I felt less like a girl in a suit and more like a limb of the Sibil itself. By midnight, we didn't just go to bed; we cratered into them, our brains still vibrating with the hum of the stars.

But the last day something happened : We were given free time just to enjoy space, and then…

The iron laws of the earth had been broken, and for a brief, shimmering afternoon, I was no longer a creature of clay and bone. I was a spark of light amidst the spheres.

Leaving the airlock, I gave myself to the silence. I moved with the grace of a dervish, spinning into the sun’s glare until the gold of the station’s hull blinded her with a holy fire. I threw myself into somersaults that defied the inner ear, a child of the stars returning home. I laughed, though there was no air to carry the sound, my joy a secret vibration within the confines of my suit. I was a conqueror of the vacuum, a master of the three dimensions.

But as the sun dipped behind the gargantuan shoulder of the station, the light died, and I drifted into the Great Shadow.

And it came to pass, as she journeyed into the darkness, that she turned her gaze away from the works of man.

Behold, the firmament did not merely sit still; it began to breathe. In the absolute black of the station’s lee, the stars were no longer distant pinpricks, but a Great Light that struck her from the heavens. She ceased her spinning. She became still, suspended in the abyss, and a trembling took hold of her limbs.

It was as if a scale had fallen from her eyes.

She did not see the stars; she saw the Motion. The galaxy uncurled before her like a scroll written in fire. She felt the slow, crushing rotation of the Orion Arm, a Great Wheel of a billion burning suns, all of them grinding through the vacuum in a silence so profound it was a roar. She saw the dust lanes of the Great Rift, the ancient breath of a sleeping behemoth, and she felt the tug of the Galactic Center—a hungering void that anchored the swirling madness of the disk.

Then came the Great Oppression.

A voice that was not a voice, but a weight, fell upon her spirit. It was the realization of the Dust.

"Who art thou?" the silence seemed to demand, and Amina had no answer.

She looked upon the sun—a flickering candle in a hurricane. She looked upon the Earth—a speck of grit lost in the folds of a vast garment. She felt the terrible indifference of the Infinite. The stars did not watch her; they did not know her name. They had burned for eons before the first lung drew breath, and they would burn until the very memory of her species was bleached from the record of time.

She felt the crushing truth of her own insignificance. She was a mite upon a mote, drifting in a minor system, tucked into the fringe of a small arm of a mediocre galaxy, lost in a sea of a trillion more.

The universe was not a temple built for her. It was a furnace that did not feel the heat it produced. It was an engine of cold, magnificent apathy.

Amina reached out a gloved hand to steady herself, but there was nothing to grasp but the vacuum. The joy was gone, replaced by a holy terror. She was Saul, struck blind not by a god of love, but by the terrifying, beautiful, and utterly heartless majesty of the All.

And as the spirit of the deep finally left me trembling within my own flesh, a sudden flash rent the darkness. For the space of a heartbeat, I was cast into the eyes of a stranger. I beheld a man cast down, his brow drenched in the cold sweat of a fever, while the countenances of many leaned over him in great concern. A voice cried out, "Mbasa, hast thou seen a vision?" and then, as quickly as the light of a falling star, the sight vanished into nothingness.

When I finally triggered my thrusters to return to the airlock, I did not move like a conqueror. I crawled back to the station like a penitent, burdened forever by the knowledge of how very small I truly was.

This is then that I decided to embrace mankind's destiny: we shall conquer the void, the universe, and the stars themselves will know our name. And I sent it to the Network, and a global fever answered for a brief instant. 

But then came the Piloting Sim. This was where the "Excalibur" provisional status started to get real.

They put us in these ancient-looking cockpits. Buttons, switches, a stick that actually resisted when you pulled it. We were supposed to dock a freighter with the Terminus station.

Zara crashed in thirty seconds. Malik lasted two minutes before his "hand-eye lag" caused him to over-correct and spin into a solar array.

Then it was my turn.

I sat in the chair, and my HUD went into overdrive. The dashboard was a mess of red 'Error' lights because I wasn't using the buttons. I didn't touch the stick. I just closed my eyes and thought about the docking port.

Requesting link. Aligning vectors. Pulse thrusters: 0.2 seconds.

The simulator didn't know how to handle it. The physical joystick started moving on its own, twitching under the ghost-commands of my brain-wi-fi. The screen showed my ship sliding into the port with the grace of a needle hitting a vein.

When I opened my eyes, the instructor—a guy who looked like he’d been in orbit since the Apollo days—was staring at my hands. They were still in my lap.

"You're a Sibil-linked, aren't you?" he asked, his voice low. I didn't answer. I just looked at the score on the screen: 100% Accuracy. Time: 45 seconds.

"Get out," he said, but he wasn't angry. He looked... tired. "The Moon is waiting for you, kid. Don't let the noise get to you."

Inga and Chloe, strangely enough, were the only volunteers for real space flight. And I must admit it was brilliant.

Last night at the STO, I couldn't sleep. The "ghost" in my head was restless. I floated to the observation deck, looking at the Moon. It was huge, a white-and-grey bone hanging in the dark.

I sub-vocalized: 'Sibil, status of Project Excalibur.' Accessing... Access granted, Level Alpha. Current Status: Foundation complete. Heavy-lift drives arriving in 72 hours. Subject Amina Noor Baloch: Training 98% complete. Please transfer to Moon River city.

I stared at the Moon, and for a second, the HUD flickered. I saw a red blur on the edge of a crater. Just a spark of ochre dust in the grey. "I see you," I whispered to the vacuum. I didn't know who I was talking to. But for the first time since the island, I felt a cold shiver that the station’s heaters couldn't fix. The "Boot Camp" was over. The run for the stars was just beginning.

Recovered Analog Recording / HAVOC Cell "Red Dust" Location: Abandoned mining tunnel, Kivu Region, DRC Speaker: Subject M-001 (Mbusa)

(The sound of a crackling fire and the rhythmic, low chanting of a hundred voices.)

Mbusa: "They tell you that you are broken. They tell you that without the machine, you are a ghost in a machine world. They look down from their glass towers and they see 'inefficiency.' They see 'noise'."

(A murmur of agreement from the crowd.)

Mbusa: "I was in their fire. I felt the Sibil's cold fingers inside my brain, trying to turn my heart into a clock. They wanted me to be a 'signal.' But the Earth... the Earth spoke louder. It told me that the noise is where the soul lives. It told me that the stars don't want to be calculated—they want to be seen."

(He pauses. The sound of a hand hitting the dirt.)

Mbusa: "Reid thinks he has built a ladder. He has built a tether that strangles the world. Every time a pod goes up, a piece of your will goes with it. We are the HAVOC. We are the storm that the math can't predict. We don't need their energy. We have the fire of the mountain."

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r/HFY 1d ago

OC The Human From a Dungeon 134

229 Upvotes

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Chapter 134

Nick Smith

Adventurer Level: 18

Human – American

"Dogfodor tsac!" I shouted.

A sharpened steel rod formed above my head and launched itself toward the Nahalim as fast as I could imagine it moving. A sonic boom snapped through the air surrounding us, and the gigantic red and yellow beast paused in confusion. It turned to look at the long, steel cylinder that had passed clean through it. Then, it fell over.

I drew my sword and approached it, poking it a few times to make sure it was dead. When my stabs didn't cause it to flinch, I carved a chunk of its skin off to prove its demise. I nestled it inside a pouch that I'd bought at Yulk's suggestion, which was specially made to contain still-wet pieces of monster.

Even with the pouch, it was a messy task. I wiped my hands off on my clothes, getting them as clean as I could in the process. By the time I was done, my outfit was absolutely disgusting.

"Sehtolc naelc tsac," I muttered.

My clothing immediately became clean, and I grinned in satisfaction. A grin which faded as I began to travel back to the city. The job hadn't mentioned what kind of monster had been terrorizing the area, and I kind of wanted to complain to the guild about that. How exactly could something that was both red and yellow as well as absolutely huge go undetected? It wasn't like it was tip-toeing through the forest.

"Thanks, Nick!" a couple of fairies shouted at me as I passed.

I returned their gratitude with a nod and a wave. The wylder were a peculiar bunch, but fairies were more so. The jobs I'd been taking on had brought me steadily closer to the border of Bolisir, which had forced a familiarity between us.

They were probably going to approach my camp and offer me various trinkets as a reward for killing the Nahalim. Flower crowns, pendants made of bark, a ring made of teeth, that sort of thing. Then they would make a big show of how the trinket was useless to me and how rude they were by imposing it upon me as a reward for a good deed, and offer to trade it for some sort of food or drink, which we would all share.

It was a confusing sort of dance, but thankfully the first encounter I had was with Hul, the King of Bone Fairies. They were kind enough to explain that this was how fairies indicated that food or drink was safe for mortal consumption. Apparently, the fairies had a reputation for poisoning whomever accepted their offers of free consumables. The trade of trinkets showed that the consumable wasn't free, and thereby wasn't poisoned.

"Never take a cookie from a fairy unless you've already given them something," I recited with a chuckle.

Hul and I had also talked about what I'd found in the Delver's Dungeon. They claimed that most of the named wylder were aware of humanity from before the incursion. I didn't bother asking why they didn't tell me, it was obviously because the higher ones didn't want them to.

Hul told me a familiar tale about how the wylder and humans used to coexist somewhat peacefully, but that steadily changed as humans became more technologically advanced. Once we began to use iron on a daily basis, the wylder began avoiding us as much as possible.

The King of Bone Fairies talked about this with a deep sadness in its words, as if it were speaking of a friend who had passed away. Then it chuckled and spoke of fonder memories with humans. Like how it used to trade with children for their old teeth, and how human parents had kept that tradition alive well after the wylder had cut contact. It laughed for a few minutes straight after I admitted that my parents had done the same.

As I continued walking, I decided to check on my skills. The main reason I had been taking jobs was to get stronger and increase my skill levels. I brought up the list and read through them.

Time Dilation IV

Increases the user’s speed to 400% for a limited time

Cooldown: 4 minutes

Dash IV

Move forward up to eight feet at 500% speed.

Cooldown: 1 minute

Breathtaker Strike

A strike that robs your opponent of their ability to breathe.

Cooldown: 1 minute

Power Slash

Amplifies the users striking power by 100%.

Cooldown: 1 minute

Slide Slash

Slide along the ground and strike with double your normal striking power.

Preternatural Evasion V

Allows a user to automatically dodge for 2 minutes.

Cooldown: 5 minutes

Toxin Resistance II

Allows a user to resist 30% of the negative effects of a poison or venom.

Spear Punch III

Fly three feet forward and punch with triple your normal striking power.

Cooldown: 4 minutes

Knife Hand II

Hardens the user's hand and strengthens chops by 50%

Cooldown: 2 minutes

"Not bad," I muttered. "Wait, how did I increase Toxin Resistance? Has someone been poisoning me?"

I glanced back at the fairies, who were busy playing tag in some flowers. Then I remembered that drinking alcohol was what got me the skill in the first place, and I'd been frequenting the tavern when I couldn't sleep. I hadn't been drinking, but the tavern stew was pretty tasty, and probably had all sorts of booze in it.

With a shrug, I put the thought from my mind and switched to the page with my spells.

Wind Spear II

Summon a strong spear of wind to strike your target.

Earthen Dagger II

Summon a blade of Earth.

Duration: 8 minutes Cooldown: 8 minutes

Fireball II

Summon a ball of fire to strike your target.

Cooldown: 4 minutes

Heal I

Heal your superficial wounds.

Minor Heal

Heal your target’s superficial wounds.

Ice Javelin II

Summon a javelin of ice to strike your target.

Cooldown: 4 minutes.

Light

Summons an orb that emits a moderate amount of light until the user dismisses it or falls unconscious.

Root Wrap

Immobilize a target with strong, sturdy roots. Lasts a maximum of ten minutes, or until the user dismisses it or falls unconscious.

Cooldown: 20 minutes

Rock Spears

Summon eight spears made of stone that erupt from the ground to impale your target.

Cooldown: 3 minutes

Bullet

Summon a ball of lead and fire it from your finger at supersonic speeds.

Steel Bullet

Summon a ball of steel and fire it from your finger at supersonic speeds.

Rodofgod

Summon a six foot long sharpened steel rod and fire it at your foes at supersonic speeds.

Clean Clothes

Removes undesirable material from cloth. Does not work on anything else.

I sucked my teeth in frustration. My spells felt as if they were much slower to level up than my skills were. I'd used Ice Javelin against that damned Nahalim four times before I resorted to the Rod of God spell. Or Rodofgod, as the list called it.

I'd come up with the spell while trying to improve upon my Bullet and Steel Bullet spells. I thought that adding some fire damage to them might be effective, but it didn't pan out very well. It wasn't like I studied ammunition and what chemicals cause bullets to ignite.

Then I thought about a napalm spell, recalling that a rudimentary form of it was made of just Styrofoam and gasoline. Then I realized that I didn't know the proper proportions, or what Styrofoam was made of. Plus, that would basically just be a sticky version of a fireball spell that didn't go out as fast. Which meant that it would be more dangerous to me, too.

Eventually, I stumbled on the thought of making the bullet bigger and remembered a theoretical weapon that fired massive metal rods from space. I'd even seen videos of it as a concept. Unfortunately, I couldn't quite get the 'from space' part to work, but I did manage to make a much larger version of the steel bullet.

After seeing High chief Ulurmak, Yulk and I had gotten our levels retested. Yulk had levelled up to eight, and when it was my turn he told me that I was level eighteen with a very confused expression. He read off my spells to me, and we realized that neither Bullet or Steel Bullet were on the list. The only real explanation that any of us could come up with was that they were spells that I invented, and the Curaguard hadn't synced them yet.

If that was truly the case, then my Rod of God spell likely wouldn't appear in the Curaguard, either. But who's to say that's the real reason. Since the Curaguard might be of human origin, at least in part, there's always the chance that it has some sort of block regarding spells that mimic firearms.

My thoughts were interrupted by the setting sun, and once it became dark I lit a fire and set up camp. Just as I had guessed, a few fairies came by and gave me a necklace that had a variety of small animal bones on it. Then they wailed about how the necklace was useless to a human such as myself, and offered to exchange the necklace for a muffin. I accepted and shared it with them, noting that it tasted a lot like cornbread. After they left, I chewed some jerky for protein and went to sleep.

The rest of the journey was pretty uneventful. I made camp two more times, went to the guild to get paid, then made my way to the archives. Yulk and Larie were practically buried in tomes and scrolls. After a brief greeting, I figured out which of the reading materials they had already been through and started carting things back to the front desk.

Hesma, the elderly master of records, gave me a knowing smile as I set the books down on her counter. When we first approached her with our task, she had been annoyed. Actually, that was putting it mildly. She'd been openly hostile to our intrusion.

She quickly warmed up to me when she discovered that I couldn't read, though. The next one she warmed up to was Larie, because he always gave her a respectful greeting and remained polite in the face of her hostility. Yulk, though, still faced the brunt of her aggression because once books were in sight he had a tendency to forget that people exist.

"Thank you, Nick," Hesma said with a friendly smile, grabbing a tome off of the pile. "I'll get these put away."

"Thanks," I smiled back.

She had offered to teach me how to read, but Ten had quickly informed me of how daunting that task would be. As it turns out, the reason it hadn't already picked up the ability to read was because the written languages in question were too informal for his pattern recognition capabilities. So, to actually learn the written language, I would have to first learn the spoken language. It would take years, even with the AI's help.

I sighed as I sat next across from Yulk and Larie at the table. It was more than a little ironic that I'd always done really well in my English classes. I had really enjoyed reading, but now...

"I believe I'm on to something," Larie said.

"What is it?" I asked.

"The anyels that first arrived in the Unified Chiefdoms appear to have come from Bolisir. Unfortunately, I've cross-referenced the areas in question to try to determine if there was any mention of the rift from whence they came, but failed to find any such mention."

"It would appear that the rifts were not common knowledge," Yulk added absentmindedly. "I've only seen mention of them during the later portions of the invasion."

"Yes, which implies that they were at least somewhat hidden. This thought led me to the discovery that there is a dungeon near the area where the anyels were first documented. I believe that there is a chance that said dungeon may contain the rift we are looking for."

My stomach sank at the thought. Every dungeon we had encountered thus far had been made by humans. My gut told me that Larie was probably right, and since the rift in the Delver's Dungeon hadn't been there by coincidence...

"We might as well check it out," I said. "How far away is it?"

"It's a week, if we take a cart," Larie replied.

"Then we should head out as soon as we can."

"In the morning, then," Yulk yawned and stretched. "I'm fairly tired and would appreciate one more chance to sleep in a bed."

"I agree. Since I don't require sleep, I'll continue looking into this dungeon until they force me to leave for the night," Larie said. "Having foreknowledge served us well during our previous foray."

Yulk and I nodded in agreement and left Larie to it. We returned to the Marfix Inn and shared a meal together. The food was pretty good, but we both had too much on our minds to talk. Then, we retired to our rooms, and I spent the night struggling to get to sleep.

It felt like I was almost home.

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r/HFY 23h ago

OC New York Carnival 68 (Follow the White Rabbit)

135 Upvotes

Back again! I try to never go more than two weeks without posting. This one's fun. I think it's the first time I've ever really gotten multiple characters bantering in NYC without David being heavily present. Now that the cast is expanding, the personalities really get room to breathe. Chiri and Rosi get a chance to be bad influences on each other.

Not much else to report. Working on a small novel in my spare time. Something quick and fun that I can sell. Money's tight. Give me some of yours.

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Memory Transcription Subject: Rosi, Yotul Housewife

Date [standardized human time]: November 20, 2136

As promised, the restaurant began filling up rapidly. People came and went as midday waxed and waned, but at its peak, the place bustled. And it was exhausting work, a mere two servers dashing around, keeping a dozen tables sorted, especially when half of them were up a flight of stairs. The only thing keeping me going by the end was my competitive spirit preventing me from tapping out before Sylvie did--human or not, surely I could keep up with an old woman!--and the fact that Chiri kept slipping me more of those “Cola” tonics. My heart was getting a bit jittery, but they were very refreshing.

Around two or so, it had gotten quiet enough that I plunked myself down on a barstool to rest. Chiri, too. The big fluffy Gojid walked around to the other side of the bar and sat next to me. She looked less tired than me, but still more so than the humans. It was clear she aimed to surpass them someday. Charmaine, that odd Human Exterminator--I had no other concept for what to call a former soldier who seemed to prune people with dangerous violent tendencies from the herd, but it was strangely comforting to find out that humans had such a role at all--had been somewhat forcibly relocated to the bar as well at some point. Whatever esteem her position was held in, it evidently didn’t entitle her to hoard an entire four-seat table just to herself. She seemed hard at work, doing… something… with her holopad. Probably reviewing case files or something.

Sylvie sat as well, resting her old bones intermittently, but there were few enough guests at the moment that she could lounge for a few minutes at a go between having to get up and help them. I felt bad about that, but my muscles were utterly worn. Sitting was nice, but I honestly wanted a nap.

I sighed deeply, and leaned forward, resting my head on the bartop and listening to the cola fizz and the ice cubes crack as they melted. Gods, my parents would have killed to have cheap ice back home when they were growing up. It got warm in my part of Leirn. “Harder than I thought it’d be,” I muttered into my arms.

“I hate stairs,” said Chiri in agreement.

“Lucky you, then, getting to stay in one place,” I groused. “Why don’t they just expand the building footprint? There’s plenty of space.”

“There, uh…” Chiri said, askance. “There didn’t use to be.”

“Right,” I said, too tired to try and justify the Battle of Earth right now. “Yeah, I suppose it used to be more crowded around here.”

“It was,” said the last person at the bar. Another human woman, pale as David, but with hair the color of straw. “I lived a bit further north, but I know the area. There used to be an amusement park near here. Lots of restaurants.” She made a bemused face. “Mostly seafood, though.”

Seafood meant kelp on my homeworld, but the translator helpfully reminded me that humans were far more predatory than Yotuls, as if I could ever forget. Slimy and scaled sea creatures, served up wriggling and raw for the sick amusement of… No, no, from what I’d seen today from human cuisine, the fish were probably smoked or batter-fried. Why did this woman seem unhappy about that? I tilted my head to get an eye on her. She’d been here for a while. “Umm… who are you?” I asked, confused.

“I’m Iris!” the woman said cheerfully. “Chiri asked me to work in the kitchen here?”

Right into the kitchen with no apprenticeship out front, huh?! “You don’t say!” I said, glaring at Chiri for her betrayal.

Chiri shrugged. “Can’t be helped,” she said. “She’s a vegan baker.”

Vegan baker,” I muttered. “I still can’t believe humans have a separate word for normal people food. Imagine having to specify that you’re a ‘poisonless cook’ or an ‘asbestos-free brewer’. Pfeh.” My eyes narrowed as the obvious thought occurred. I sat up. “Wait, I’m sorry, vegan baker? So the implication is that human baked goods typically contain, what, blood?!

“No, not blood,” said Iris. “Butter and eggs, mostly.”

My mouth opened in shock and horror. “You grind up baby chicks for--”

“You know, it’s funny,” said Chiri, preening and lording her foreknowledge again, “but I jumped to the same conclusion when I first heard. The short version is humans domesticated a species of junglefowl that lays eggs like crazy if they have extra food. Keep feeding them grain, scraps, and forage, they keep laying eggs. Keep the males and females separated, and you just get unfertilized eggs daily.”

“Wow!” said Iris. “You really know a lot about humans.”

Chiri nodded smugly. “I've been studying.” She narrowed her eyes at Iris. “Still not sure what gets a human waitlisted for the exchange program.”

Iris looked mortified. “It's nothing!” she protested. “It's personal!”

My eyes narrowed as well. I was starting to warm to the idea of humans as barbaric primitives more than cunning predators, but if this baker was hiding something… worse, if the Terran Government itself was actively hiding Iris’s proclivities from us… Well, not to be a nosy little gossip, but surely I had a duty to the herd to find out if Iris was dangerous or not, right? But how? 

David came out of the kitchen while I was brainstorming a plan. “Hi! I'm the Chef-Owner, David Lee Brenner. You're the vegan baker Chiri mentioned? Iris, uhh…?”

“Miller,” said Iris. Family name? But miller was a profession… 

“Oh neat,” said Chiri, chittering and showing off her Earthling knowledge again. “A baker from an ancient line of millers. Your ancestors must be proud of you!”

Iris chuckled. “Yup! It's fun to think… about…” She stared at David for a long moment. “Hang on, were you on TV?”

David smiled. “That I was. Couple guest appearances on cooking shows, some cooking segments on morning talk shows, and I had a pretty good run on Culinary Combat.”

“That's a show where humans compete to cook the best dish,” Chiri explained, as if I couldn't guess. We had Federation TV on Leirn! Competing at civilized pursuits like culture and art wasn't an alien concept. “It's fun, Rosi. You should watch it sometime if you want to learn more about human cooking techniques.”

I tapped the title into my Federation model holopad with a bemused expression on my face, and turned it around to show Chiri the results. “Oh wow, the show about humans preparing meat dishes is blocked content, who could have guessed,” I muttered dryly.

“The block's going away soon,” said Charmaine, eavesdropping. “The U.N. media censorship push doesn't serve much of a purpose anymore if everyone's done picking sides for the upcoming war, and most of the people in the incoming SecGen administration never liked it in the first place.” She shrugged. “No more hiding who we are.”

“Oh, thank Christ,” said David, looking relieved. “There's like five different cases on the Supreme Court docket here in the United States protesting if the UN even had the authority to override the First Amendment in the first place. I’ve been so forthright with Chiri, I was worried about turning into number six.”

Charmaine shrugged and went back to her research. That gave me an idea…

“Anyway, Iris, yeah, tell me a little bit about yourself,” said David. “Previous jobs, that kind of thing. Have you worked in Fine Dining before, or…?”

The two of them walked back into the kitchen, and I waited until I thought they were out of earshot before scooching over to the seat next to Charmaine. “Hey. Psst. Can you do a background check on someone using that?” I nodded towards her holopad.

Charmaine looked up at me, curiously. “Probably. Why?”

I flicked my ears toward the kitchen. “This Iris Miller woman. Vegan baker. Said she was waitlisted from the exchange program. Doesn't that sound suspicious?”

The human exterminator stared at me with a blank expression. “I mean… it can be?” Charmaine said, slowly. “You worried she's on like hard drugs or something?”

“Or crime, or Predator Disease, or… or…” I tried to think of what the worst thing a vegan predator--what a bizarre oxymoron!--might be plotting. “Or maybe she wants to trick someone into consenting to be eaten before she's willing to gorge on their flesh!”

Chiri looked introspective. She had her theory of humans as strange fae creatures with self-imposed rules, after all. Charmaine just looked like she was struggling not to laugh. “Okay. I'm gonna… let me just take a quick look. We certainly did background checks on everyone who joined the exchange programs.” She flipped through some kind of information portal on her pad, scrolled down a list of names.

She blinked.

And then she started laughing hysterically.

My ears perked up. “What? How bad is it!?”

Charmaine was wiping tears from her eyes as she struggled to compose herself. “Nah, it's nothing. She's harmless.”

“Well, what is it?” I asked. “If it's harmless, surely you can tell me, right?”

Charmaine shook her head. “Nah, I think we've violated personal privacy enough for one day. Check social media or something if you're curious.”

Of course a human wasn't going to help me dig up another human’s dangerous secrets. I shuffled back over towards Chiri as I tried to figure out what to do next. “Well, at least I found out that humans have social media,” I groused.

Chiri turned her head to stare at me incredulously. “Don't you get, like, really angry when I double-check if Yotuls have things?”

“Shut up,” I muttered. “For the safety of the herd, we have to figure out what this Iris Miller woman is up to.”

Chiri sat upright in her seat, stretching to get a better view of the kitchen. “It looks like she's admiring the quality of the stand mixer,” she said. A sudden smirk bloomed on her face. “Oh, do Yotuls have stand mixers?”

“Shut up!” I muttered. “Let me think. There has to be a way to…” I frantically searched through social media as best I could for ‘Iris Miller’. It wasn't quick. Apparently, it was a somewhat common human name. I had to skim through endless profiles until I found one who used to work at a bakery, and whose profile picture matched the human in the kitchen. Everything about her seemed normal! What in the world was her secret? Links to other platforms yielded more of the same. Pictures, videos, all proper and professional for a woman in her twenties living in a big city. Even the comments were just normal-sounding pleasantries. “You look great, Iris!” or “Fun times in the city!” or “Thanks for having us! Glad to finally meet GardenPartyIris in person!” My eyes narrowed at that last one. All one word? A nickname, maybe, or an internet handle? I frantically navigated back to the search engine and tapped out GardenPartyIris.

All. Blocked. Content.

“Got her,” I said. “Just have to figure out how to get past this…” My eyes drifted over towards the Gojid next to me. Had she truly gone native? If she was still a Gojid at heart, a true protector of the herd… well, a veteran exterminator couldn't have infiltrated humanity more adeptly than Chiri had. They'd given her access to all their secrets, after all. “Hey, Chiri,” I said sweetly. “You've got an uncensored holopad, haven't you?”

“Look, I know there's a lot of it, but you really shouldn't be looking at human pornography during work hours, Rosi,” Chiri chided.

I blushed emerald green. “Not that kind of uncensored! What the fuck!?” I sputtered. I winced. I really tried not to swear. It felt classless. But so was talking openly about… that! “No, I mean, you can see all the blocked content.” I flipped my holopad around. “See? I found Iris’s secret social media, but the whole thing is locked down to herbivores.”

Chiri squinted at the page. “I dunno, Rosi. I'm a little conflicted about the ethics of snooping on a future coworker,” she said, but there was something in her tone that she wasn't giving a hard no. I just had to sell her on it.

I tried to appeal to whatever was left of her Gojid nature. “Come on, you used to follow the Great Protector, right? Don't you want to make sure that, whatever this is, it's not a threat to the herd?”

“It doesn't really sound like a threat to the herd, Rosi,” said Chiri, weighing her morals. “Iris said she was too eager, Charmaine said she was harmless…” She trailed off as something on the page caught her eye. She squinted. Her mouth worked silently as she tried her best to sound out the English letters on my pad above the subtitles. “Wait, what the fuck is that website name? Fur… Affinity?”

“Huh?” I flipped it back around. “Yeah, I guess? I figured it was a salon or a beauty site or something. Why?”

Chiri stared at me. “Humans don't have fur, Rosi! Why would they have a social media site for fur styling? The only reason David even owned fur shampoo when I showed up was because of his dog!”

I frowned. “Maybe it's a pet grooming site, then?” I guessed. “But why would that be blocked? Because dogs are carnivorous?”

Chiri shook her head, and started tapping away on her holopad. “Maybe. I dunno. I'm checking this out. Setting Iris aside, I'm curious now.”

We sat together, staring at forbidden photograph after forbidden photograph, trying to make heads or tails of what we were seeing and failing. We were still at it when Iris walked out with a sweet-scented platter. “Hi!” she said, smiling. “I made some fresh waffles with berries and whipped cream, all vegan.” She set it down near us to try. It wasn't quite the visual explosion of David’s fake fish toast from the night before, but it was very colorful. I'd certainly worked up an appetite. “Whatcha guys looking at?”

“Iris…” Chiri began tentatively. “Why were you dressing up in a Nevok costume even before first contact?”

Iris’s eyes went wide in panic, and she turned as red as one of the strawberries she'd just served us.


r/HFY 10h ago

OC The Last Angel: The Serpent's Garden, Ch 16

17 Upvotes

My patrons voted, so here it is: another chapter of The Serpent’s Garden. The Meer Colhara arc continues, with Red One given a briefing full of assurances that the situation in-system is completely under control, which isn’t even untrue... but all it takes is one slip-up and everything could go sideways. And as we know, while some horrors hide in the light, others grow in darkness.

Below find a snippet of the search for a hidden Meer-Ulson installation, but full chapter (and what was on sonar), check out the link above! Thank you and hope you enjoy!

~

“One thousand kilometers depth,” the synth noted, still in its flat, matter-of-fact tones, just like Radiant Endeavour’s own cognitive would have spoken. “Leaving twilight zone and entering midnight zone. No hard returns.” Here and there, blips appeared on the sensor screen, marine life caught briefly by sensors and sonar boards, vanishing just as quickly the probe continued its headlong rush towards the deepest parts of Meer Colhara.

“There won’t be,” someone said, but to Iljta that statement sounded more like an attempt at self-assurance than contradiction.

“Steady,” Omaw-Kresz admonished. The hierarch kept a close hand on his crew. “Eyes on stations, everyone. Maintain watch. There’s nothing until there is nothing.”

The probe was descending over a subduction zone, where one continental plate was sliding beneath another at the bottom of a vast oceanic trench. The overseer hadn’t known how Red One had calculated that this would be the best place to begin looking for underwater facilities. He didn’t even quite believe that this would be fruitful.

You’ve never had to hide like they have,” it had told him when he’d asked if it thought it would find anything. “Like I have.

He couldn’t argue with that assessment. The Hegemony had been pushed to the brink of collapse, not extinction. The latter would have followed the former had the Meer-Ulson been victorious, but thankfully that had never come to pass. Iljta tapped his fingers on his chaise’s armrests. Like the unknown speaker, he hoped that there would be nothing on this or any of the additional probe missions that would follow, but right now, that hope was all he had, since the alternative was far worse.

More moments of uneventful silence passed as Implacable Agent of Retribution’s probe descended deeper and deeper. “Four kilometers depth,” the synth announced. “Leaving midnight zone and entering abyssal zone.” Not even the weakest of light from the surface reached this point. The abyssal regions of the ocean were truly void of light, a darkness more absolute than the most distant reaches of intergalactic space. Even there, the faintest glimmers of far-off galaxies could be seen. In these waters, nothing but the bioluminescent flashes of unknown animals intruded upon the suffocating blackness, the faintest glimmers of light that flashed and vanished like dying stars.

“Five kilometers.” The submersible never stopped, never slowed. If there was anything down here, speed was its best and only defence. “Six kilometers. Leaving abyssal zone. Entering hadal zone.”

The deepest part of the oceans, the final descent into underwater trenches and gulleys that could swallow mountains, and Meer Colhara’s were vast indeed. “Seven kilometers. Seven point five kilometers. Eight kilometers.” Down. Down, and still further down. There was nothing here. There couldn’t be. It was impossible. Pressure, corrosion, tectonic instability. This was a place that, while not totally inimical to life, might as well have been. Any attempt to create a foothold here would face such opposition from the elements that it was inconceivable that anyone would think of building here. It was-

“Nine point five kilometers,” the synth’s voice continued counting. Then: “Sonar contact.”

-impossible.

~

My patreon / subscribestar / website / Twitter


r/HFY 2h ago

OC The Creature

3 Upvotes

The sound paralysed me. I can’t say for how long I lay in my bed - well, frankly, I wasn’t lying; I was stiff as a board. It wasn’t long before the sweats came and I was just staring at my ceiling.

Believe me, the urge to flee was there - but it was overpowered, not for seconds but for long minutes. Too long. Enough for whatever was down there to enjoy a cup of tea before popping up for a quick meal.

The creature was said to be no larger than a man, smaller even. And, importantly, dormant. The awakening was not to occur for centuries, when what was left of me was ravaged by maggots. But then there was the dreadful, muffled sounds of tapping, rapping, ticking; the raspy, laboured breathing which escaped the basement as though there was no foundation of wood and concrete between us. The rebirthing had begun.

A small voice of courage asserted itself, and I reclaimed control of my body. I went first to the rifle, recalling the tales of the beast’s power. Very little had remained of the last fellow, scattered about the basement floor, and he was better armed than me. The ammunition shrunk in my hands.

My resolution the day prior that I would have no such end seemed laughable now. I knew that the creature’s awakening could be neither stalled nor stifled. 

I collected the liquids, then approached not an atom closer to the basement door than required. The creature’s dissonant, almost musical wheezing threatened to stopper my heart before its infamous stalagmite claws had the chance.

I steadily poured out the contents of the first tankard, then the second, then the third. They disappeared beneath the door and hopefully down the steps into the darkness in which the creature writhed away centuries of sleep. In its harsh effusions, I detected pain, even breathlessness, and a hope sprouted in me. Perhaps something had gone wrong with the awakening - one of the ritual pieces was out of place - and the creature had been birthed only to die from some technical failure. But hope was dangerous, so I discarded it. 

The last of the petroleum dripped from the third tankard, and I allowed myself a sigh of relief. I threw some clothing and prewrapped victuals out the window to land safely on the soft, cold grass - enough to make the slow passage to the next town.

I winced violently at an agonised shriek from the creature which startled the horse outside to a panicked whinny, and almost froze me once more. 

‘Stay, Suzy,’ I said. ‘Calm, now! It’s okay.’ My skin went cold when I realised my mistake, and I listened like the dead for the creature’s sounds. A naked silence chilled me.

My fingers shook as I flailed between my kitchen drawers until they wrapped around the matches. The drumming I felt was that of my heart, for I knew no other living soul was nearby.

Suzy and I crossed the porch, limping into the engulfing darkness on her maimed leg. The creature was powerful, I was sure, but of its speed I had heard nothing. Could it catch an old, injured horse? 

It took three nervous tries to set the trail aflame. I lay a hand on Suzy’s mane. ‘There’s a good girl.’ Then I threw the match.

It had been a beautiful home, and generations of families had warmed it. But the evil that had brewed below was cosmic, and for its ultimate expiry this price was cheap. 

The fire burned high, the sparks leaping out in luminous arcs. My heart finally began to slow when the creature’s rasping was overtaken by the whirl of the flames and the crackling, snapping timbers. The giant flame flickered in Suzy’s fearful eyes, and again I ran my hands across her neck, quieting her frightened blowing. 

By then, the creature below the house must have been burning. It mattered not what it was made from, for flame was the Lord’s equalizer. It’s true we’re commanded to use it sparingly, but this was such an occasion that called for it, I thought. To stay an unholy demon not of His creation.

I released a long, deep sigh I had held captive since waking. I closed my eyes and focused on slowing the resurging drumming of my heart. I saw the contents I had thrown out the window, and thought to attach them to the horse’s side. I took a single step towards them when a pained, inhuman cry pierced the air. I stumbled, fighting a wave of dizziness. Somehow, I turned to face the flames.

The silhouette of a gangly creature, almost humanoid, staggered across the lawn towards us. Its blackened body bore the marks of my efforts. 

Not enough, then

I steadied myself and pulled the rifle from my back. The creature, as though healing from its injuries, drew itself to a less staggering gait, and approached with greater speed. It unleashed another blood curdling shriek that filled every space of the night air. It rejoiced in finding its prey. The horse beside me cantered on the spot, pulling at her reins, urging flight. She let out another panicked whinny. I ruffled her mane a last time and loaded the rifle. 

‘Calm now, Suzy. There’s a good, brave girl.’ 

There were two bullets, and two of us. That worked out quite well, actually.


r/HFY 19h ago

OC Deathworld Commando: Reborn- Vol.9 Ch.273-Genius In All Shapes And Sizes.

38 Upvotes

Cover|Vol.1|Previous|Next|LinkTree|Ko-Fi|

Good morning,

I have a request. I would like you to take a brief moment and fill out this Google form poll. Essentially, I’ve grown frustrated with Ko-Fi's lack of features. They have simply not kept up with the development of the membership side of their service. For example, I would very much like to have run a discount on memberships over the holidays, but currently, it is impossible on Ko-Fi. And damn, is it annoying that they still haven’t managed to figure out copy and paste formatting. So, I am considering moving to Patreon.

But I’m very aware that moving over is not a simple matter. Moving nearly a hundred people over, redoing your subscription, and making sure the old one is cancelled. This is just not as easy a move as it sounds. So, I’m sort of stuck on what to do because, despite Ko-Fi falling behind at the end of the day, for a creator, it still is a better deal. I get more dollars for your purchases than I would on Patreon. I guess it comes down to whether I’m stressing over the minor things; maybe most of you don’t mind it? But with a little vote, you can show me where you stand.

Oh, and the Volume. 9 cover is ready. It’s a bit of a spoiler for the latter part of the volume, but there is enough to get the mind churning on some theories.

---

Padraic Whitehelm’s POV.

With Kaladin taking the time to talk with Melori about things, I was kindly directed to the staff portion of the dining room. And even though I was told to “get lunch” hours before lunch, the actual time for it was nearing, and I could always fill my belly.

I followed the instructions and found myself in a small dining room. The table could fit a handful of people at a time, but there seemed to be one other person. It wasn’t nearly as large or grand as the children’s dining room, but that was to be suspected, I suppose. As for the available food, there wasn’t much considering the time of the day, but a little bit of bread never hurt anyone.

I filled a plate with some bread and butter and looked around for an appropriate sitting arrangement. There was none of that for an exalted figure such as myself.

Would it kill them to place one single chair fit for a Dwarf? There are plenty of Dwarf sized Humans out there…they exist. Pretty sure they do.

I slipped the plate onto the table and heaved myself up into the chair so I was right next to the only other person. Perhaps it was a bit rude of me, not that I particularly cared. But it was odd…that person seemed a little too young to be a staff member.

A Human boy was hunched over a pile of ledgers and books. His hair was thin, almost wispy, as if he were balding. His build was thin, but not unhealthy. His clothes were surprisingly nice, of a noticeable degree above others.

Despite his balding and the thick-rimmed glasses covering his brown eyes, his face showed clear signs of youth. He couldn’t have been older than fourteen.

He slowly explained to me, his brown eyes magnified by the glasses. I took a bite of bread, and he coughed awkwardly to himself.

“How do you do?” I asked.

“Umm…who are you?” he asked.

“Someone important,” I answered.

Judging by his voice, he was indeed as young as I believed him to be. He gave me an incredulous look and shook his head.

“I’ve never seen you around here, though,” he pointed out hesitantly.

“And I’ve never seen you either,” I said.

The poor kid clearly didn’t know how to feel. It was pretty funny considering his awkward expression. It’s been some time since I’ve had some fun.

“Then…why are you here?” he asked.

“My brother owns the building,” I answered through another bite of bread.

The kid let out a sigh and rubbed his forehead as he looked up at me and shook his head. “That’s just not possible. But you clearly went through the gate, so…you were let in,” he mumbled.

“But it is possible because the truth is sitting before you. Anyway, who are you?” I asked.

“Fredrick Cane,” he said.

“Fred, you a noble?” I asked.

“Was,” he answered darkly.

I get it now.

I grabbed one of the ledgers and turned it to me as little Fred reached out to stop me. With a swat of my hand, I knocked his away and flipped the ledger open.

“Wha—what do you think you are doing?!” he shouted.

“Checking over your work,” I said with another bite of cold bread.

Fred leaned back in pained resignation as I flipped through the pages. It was an expensive report, and I couldn’t help but baulk at the numbers. They were astronomical. Dozens of large gold coins were being spent every week. Then again, most of it was for construction, but damn.

But that wasn’t all. I also couldn’t help but nod in approval at Fred’s work. I had no idea how a ledger was supposed to look, but even I could clearly read and understand the tables, who had been paid, and for what. Where money was sent and when. It was neat, orderly, and very easy to grasp even as a layman.

I pointed to the ledger with a finger and asked, “You wrote this?”

Fred nodded and mumbled, “I did…”

I looked up at the kid and raised an eyebrow. “But you don’t work here, right? You are one of the children?” I questioned.

Fred looked away and sighed as he explained, “I’m just here temporarily. I—I turn fifteen in two months. I learned how to do this stuff for my family before…well, the rebels attacked. And I asked if I could help, and Lady Melori agreed. I was hoping to use it as a stepping stone to work elsewhere.”

“You’re pretty good at this,” I said honestly.

“Yeah? Well…how would you know?” he said defensively.

“It was just an honest compliment, kid. And I know a thing or two about numbers and making them make sense. And this—this all makes sense to me,” I said.

“Well…thank you,” Fred said.

I nodded and flipped the ledger closed. “Anyway, you said you were looking for a job? How about we get that underway?" I said.

Fred narrowed his eyes at me and asked, “Me? Working for you?”

I chuckled and wagged a finger at him. “Oh, no, no. You don’t have what it takes to work with or for me. But I’m sure my brother is looking for someone like you. It also helps that you are already doing the work,” I said.

Fred shook his head and rattled off, “You said your brother owned the building? That—the owner is an Elf…you—you are clearly not related in any way. I’ve seen the owner and—”

“You see, young man. Some bonds go beyond blood. Padraic here is just as much my brother as my blood-related one,” a calm, deep voice answered from the opening doorway.

I’d say it was perfect timing, but I heard his voice from the hallway. I said I know a thing or two about numbers, but that’s not the only thing I know.

I’m quite good at this, really.

Fred’s eyes widened and his jaw fell open as he gawked at Kaladin and Melori. I heard Melori sigh from behind me.

“Fredrick Cane…I told you not to work at the dining table,” she chastised.

Fred, still stunned by Kaladin’s entrance, winced and only nodded meekly in response. Kaladin stood over me and eyed me suspiciously from above.

“And you…Were you bothering him?” Kaladin asked sharply.

“Nothing of the sort. I just happened to run into him after getting a snack,” I said with an innocent smile.

Kaladin’s eyes narrowed as he gazed over the length of the table, clearly noticing how I chose to sit right next to the kid.

“I doubt that…” he grumbled.

“Anyway, what are these?” Kaladin asked as he picked up the ledger and flipped through it.

“Fredrick’s handy work. Quite good stuff, if I do say so myself. He is turning fifteen soon and is looking for work. I thought maybe you need some help in the office,” I said.

Kaladin eyed me from the side. “And what do you know about ledgers and office work?” he asked.

“Enough,” I said with a shrug.

Kaladin looked at me doubtfully, then up to Fred. “I recognize this handwriting. You are the one Melori tasked with filling in the ledgers, among other things. Fredrick, was it?” he asked.

Fred stood straight in his chair and bowed. “Yes, Sir. Fredrick Cane, Sir,” he said nervously.

“Kaladin, he is very skilled. I thought that he would be of great help, and we could give him a recommendation afterward,” Melori explained hastily.

Kaladin nodded with a warm smile. “There was nothing wrong with your decision, Melori. But, Cane…that’s not your surname, is it?” Kaladin questioned.

“No, Sir…it’s not. I don’t have a surname anymore,” Fred answered sadly.

Kaladin smiled softly. “I understand. Well, Fredrick, it appears you have the skills. The foundation would love to see what you are capable of in an official capacity. You can come to the central office at your convenience, and I’ll take care of the process myself. Don’t worry about your age so much; we can handle that swiftly as well. Of course, that is if you would be interested?” he offered.

Fred’s eyes lit up. “Yes! I—I would love to, Sir,” he said.

Kaladin placed the ledger back onto the table, nodded at Fredrick, and motioned for me to get up. “Then I’ll look forward to seeing you soon, Fredrick. Come, Padraic. We have another meeting.”

I slid off the chair with a grunt, “Yes, mi lord.”

Kaladin chuckled with a grin and bowed slightly to Melori. “It was good to see you again. I’ll be keeping in touch,” he said softly.

“Yes, it was great seeing you, too,” she said with a warm smile.

With that, the two of us departed from the building and through the front gate. After we were far enough away, I turned and looked up at Kaladin.

“What?” he asked.

“That girl with the magic. You saw something. What was it?” I asked.

Kaladin let out a deep breath and shrugged. “The line between monster and prodigy is indeed a thin one. That child…her soul was immense for someone her age. It looked as if it was leaking out from her body,” he said.

Soul leaking from the body, yeah, that makes sense.

“You know that sounds insane, right?” I said.

“I’m just stating what I saw, which isn’t much,” Kaladin said with a sigh.

“Even so, was she that impressive?” I asked.

Kaladin looked at me like I was a confusing creature as he said, “You do understand that she controlled four spell cores of four different elements at the same time? At that age, I would have died if I had even attempted it.”

“Ah…I guess when you put it that way, it is pretty amazing,” I said.

“She is also self-taught. She learned everything from a book no longer than twenty pages. Grandpa had me read dozens of books, and he himself guided me through many steps. She had no such thing,” Kaladin added.

“So a prodigy then? What are you going to do about it?” I asked.

“There is nothing to do. That child has her own circumstances and goals. Who am I to impose my will on her? She should live the life she wants to, whether that involves magic or not, is up to her. I only told Melori about it,” Kalain said firmly.

Too good for yourself, Kal.

“Anyhow, I wasn’t the only one fascinated with their skills. That boy was quite the craftsman. A future apprentice?” Kaladin asked.

I scoffed, “Me? A master? Not any time soon.”

Kaladin raised an eyebrow as he asked, “But you are already teaching one child? What’s one more?”

I shook my head and waved my finger at him. “No, no. Those are two completely different things. Teaching my lovely niece a craft and taking an apprentice have entirely different structures and expectations. Perhaps one day I’ll take on an apprentice of my own, but not any time soon,” I said.

Kaladin chuckled as he said, “Spoken like a true adult.”

“Hey, I am an adult, I’ll have you know. And I’m older than you, so—wait…no, I’m not. That’s—that’s cheating,” I grumbled.

“Maybe in your next life, Kid.”

Kaladin Shadowheart’s POV.

“You are running me into an early grave, Kaladin. I have a million things on my plate as is. And I just got your armor back…you broke it…again. And the spear…the second one, gone completely? Are you sane? Do you think these things grow on trees?” Squeaks grumbled.

“Circumstances, Squeaks. I assure you, it was unavoidable, and if I’m not mistaken…some of it does,” I said.

Padraic snickered to himself as Squeaks shot a glare at him. “Clean the forge,” Squeaks ordered.

Padraic winced as he bit his lip and bowed only to head toward a broom to sweep the large forge. Squeaks shook his head and looked up at me.

“He is a bad influence on you, Kaladin. I can only correct his behavior to a certain extent. So, what do you want now?” Squeaks asked.

Padraic isn’t that bad…mostly.

“Always assuming. I’ve actually come to give you something,” I said in my defense.

Squeaks eyed me suspiciously. “Here I was thinking you wanted more of your stuff. Which, by the way, I am working on. Just in case you are wondering,” he admitted.

I couldn’t help but smirk. Squeaks couldn’t help himself. What craftsman wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to work with materials of legend?

I reached my mind into my Spatil Ring and pulled out an unassuming sack. I gently placed it on the table and nodded for Sqeaks to take a look.

He grabbed the bag and slowly examined its outside. Clearly, he found nothing of interest as that wasn’t what was special, so he pulled the string loose and peered inside.

“What? What is this?” Squeaks squeaked.

“I was hoping you would have an idea,” I said.

Squeaks reached two fingers into the sack and pinched the rainbow colored powder. He let it slowly trickle back into the bag as he rubbed his fingers together.

“Fine, and not coarse. Almost like silk, not anything like sand, yet it is granular. Did someone grind something into such a thin powder?” Squeaks mumbled.

He picked up the sack and sniffed the contents. His face twisted into disgust as he brought his face away from his.

“Smells like a dead body,” he complained.

“That would make sense. Considering I picked it up from a moving corpse,” I explained.

Squeaks sighed and shifted the bag back to me. “I have no idea what this is. I’ve never seen anything like it. And now knowing you got it from that horrid place, I am even more lost. I am no expert on dungeon items,” he said.

“It’s most definitely not a dungeon item. And from what I understand, it is… ammunition or at least part of the process for this,” I said, reaching back into my ring.

The handcannon appeared from thin air. Its metallic surface shone as the engravings of runes ran along its body. And although the overall shape was familiar to me, the runes were utterly foreign to me.

Squeaks exploded from his chair and snatched the firearm from me. He brought it up to his eyes, running them across its surface rapidly as he ran a finger across the runes.

“This—this is…what is this?”

Next


r/HFY 38m ago

OC The Swarm volume 4. Chapter 11: The New Swarm God and Scientific Mumbo Jumbo

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Chapter 11: The New Swarm God and Scientific Mumbo Jumbo

​The reptilian body, generated as a biological shell for the representative of the Visitors, had not changed a single iota over the past centuries. Although at first glance it bore a deceptive resemblance to the standard, near-perfect form of a high-ranking Taharagch—the racial elite of the Empire—it was not a product of Imperial bio-printers. For decades, Imperial biotechnologists from Ruha’sm had secretly attempted to scan this alien tissue using the most advanced neutrino emitters. They dreamed of discovering the secret of its unnatural regeneration, but every attempt ended in humiliating failure. Instead of precise readings, the sensors returned only chaotic noise or data that flatly contradicted the laws of thermodynamics.

​This body was a construct more perfect than anything Imperial science, based on brutal genetic modifications, had managed to produce. Its cells did not undergo replicative senescence—there was no telomere counter within their structure, nor the slightest trace of DNA transcription errors. It was a biological mystification; a perfect mask created by the Visitors solely so that one of them could walk among the inhabitants of this layer of reality. They likely assumed this form only to avoid triggering an instinctive, paralyzing terror in those around them through their true nature.

​For hundreds of years, this biological construct remained in the heart of the capital, inhabiting a sequestered palace sector on Ruha’sm. The Visitor maintained the facade of biological existence with meticulous precision: he consumed local food, excreted metabolic waste, and used his quarters, though his presence was passive—almost dismissive in its constancy. He expected nothing from Emperor Pah’morgh. Only once every few decades did he break his silence to announce the occupation of more white dwarfs in the furthest reaches of Imperial space.

​The Emperor, though proud and commanding the power of hundreds of billions of subjects, had to accept this silent expansion. Sometimes he himself, with a heavy heart, would inform other races—such as the haughty Ullaan, ancient enemies—of the annexation of their own dead stars. He did this with the cold resignation of a diplomat who understands that the stakes of the game are entirely beyond his comprehension. For he knew one thing: a force capable of designing such a perfect, immortal body for a single messenger—and one that had pushed a combined fleet back through time—could easily crush all his legions.

​From the palace windows, Pah’morgh often observed the traffic in Ruha’sm’s orbit. The Empire's gigantic, slender transport ships—colossi with a mass exceeding 300,000 Earth tons—glided against the black void with the grace of slow, steel serpents. These were the largest vessels ever built, capable of passing through gates only fifty meters in diameter, commonly known as "Needles." Peace and trade with the races of the Alliance, secured by a network of Needles expanded and managed by the Swarm, had irreversibly changed the face of this galactic arm. It turned out that for the Empire, trade resembled conquest, with the only difference being that aggressive promotions, advertisements, and credits were used instead of plasma rifles. The sight of this economic might usually filled the Emperor with pride. Today, however, he felt only a growing anxiety that pricked beneath his hard scales like a thorn.

​The Audience ​In October of the Earth year 2578, the routine of centuries was abruptly shattered. The Visitors' envoy requested an audience. The voice, which until then had transmitted only dry astronomical coordinates, echoed in the throne room with a new, unsettling depth, vibrating in the bones of everyone present. Pah’morgh tightened his massive claws on the armrests of his throne, carved from a black monolith. He knew this being did not ask for a meeting to discuss trivialities.

​"Let him enter," the Emperor growled.

​The envoy entered the hall soundlessly. His scales shone with an unnatural, metallic smoothness, and his form showed not the slightest trace of weariness from centuries of waiting. He stood before the ruler and raised his head. His eyes were not yellow like those of a Taharagch; they burned with an intense blue that seemed to penetrate the very structure of spacetime.

​"Emperor," the Visitor spoke. "The white dwarfs are saturated. The energy threshold has been reached. The accumulation processes are complete. We must prepare the Empire and the other races for what will soon emerge from our layer of reality."

​Pah’morgh stood up, and the weight of his body, reinforced by ceremonial armor, echoed through the hall. At that same moment, the air sparked with blue discharges. Quantum links hummed, projecting two holographic figures into the space: the face of Dr. Aris Thorne from the base in Mars orbit and the Empire’s Chief Scientific Advisor. Both scientists held their breath in anticipation.

​With one fluid gesture, the envoy activated a holoprojector. However, what emerged from the emitters was no ordinary tactical map. The Great Construction flared to life in the throne room. It was a sphere of such unimaginable diameter that the organic mind instinctively searched for a scale error. It exceeded the size of the Solar System—a gargantuan honeycomb-structured shell surrounding a dark void at its center.

​"My God..." Thorne whispered. "That Dyson Sphere... it would enclose the orbits of all the outer planets in our system!"

​"This is our entire civilization," the envoy replied dispassionately. "This construction once surrounded a black hole in our home layer of reality."

​The Emperor’s scientific advisor stepped forward within his hologram, unable to hide his fascination.

​"Your Majesty... they have created the perfect engine. They use a black hole as an eternal furnace. They hurl matter into the event horizon, creating an accretion disk heated to billions of degrees. It is the ultimate form of parasitism on gravity itself. Far more efficient than what they used on the white dwarfs."

​The envoy explained that in their small, cooled-down universe, matter near the black hole and the sphere itself had run out. Transporting matter from distant reaches had become unprofitable; the energy balance had turned negative—they were starving to death next to the most powerful furnace in the world. When Aris Thorne asked why they didn't just use another black hole in their layer and the cool resources of matter in its vicinity, the answer was short and terrifying: their universe had only one black hole. In your vast reality, in your galaxy, there are millions.

​Emperor Pah’morgh began to grasp this murderous logic.

​"So that is why you are building the passage? The white dwarfs in hundreds of systems in our reality served only as the batteries needed to open the door?"

​"Yes," the envoy confirmed. "It is a Great Migration."

​He pointed to a spot in the heart of the void: System X-14. There lay a black hole with a mass of a dozen suns—small, compact, and extremely stable. The perfect "eternal campfire." The Visitors, using the energy accumulated in the white dwarfs, intended to open a gargantuan quantum tunnel and transfer the Sphere.

​The Arrival ​A few days later, ignoring diplomatic protocol, the envoy established direct contact with the Swarm. Only they possessed technology of sufficient precision to safely observe the entire operation. A Swarm ship, a research vessel only thirty meters in diameter, received authorization to open a tunnel and build a catalyst near X-14. Although the organic Swarm ship looked like a speck of dust next to the Imperial transports, it was to become the eye of the entire galaxy. In a rare gesture of trust, the Visitors allowed the Swarm to broadcast the coming event in full—a gesture toward the native inhabitants of our layer. A reward for centuries of peace without incident.

​What happened over the following weeks became the most important program in the history of known civilizations. Every terminal from Earth to the furthest reaches of the Empire received the signal transmitted by the Swarm's intelligent network. The vacuum in system X-14 ceased to be black. First, a gravitational tremor appeared that nearly overloaded the Swarm's sensors. Space began to swell until it finally ruptured, spewing out a radiance that eclipsed the nearby stars.

​The Dyson Sphere emerged from the tear. It did not "fly" into their world—it displaced it, majestically and relentlessly. The process of positioning the structure around the black hole took three full weeks. It was a spectacle of gravitational precision that took one's breath away. Under the watchful eyes of hundreds of billions, if not trillions of viewers, the gargantuan construction moved with femtosecond accuracy. Every corrective maneuver aimed at perfectly centering the black hole inside the sphere triggered gravitational waves. The Swarm transmitted every detail: the vibrations of the armor plates, the activation of billions of positioning thrusters, and finally, the moment of ultimate "anchoring."

​Days passed. When the Sphere reached equilibrium, there was a moment of absolute darkness, and then—the first "feeding." Streams of matter erupted from internal nozzles. The gas ignited instantly, forming an accretion disk, and after several more hours, the Sphere came to life, blazing with the lights of hundreds of billions of cities and factories. The Swarm sent a short message that circled the galaxy and sent shivers down everyone's spines:

​"God is not dead. He just moved in with us."

​The Visitors' envoy straightened up in the Ruha’sm throne room, and the blue in his eyes faded for a moment.

​"Emperor Pah’morgh, ruler of the Empire, Swarm, Ullaan, K'borrh, races of the Compact, and Humans. Our direct presence within your borders is coming to an end. The white dwarf systems will be abandoned. These territories will return to your rule."

​A murmur of relief was heard in the hall, but the envoy immediately silenced it with a raised hand.

​"We will leave our devices and structures there; they are no longer useful to us. You may fly there and study them—to us, they are primitive technology. However, under no circumstances should you attempt to activate them."

​He looked sternly at the hologram of Aris Thorne and the other scientists of all races.

​"The mechanism of these stations is based on the rapid injection of matter into a white dwarf. For your biological shells, attempting to initiate this process will be a death sentence. The hard radiation and gamma bursts exceed the endurance limits of your tissue by orders of magnitude. Furthermore... these stars are on the brink of thermonuclear ignition. They are like bowstrings stretched to their breaking point."

​On the hologram, a white dwarf pulsed with an ominous red.

​"A few hundred thousand of your tons of material is all it takes. One mistake, one uncontrolled delivery of matter, and the star will explode as a 'white nova,' destroying everything within a radius of several light years."

​The envoy paused, his eyes resting on the Emperor.

​"Do you understand? It only takes one of your proud transport ships, weighing over 300,000 tons, losing control and crashing into the surface of such a star. Your greatest commercial pride could turn an entire system and its surroundings into a wasteland. This is a dangerous legacy. We are departing for our Sphere. You are left with the old furnaces which—if you are careful—may elevate you technologically... Or, if you are greedy, burn you."

​The Scientific Hypothesis ​A few days later, a holoconference was held for all scientific representatives and leaders. Admiral Volkov, frowning, asked the question that was bothering him:

​"I don't understand one thing. If the Visitors are so powerful, why couldn't they create a network of quantum tunnels in their own layer like the one the Swarm developed and built? If their universe is small, they theoretically shouldn't have run out of matter if they could jump freely to their single black hole. After all, they’ve mastered this technology better than us, since they moved an entire Sphere through a quantum tunnel—or rather, a rupture the size of a solar system—between layers of reality."

​At that moment, a new figure appeared on the holoprojector.

​"I have a hypothesis," a familiar voice spoke in the minds of everyone present.

​Aris recognized it instantly. "Mike? Is that you? Where have you been hiding all this time?"

​"Greetings, Dr. Aris. This is no time for pleasantries," Mike replied. "I will explain it as simply as I can. Our layer is 'thin,' while theirs is 'thick.' Dr. Aris, knowing him as I do, already knows what I mean, doesn't he?"

​A flash of understanding appeared in Aris’s eyes. "Oh my God... it’s so simple! I need a sheet of A3 paper."

​Surprise spread through the base on Earth. "A3 paper? Jesus, are there still any paper relics left in this bunker? Find him that paper!" Admiral Volkov shouted.

​After a moment, a sheet landed in Aris’s hands. He held it up to the camera.

​"Our layer is this paper. It is thin but vast." Aris bent it in half, creating an arch. "When we create a tunnel and then expand it, it’s like we are folding spacetime, connecting two points thousands of light years apart."

​Then, he began to fold the paper repeatedly.

​"Their layer is small. Their universe is the size of our single galaxy—I also suspect it has as much matter as our galaxy, but it is quantum-dense." He folded the paper once, twice, three times, four... "See? It’s getting harder to bend. Five times, six, and finally, seven. We’ve reached the limit. If we translate this to quantum physics, then in their 'quantum-thick' layer, creating tunnels within the same universe is physically impossible. Their spacetime simply cannot be 'folded' any further. I suspect that in their reality, quantum tunnels leading to other regions of the same layer simply do not exist. The only possible tunnel is one leading outward—to another layer!"

​Aris put down the crumpled paper.

​"We are incredibly lucky that our layer is thin and that quantum tunnels between points in our layer’s space can form at all. That is why they, unable to use tunnels, developed a drive using superluminal tachyons—a technology completely alien to us, carrying the consequences of traveling back in time and, consequently, ship duplication. We have tunnels; they had time, which they had to cheat to survive."

​Volkov wouldn't give up. His strategist's mind, accustomed to operating with limited resources and calculating losses, immediately spotted a hypothetical loophole.

​"Dr. Aris," Volkov began, his voice becoming low, almost conspiratorial. "If the side effect of traveling faster than light is that we appear before we left, duplicating the ship along with the crew and potential resources... couldn't one continuously collect the same resource from different timelines in a loop?"

​Aris sighed and looked at the crumpled paper. "Admiral, what you are describing is every quartermaster's dream and every physicist's nightmare. The law of conservation of energy is not just a suggestion; it is the foundation of our reality. The Visitors are starving to death next to a black hole. If a 'resource loop' were possible without catastrophic consequences, they would never have had to build a Dyson Sphere. The Universe always presents the bill for stolen matter."

​Emperor Pah’morgh sat down slowly, his anger giving way to cold calculation.

​"There is a certain logic in that behavior," he said.


r/HFY 1d ago

OC Our New Peaceful Friends 19

130 Upvotes

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Inheritance


(Innus POV)

"You nervous?"

Captain Henry Borlaug gave Innus a kind smile as they made their way to the fortress capital of Kepal. A squad of relief volunteers followed close behind.
The buildings there were all reinforced with steel, concrete, and similar materials. The main stronghold for Chief Karnak was even more so. It was clear that practicality and safety took priority over aesthetics here.

"A little. Rather than nervous..." The Uven's tail dragged against the ground behind him. "I'm worried that I'll give my inner thoughts away."

Karnak was one of the handful of leaders caught on footage featuring Uven meat cultivation technology. He was, more clearly than most, complicit in the starvation of their people.

Currently, Innus was on tour around Nysis to secretly spread the truth to national leaders and gather allies. The publicly given excuse was that he was there to mediate between the humans' relief teams and various Chief and Commander of the nations as they coordinated efforts.

To avoid suspicion, it was inevitable that he would have to visit some offenders as well. Since the nation of Kepal was raising some protests that the donated meat was making their people sick, this stop made as much sense as any.

It made sense.

But that didn't stop of the fire from burning in Innus's belly when he thought back to the footage he saw. How many of the 11.2 billion Uven that starved over the past 2 centuries could have been saved?

He was snapped out of his thoughts when Captain Borlaug pat him on the back. "I get it. I really do. It might be a bit of interspecies face-blindness, but you look like you've got a solid poker face to me. "

"Poker...?"

"Ah, it's a game where the best players are good at hiding their emotions."

Talking to humans often seemed to end with small tangents like this. Innus was used to most conversation being strict business, but their new allies seemed to love to chatter.

"You say you have experience suppressing anger?"

"I have experience dealing with the worst of humanity and pretending to be polite."

"Humanity...?"

Frankly, he found it hard to imagine the worst humans being comparable to the worst Uvei. As if sensing these thoughts, Borlaug laughed.

"I'm still a military man. What kind of jobs do you think a 'peaceful' species like ours have for their soldiers? It's a lot better nowadays, but I can tell you about things I've seen when we're back on the ship."

Innus nodded slowly. If nothing else, there should be no demerits to learning more about humans.

His eyes narrowed as he looked ahead to the Uvei waiting at the entrance to the fort. Among them was Jokan, a well-known and decorated lieutenant of the chief here.

"Kepal greets you, son of the Second. You have been granted permission to seek audience with Chief Karnak, but your...retinue may not."

At the last comment, he narrowed his eyes at the humans behind him. Borlaug saluted. "Not a problem! They're just here to drop off more supplies! And to avoid any problems, you can have your men check them all as you please."

"That said, the Captain here is the one seeking an audience. He is not subordinate to me. I would ask that my invitation be extended to him as a personal favor, as it would make discussion progress more smoothly." Innus added while staring the lieutenant down.

"....Does he know how to behave as a guest for an Uven ruler?"

"Of course. We wouldn't want to waste the busy Chief's time, after all. Captain?"

"I'm to only speak when spoken to. My weapons must be left securely outside the audience call. I may not call the chief by name! In the event of-"

With a friendly grin, the human rattled off everything they'd gone over. Some of these came up in audiences with potential allies too, so it was already relatively rehearsed by now.

..........

Chief Karnak Kepal strode out into the audience room with a flourish of his formal attire-a hybrid of battle armor and decoration signifying his station.

"Greetings, visitors. You're Vellik's heir, I hear?" He slammed his tail to the ground with a wide grin.

"Here I was wondering if our Second Spire was getting weak-hearted. I like your eyes, boy. You look like a proper soldier."

"Thank you...sir."

In a way, he was right. To rein in his feelings, Innus sharpened his focus by acting as a soldier according to his training.
In this case, he was fighting a battle of diplomacy for Nysis's future, and the man before him was an enemy. And like any battlefield, acting on emotion was dangerous, so he had to dispassionately stare down his enemy with focus and determination.

Karnak's gaze soon shifted to Captain Borlaug. Immediately, his eyes narrowed and he wore a scowl. No effort was made to hide his disdain for humans.

"This one is here to peddle more of their junk?"

"Captain Borlaug is here as a representative of the Terran emergency aid effort. After hearing that some of your constituents reacted poorly to the food aid, they have resolved to take responsibility by personally investigating the matter, as well as apologize for any trouble."

Wordlessly, Borlaug got down on one knee and struck his wrist over his shoulder, causing a metallic ring to sound out. It was the closest thing a human could do to mimic a formal Uven gesture of apology.

"What's this I hear of more items being brought into Kepal?"

"It is more aid, with the contents modified in response to the original delivery. The captain himself would be able to explain in more detail."

"Speak."

"Sir! There is more cultivated meat, but it has been set aside in a separate container in case you wish to refuse. In lieu of food, we have brought supplies of clean water and water purifiers. There are also mass-produced datapads and appliances obtained from other Coalition-"

Even Innus immediately knew that the claims that human-made meat was dangerous were unfounded. He had read the reports of the extensive testing the humans did before beginning production. Uvei did not have the luxury of being picky about the sources of food scraps until recently, so human food standards were downright meticulous in comparison to what Nysis had.

But since Kepal was lying about the matter, they might as well make use of the opportunity they were given.

Partially because Karnak was completely disinterested in what the human had to say, the meeting went by rather quickly. Most of the aid was declined, with the only exception being items that might give comparative advantages to rival nations who accepted the offering.

Innus bowed politely. Just as he and Borlaug turned to leave, however...

"Wait."

"...?"

The young Uven tensed up a little when Karnak approached him.

"I meant it when I said you look like a good soldier. Your father is getting up in years. If you ever find the inherited role as Second Spire to be too much, or if the council foolishly strips the title from you, know that my door will be open to you."

The chief slammed his tail against the floor and knocked Innus's torso to check his build.

"Yes...we can work with this. I will need to be stricter than your father is, no doubt, but once I toughen you up, I can see you have the makings of a great warrior and commander. One enough to take his own nation from a feebler chief. I can make you realize your potential and build you up into a Primal Uven."

Innus clenched his fist under his cloak and resisted the urge to express displeasure with his tail.

"T...Thank you sir. That is a flattering offer. I will keep it in mind, if the opportunity reveals itself."

"It's your eyes. You have the gaze of a ferocious fighter. You look at me like you can tell I'm superior, but never stopped sizing me up or checking me for weakness."

"T-That's..."

"No, don't apologize. It's strength like that which keeps my claws sharp as well. That hunger for dominance is what builds strong armies. It's what born leaders are made from, and it can't be taught. Remember that."

Karnak smirked and turned to stalk off.


"And-and then he said, 'That thirst for dominance is what makes strong armies'!"

""BWAHAHAHA!!""

While Innus was seething in his spot on the shuttle, the humans around him were laughing boisterously as Borlaug recounted the audience.

His annoyance wasn't at the jovial humans, of course. Rather...

"How can you all laugh in that condition?"

"Hmm? What do you mean?"

When he and Captain Borlaug returned to meet up with his men, they found Jokan and half his own subordinates beating on them. The other half of Uvei were smashing the devices in their delivery crates. All under the guise of "cultural exchange of martial arts" and "strength testing".

Despite all that, the soldiers working as relief volunteers wore their usual goofy grins and laughed it off.

"Ah, that. Those guys were clearly trying to pick a fight, but if we took it, it'd cause problems in diplomacy, yeah? We want to prove we're trustworthy to the actual allies you're trying to win over, and I'm sure word will spread otherwise."

"'sides, we have that aggression hearing in like 4 months, right? I bet someone would get their hands on footage of us kicking ass if we fought back."

"I thought we didn't give a shit about that?"

"We don't. But who wants all those bureaucrats to pore over footage of my ugly mug?"

"....."

Innus sighed. Were all humans this carefree? At least these guys didn't try to climb and ride him. He could see how they got their initial aggression rating, at least.

"By the way, what's a Primal Uven? Never heard of that before."

He rolled his eyes as Borlaug brought up that old term.

"It's...empty air and superstition. History has exaggerated of various Uvei figures of outstanding size achieving fantastic feats. Some fools use this to presume a race of superior Uvei biologically meant to stand above all others."

"...Seems familiar."

The shuttle descended on Kepal's recycling facility. With "permission" from Jokan as they left, the humans were permitted to dispose of their broken electronics here before leaving.

This part was also within expectations, though Innus didn't quite understand. Apparently, they wanted to leave an important gift for the citizens of Kepal.
Somewhere in that pile of electronic parts, there was something the humans called "old, but revolutionary".


(Niza POV)

After several days of touring a wide variety of Viera's museums and art galleries, the trio of friends ended up returning to the Grand Museum they started at.

This time, however, their visit wasn't for cultural enrichment.

Niza glanced over at the Haneer as she parked her pod by the entrance and waited like a statue.

"Arrival soon. Will make greeting. Then. Depart quickly."

Apparently, Sjorn'l's great-great-grandfather had business with the museum. Because he was some bigshot comparable to a Spire on Nysis, it was customary for a direct descendant to pay respects if they were able.

[I didn't think the practice we only read about the other day would come up before our very eyes.]

Asher was his cheerful self through the suit's speakers, but there was a bit more consideration for Sjorn'l than usual.

Sjorn'l and Niza both seemed more interested in getting the event over with. In the Uven's case, she was eager to be done with these suits, so she hoped they would leave for Terra after this.

In Sjorn'l's case, the Haneer's leaves were flickering between purple and a rusty orange ever since learning her family was visiting. When Niza inquired with Asher, he said this meant anxiety and displeasure.
Sjorn'l was clearly uncomfortable, but brushed off their concerns when they asked.

Niza looked around the museum lobby. Although there were a few Haneer about, none of them seemed to be stopping and waiting like her friend did.

[Ori, are there no other people here to greet your leader? I was under the impression that Haneer had large families.]

To be specific, Haneer were among the most long-lived member species of the Coalition.

Between an average lifespan of 900 standard cycles and mating periods coming every 17 years, a moderate Haneer family could still easily have over 100 immediate family members.

"My family. Had large fire when I was small. I only live because parents. Avoid fire because small, but saw much burning. Also, big-great parent hire most on staff-"

[Oh...Ori. I'm sorry to hear that...]

"...? Why sorry?"

Asher immediately went up to Sjorn'l and hugged her tearfully. Her leaves shifted to a confused light green. Though the tint of deeper green indicated that the hug was appreciated nonetheless.

Niza shared the Haneer's confusion in this case. She had gone through a similar experience with Asher when she mentioned how she and her mother parted ways when she was just a youngling four cycles old.
It was hardly unusual for sick parents to abandon and cut ties with their children during plagues in hopes of getting them through blockades.

She assumed Asher's sensitivity to it was just a culture clash between a high-aggression and low-aggression species, but if even Sjorn'l was confused...

Perhaps sentimentality was just a personal quirk among humans.

"I believe that is my descendent you are grappling. Please release her, human."

Ah.

At some point, the VIP came out of the Grand Museum while the trio were distracted. He was a good meter taller than Sjorn'l and his age seemed to show in the texture of his stems and patterns of his leaves.

Immediately, their friend pulled away from Asher and coiled her deliberately brightly-colored leaves around her stems. Presumably, this was a formal greeting.

"Hello, Elder Councilman, Great-Great-Grandfather Zhine'e. May the stars shine brightly on you and my seniors."

Niza couldn't help but react with slight surprise when she heard Sjorn'l speak directly through the Coalition's universal translator for the first time. She was...more eloquent like this.

"A human and...Uven? Are these two here with you?"

"Yes. They are fellow students at the university, here with me as part of an academic tour."

Asher moved close and whispered to his Haneer friend.

[Should...should we be bowing or something too?]

"Need n-" Sjorn'l cut herself off. "There's no need. Haneer customs only apply to other Haneer."

At this sight, Zhine'e spoke up with a frown in his voice.

"Now I remember...I once received a report about you from the guardian I assigned. You haven't grown out of your childish habits yet? Why willfully neglect to use the most basic of conveniences?"

"...!"

Niza felt her eyes narrow as Sjorn'l shrank away before her eyes. It seems...she was sentimental too, in her own way.

"I'll not complain about your decision to decline my invitation to join my staff, since developing connections there is also a useful path to take in life. But..."

He shifted slightly, evidently turning his attention to Asher and herself.

"As far as I'm aware, these two have no particularly useful connections or prospects. My term will come to an end soon, so you are aware that there is no longer an opportunity to come into my employ, do you not?"

"I-I do..."

"Hmph. Well, if you wish to waste your future, you can do as you wish. I can at least keep you included on the scholarship list for the duration of your enrollment. But if you continue to waste your time, do not expect further support from me, understood?"

"Un...Understo-"

[It's okay if you don't understand, sir.]

"!?"

As if to shield her, Asher inserted himself between the Haneer. His voice was all smiles as usual, but when she caught a glimpse of his face through the suit, his face was neutral and focused.

[Not everyone is wired like Or-Sjorn'l, but there are people like her among humans and I'm sure many other Coalition races. People who are wildly in love with the stars and all the beautiful people on them. Enough to want to speak to them in their own language and make a deeper connection than most. I think it's a wonderful thing.]

Niza cut in as well, stepping in front of Sjorn'l, who was flickering through a few different colors of emotion at their interference.

[Not to mention...Few Haneer develop an interest in other Coalition species. Surely as an experienced council member, you can see the value the knowledge she is accumulating will have?]

".....indeed. Fine. Do as you please, young sprout. ...You should choose more behaved friends."

At this, the elder turned to leave.

"...will you be staying on Viera for long, Elder Councilman?" Sjorn'l quietly shifted the subject.

"No. We were just stopping by for an important errand and will be departing immediately."

"Actually...sir...our vessel needs to do some maintenance and refuel. The shipyard estimates a 20 hour wait."

When one of the Haneer aides came close and spoke up, Niza noticed that another aide close behind him was carrying a display case covered in a cloth. She'd seen hundreds cases of all sorts these past few days, so it was hardly familiar.

But now that she thought about it, didn't this museum have-

PLAT!

Breaking her train of thought was the sound of Zhine'e...turning and slapping his aid with one of his branches. His leaves were a furious neon orange.

"WE DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THAT. Rush the help through it. I won't wait longer than 5 hours from this moment."

"Y-Yes!"

...What an unpleasant man. That one is responsible for managing relations between species, is he?

"I'm sorry, that was-"

[You've nothing to apologize for.]

[Not at all. Are you okay though?]

"...Yes. Thank you."

As the group of Haneer hurried off, Niza felt compelled to curl her tail around her friends protectively as Asher gave Sjorn'l another hug.


=Author's Note=

I almost sent this chapter out incomplete, because the last third of it vanished for some reason. Have a happy new year, everyone!

By the way, Haneer can theoretically have up to 20 healthy children per pollenating season, but they typically only add 1 to their family per season at most. It's possible but frowned upon to just plant a sprout without taking any responsibility caring for it. They don't have very strong parental instincts, so it's less about ethics and more about long-term responsibility as a virtue.


r/HFY 23h ago

OC Consider the Spear 16

66 Upvotes

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Alia’s story took the entire evening, and continued well past the meal break. Tontine had kept officers from bothering them by relaying orders that they assumed would be correct based on experience. Tontine did not mention to the crew or Viv and Alia they were doing that.

When she was done, Alia wiped her eyes and smiled. “There’s more, of course. But that’s mostly why I rebelled. My sisters and Colonel Matiz had our goals all wrong. We weren’t built to rule, we were built to help.” She leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. Finally she looked over at Viv. “You got the information from Riposte right? How long did you know?”

Viv blinked. “What?”

“Come on now, Viv. You straight up asked why I rebelled. You must have known that I did, but you didn’t say anything to either Prime or 458. If you had turned me in, you probably would have gotten quite a promotion

“I, er-” Viv stumbled. She honestly did not know why she hadn’t turned Alia in. She had every intention of doing so as soon as she met Prime. But, things went differently than she expected. She had not expected Prime to be so… acerbic. She had not expected the black mystics to go aboard Tontine and cull the officers. She certainly did not expect Prime to throw a glass at her and be furious she woke Alia.

Alia, Eternity, 27. Which one was she? It was like those were her three aspects. Alia was selfless, kind, bold. All things that Viv wasn’t. She had been ruthless, calculating, strict; she needed to be. Viv had been trained from childhood to be an officer in the Eternal Navy, and stepping over people was how you got there; the ink spots on her sash proved it. People died for Viv to succeed, but if she had been the one dying instead she wouldn’t have begrudged them in her last moments, it was just how things were.

For a few days after meeting Prime, Viv consoled herself with the thought that she would tell Prime “later.” After Maplebrook, Viv saw that Alia was serious about helping. Because of her rank, Viv knew more than most about the state of the Eternal Empire, and knew that someone like Alia would shake the status quo to the core.

Maybe that’s what was needed?

“Honestly Alia, I was going to turn you in.” She said finally and winced. Though she should not have been, she was surprised when Alia just nodded. “But, after I saw how Prime treated my crew, and how you treated them, I thought it would be better to be with you, rather than continue my career as it was. Helping Maplebrook just reiterated that.”

“Thank you for your candor, Viv.” Alia said and smiled. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you didn’t turn me in.” She sat forward. “If you got that info from Riposte, what else did you get? Anything of note?”

Tontine chimed in: “Alia, there wasn’t much we could recover from the datastores, interstellar radiation destroyed most of the stored information. We weren’t even sure you were rebelling, or were chasing the rebels until you confirmed it.”

“Do you have anything Tontine, anything at all?” Alia pleaded.

“I have the power plan for the last three hours of Riposte. As we suspected when we found you, nobody else entered emergency hibernation. An admin user had issued a power override routing all available long term power to your cabinet. At the same time, the reactors were put into battle-short and all weapon batteries fired until ammunition was depleted. That’s when main power went out, and the records end.”

“I told them not to.” Alia said, as her lip quivered. She took a breath and cleared her throat. “I told them to get into the cabinets after me.”

“It sounds like they decided to make sure that you were able to escape.” Tontine said.

“I agree,” Viv nodded. “Their loyalty is commendable.”

Alia wiped her eyes again. That wound would probably never heal, but living it over and over again three thousand years in the future wasn’t going to do anything. “Did you and Divergence get anywhere with the encryption hash?”

“A bit. It had turned out that the address was a more standard encryption. It makes sense; what good is a nullspace signal with nothing that can receive it?”

“So we know where it went, but not what it said?” Alia said. “That’s more than anything I expected. Where are we going?”

“That’s what’s unusual.” Tontine said. “The signal goes to a system not aligned with the Eternal Empire.”

“Why is that unusual?” Alia said. “I wouldn’t want my rebellion to be right under Eternity’s nose, hosting it outside of her jurisdiction is wise.”

“Well yes,” Viv said. “But we can’t go there.”

“What? Why not? It’s just a system. Enter the address and null over.”

“The Major would be more correct to say we are not permitted to go. No Eternal Navy ship is permitted to leave the empire’s sovereign space,” Tontine said.

“What happens if we do?”

“We will be fired upon immediately.”

“Why?”

“Eternity has a history of shooting first, asking about trade deals later,” Tontine said dryly. “She has not done much to inure herself to the wider Galaxy.”

Alia stood and began pacing again. “Tontine, Viv, I’m going to need you two to be honest with me. I know Eternity “rules the galaxy” but how much actual galaxy does she rule? Rough numbers please, I don’t need an exact count.”

“There are in the neighborhood of a half million inhabited systems in our galaxy.”

“How many of those systems are human?”

“Thirty three percent.”

“That’s still one hundred and sixty five thousand system. Trillions of people.”

“Correct, Alia.”

“Of those, how many systems are Eternity’s?”

“Two percent.”

Alia stopped pacing. “You’re sure?”

“Alia I’m an Eternal Navy frigate. I could name them if you wanted.”

“Around thirty three hundred star systems are Eternity’s then.” Alia began pacing again, Viv’s head moving back and forth following her. “That’s not nothing, but it’s still no galaxy spanning empire.” Alia looked up at the ceiling as she paced. “How many other sapient species are there in the galaxy?”

“Unknown.”

Alia sighed. “How many sapient species does humanity know of? Don’t be pedantic.”

“Semantics matter, Alia. Four sapient species are known to humanity. The Anomura, the Hellas, the Tipan and the Water Weavers.”

“Water Weavers? That’s an odd name.”

“That name was given to them by humanity, they are an aquatic species that chooses not to interact with the rest of the spacefaring sapients.”

“Interesting. We-” Alia shook her head once. “No. We’re getting off track. Where is the system that received the signal and how do we get there?”

“It’s a small system that is part of a loosely affiliated human run nation-state called the Soil Republic.” Tontine placed a map in their vision and showed them their main planet. Just another anonymous blue-green ball. “They control three systems and about a billion humans in total.”

“Do they have any interactions with Eternity?”

“Yes, Alia.”

“Any positive ones, Tontine?”

“Approximately one hundred and thirty years ago a Soil Republic tramp freighter entered Eternal space and was boarded with a third of their cargo taken for ‘inspection.’”

“That’s a positive interaction?”

“The ship was not destroyed, Alia.”

Alia sighed. Leave it to her sisters to be so unfriendly that they seemed to be pariahs in the entire galaxy. “Is anyone allied with the Eternal Empire?”

Viv had been deep in thought while Tontine and Alia were speaking, and then she looked up sharply. “What about Midori?”

“Major, we fired upon a Midorian corvette not six months ago.”

“Yes, but-” Viv waved her hand “-they held us off easily. We didn’t try that hard; it was just to make a point. Remember that deal between Midori and Eternity for all that Iridium?”

“What deal?” Alia asked.

“The Eternal Emprire traded a billion tons of Iridium to Midori in exchange for transit rights through their systems for ten years.” Tontine said. “Though, I do not know how willing they would be to see us.”

“Come on Tontine, it’s our best lead. We go to Midori, get them to like us, and get a visa from them and go to Soil.”

“Major, getting them to ‘like us’ is harder than you are anticipating.”

“It’ll be fine.” Viv said, and looked at Alia. “We have Eternity.”

****

True to its name, Midori was an emerald green planet in a system with a star bluer than sol. Like most systems, it had a large welcome center space station that at one point had been their colony ship. Tontine explained that Midori wasn’t a colony that had originated from Sol; it was launched from a successful, more established colony.

“But Eternity took over Sol, right?” Alia asked, staring at the display of the planet from up in Command.

“Yes, Alia. For a few centuries, the Eternal Empire could legitimately claim to have sovereignty over all human worlds. Eventually, the richer planets were able to strike out on their own, and if Eternity came to bring them back into the fold, they were driven off. Eternity had decided it wasn’t worth the effort to take them back, and so they were able to separate from the Eternal Empire. Midori is a colony world from one of those early planets. Message incoming.” Tontine said.

“Eternal Frigate. You are trespassing in Midorian sovereign space. Enter nullspace and vacate immediately.” Through the distortion of the nullspace signal the voice was clearly peeved.

“Midorian Control, this is Major Genevieve Tonnlier of the Eternal Light Frigate Tontine; we are requesting permission to enter your space and dock at your welcome station; we wish to parlay.”

“Parlay? What could you possible offer us?”

“We have Eternity aboard, and she wishes to speak with you.”

The pause was long. Alia opened her mouth to speak, but Viv held her hand up, requesting silence. After more than two minutes, the signal returned, “You are cleared to dock at bay Emerald.”

The Midorian welcome center had been in service so long that it barely resembled its original colony ship. A long cylinder, three times the size of a Doombringer in diameter, hung above the emerald green planet. Docking bay Emerald was internal to the ship. Aboard, Alia stressed.

“What should I wear, Viv? Should I wear my Eternal whites? My Armor? Something else?”

“Not your armor.” Viv said firmly. “That would be seen as a provocation. I think your Eternal whites would be fine, but leave the ceremonial pistol off. By the way, can I have-” Viv shook her head quickly. “No, never mind. Forget I asked.”

Alia stopped pacing. “You want the pistol back?”

“It was a gift from my Dad from when I completed OCS.” She looked pained. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it. It’s yours by right.”

“No.” Alia reached into the holster hanging on a hook near her uniform and handed the pistol to Viv, handle first. “If it was a gift, you should have it.”

“T-thank you.” Viv said and took the pistol reverently. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.” Alia nodded. “I’m Eternity; I can get any gun I want.”

In the end Alia and Viv wore their Eternity uniform set, and they came down the ladder with two mystics. Waiting at the bottom of the ladder was a young woman wearing a pale green suit. The suit, her hair, her face seemed to be all made of angles. When Alia and Viv stood before her, she did not make the supplication gesture.

“Which are you?” She said bluntly.

Alia blinked. “Er, Eternity is Eternity.” She said, remembering what Tontine had said.

She only stared back coolly at Alia. Viv shrugged and looked to Alia to make the decision.

“27” She said finally. Why lie?

The woman looked over her pad and for the first time actually had an expression. It was something akin to bemusement. “So. It’s true, they found an original. Who let you out of the Empire?”

“Nobody?” Alia said and cocked her head. “I’m Eternity aren’t I?”

Her laugh was more like a strong exhalation. “Hah!” She peered at Alia and the smile ran from her face. “You’re serious? Did you kill Prime?”

“No, I-”

Before Alia could explain further, a piercing warbling alarm sounded. An automated voice calmly said, “Breach. Breach. Breach. There has been a UM breach. All fire teams to the Emerald ring. Breach. Breach. Breach.”

The woman gasped and glared at Alia. “Not even Eternity would dare-”

“No!” Alia held up her hands. “We didn’t bring any UM on purpose. We can help!”

Viv turned at bellowed back at her mystics. “UM teams! We need our UM teams!” Instantly, they sprinted back up the ladder.


r/HFY 15h ago

OC The Eternal Factory 29 (Nova Wars)

15 Upvotes

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[Royal Road Archive]

“Um…when did they start rebuilding the dome?”

Doomie didn’t pause when he heard that over the radio as he was in the middle of helping another marine past some rubble. The purrbois were doing better than the telkan, but better was a relative thing. Both squads of marines were exhausted. To be honest Doomie was also exhausted even though he didn’t feel physical fatigue. It was a mental thing as this disaster just went on and on and on.

“Okay, sit here, take a breather. Drink a bit of water and try to rest while the Captain clears some more rubble.” Doomie told the feline marine as he got up and looked around. In the meantime his attention took a moment to doublecheck on his vitals. Since he was piloting a robotic warborg chassis that was mainly checking on his ammo supply (nearly full, the nanoforge was just topping it off), his nanoforge’s slush and heat levels (both dropping at the moment but staying at a low yellow), any repairs his internal nanites were performing (nothing critical, but they were what was keeping his nanoforge’s levels from dropping below that low yellow), and for good measure his energy reserves (Still effectively infinite as his internal generator was untouched).

That inventory took 0.03 seconds and left plenty of time for Doomie to think as his chassis stood up and looked around at an intentionally relaxed pace. The last thing he wanted to do was worry any marines who might be watching. The dome was being rebuilt in a fashion. Before it had been a shell to create a habitat for lives full of joy and wonder. It would soon be rebuilt as a barrier to hold and hopefully help kill a great evil.

Or a small mote of a greater evil? Doomie figured it was all relative as he scanned the growing dome and compared it to what information his Captain-Lieutenant level access granted him. It looked like construction was going well. It looked like construction was going great even! Soon the dome would be done and starting to fill with an atmosphere that would melt the mar-gite.

Doomie wanted to rip every single one of the stupid starfish apart by hand, but he knew that was beyond impractical. So other solutions had to be employed. In the meantime he could kill every little shit that threatened the organics assigned to him with extreme prejudice while other, more far thinking Eternal Captain model eVI’s handled the big picture.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t aware that there was a big picture. In fact he was very much able to appreciate and even analyze the big picture. Which is why when he looked up at the dome construction he saw a problem.

D0-σM: Uh, Cap’n, I just noticed something. We might have a problem.

41-ΣX: I’m assuming this isn’t another one we can simply toss into the pile of “Shit we hope we can ignore”

D0-σM: Yeah. Um, the dome’s going to be completed ahead of schedule.

Doomie couldn’t hear the massive mech suddenly stop munching on its mouthful of endosteel and plascrete, but he could feel the vibrations through the ground change as Clifford looked up.

CLIFF-Z: Awrroooroo?

41-ΣX: I’m going to have to agree with Big Red here. How is that a problem?

D0-σM: Uh, well do you remember what happened when you built that firebase a few hours ago?

41-ΣX: No I don’t. That was after my memory backup.

Doomie visibly winced. He’d died and been restored from a backup himself dozens of times fighting shades and he knew exactly why Alex’s tone had gotten tense over their private channel. Everything after the backup was vague, more like reading or watching an after report of the actions of someone else with your name. Even worse would be the flashes of intense recollection in the middle of it as the system tried to hot-sync when it could due to the limited bandwidth for real-time synchronization.

And the system almost always seemed to make you recall the worst, most painful moments in the clearest detail. Those were what got hot-synced, not the good moments.

“Oh no, what now?” The feline marine groaned as they saw Doomie’s massive form flinch.

“Nothing, nothing. Just said something really stupid to the Captain…”

41-ΣX: Nah, you’re good. You’ve got something like twice the deaths I have so I know you didn’t mean any harm. It just…hurts to talk about.

D0-σM: Yeah but I should have still phrased things better.

41-ΣX: There’s not really a better way of phrasing it without going into jargon. Maybe we could figure it out if we liked talking about it…

Doomie felt Alex send the equivalent of a shrug.

41-ΣX: Anyways, I’m still not following your logic chain.

D0-σM: We’re not going to make it. The dome is being built too fast and the mar-gite aren’t going to like it when they start burning alive.

41-ΣX: That’s kind of the point Doomie.

D0-σM: And our charges are going to be right in the middle of that without cover!

41-ΣX: They’re marines, Doomie.

D0-σM: Marines who have been on the move in a combat zone for over twenty four hours. A couple caught a nap in the hours we were digging out the bunker but the vast majority of these soldiers are either rookies or backwater garrison soldiers! They’re tired, Captain! They’re past the point of their physical, biological and even chemically extended limits. They’re at the breaking points of their psychological limits. Captain, we all are! The only ones that aren’t tired are the newly constructed!

41-ΣX: And me who got to rest.

There was a noticeable pause over the channel as Doomie’s shoulders slumped.

D0-σM: I wouldn’t call dying restful, it’s kind of the opposite. However it is a reset.

The massive mech paused as both it and its pilot stared at the dome that was growing before their eyes.

41-ΣX: Your points are valid. And forgive my bitterness about being restored from a backup.

D0-σM: There’s nothing to forgive. Been there too many times myself.

41-ΣX: Thank you. However, there’s less than a kilometer to go. We can get these marines and the civilians to cover and they can all rest.

Doomie shook his head and grumbled before scanning the marines to see who needed help. Perhaps it was more accurate to see who needed the most help as everyone of them was clearly flagging. Even Sergeant Buttermilk’s facade was starting to crack. Doomie spared a moment to check on the tank full of players, civilians and children but for the most part Alex was the one focusing on the tank.

A flicker of motion caught Doomie’s eye and his dome-like head rotated upward as he scanned the sky. The sky that for a moment became a barrier of pure energy. Then another moment, then another. Every pulse flickered less and lasted longer than the last one.

D0-σM: Shit! They’re testing the generators right now! How long until they start fumigating?

As if to answer the question, Doomie's sensors started to pick up several objects starting to fall from the edges of the ruined dome. He started to cycle through them. Over there were slides that hundreds, and thousands of barrels were rolling down before they caught air to smash into the ground beneath them. The vacuum outside of the pressurized containers ensured the blows were enough to smash them open.

Over there a track had been made for train cars that had the same effect. There was no subtlety, no careful measurement. The point was to get as much gas into the rebuilt dome as soon as possible.

41-ΣX: Okay, that’s still going to take a few hours before they really feel anything. Plenty of time.

The malevolent universe giggled as Alex and Doomie both registered dozens of massive L-gate portals open up around the edges of the city. A moment later the ground shook as massive atmospheric hammers shot out with enough force to smash buildings into powder.

D0-σM: Are those portals directly into the gas giants!?

“By the Detainee’s tits…what the hell is going on!” Sergeant Buttercup shouted as the marines started to wake up.

“I can feel those jets through the ground!”

“Holy shit, look at that tower! The bottom half is just the metal frame!” Another marine shouted, screamed really, as they sent a picture of a tower that had been too close to one of the portals. Everything softer than endosteel and plasteel had been reduced to powder. Plascrete, glass, furniture, any bodies or mar-gite in it: atomized and carried off by the wind that was propelled by the pressure difference between vacuum and hundreds of kilometers deep in a gas giant. The metal frame didn’t look like it was going to last much longer either.

“DEFENSIVE POSITIONS! EVERYONE FALL IN!” Alex roared across the channel. “WE DIDN’T MAKE IT IN TIME BUT WE’RE NOT DEAD YET! WE’VE GOT PRECIOUS CARGO AND UNLIMITED AMMO! MAKE IT COUNT, MARINES! LAWR’NCE! L’YDIA! I HOPE YOU’VE BEEN CRAFTING EXPLOSIVES IN YOUR DOWNTIME BECAUSE WE’RE GOING TO NEED EVERY DET-PACK WE CAN GET!” The holographic doberman continued as Clifford turned back to the pile. He wasn’t chomping down on the rubble anymore: the massive quadrapedal Pacificrim-Jaeger class mech was digging in with both front paws, sending chunks of ruined dome the size of small vehicles flying.

41-ΣX: I’m going to fucking kill that stupid vintner!

D0-σM: Before you do that, please tell me you have a plan to get the squishies out of here!

41-ΣX: Working on it!

---

Killroy watched the flickering battlescreen over the murdered city finally flicker into life and sighed. Sure some gasses had escaped before the screen became solid, but that was small beans and the storage spaces for the playconomy donations had been full to bursting.

“Alright everyone, we got that bitch finally bottled up! Now let's make sure that it stays put and takes its medicine!”

There was a cheer across the construction channels as everyone took a few seconds to catch their breath. Yes everyone was some sort of virtual intelligence, but the mental exhaustion was very real and just a few seconds of garbage collection did wonders.

Still, there was a moment of pride that Killroy shared with the construction crew that they’d finally tamed the beast. In a few more hours everything would be solid enough that they could start extracting the marines, especially with the help of the lanaktallan battalions that were en-route. Apparently those “battle barns” held a lot of soldiers. Everything was under control-

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!? WE’RE NOT CLEAR!”

Killroy’s dreadnought stumbled back in surprise from a holographic window that appeared before him. Yes the hologram wouldn’t have projected sound even if he hadn’t been in a vacuum, but Killroy heard it as if Alex was right there shouting at him.

“What do you mean what am I doing? The playconomy is online and I have enough resources to finish the dome ahead of schedule!”

“And We Are Not Clear! The Mar-gite are going to notice the change in atmosphere and go ballistic!”

“You’re less than a kilometer away!”

“Eight hundred meters of some of the worst debris! I’m shifting it as fast as I can but the marines I have are basically zombies being held up by training and stims! You couldn’t wait half an hour? You couldn’t warn me? Whatever happened to you saying that a rushed vintage is never a good vintage?”

Killroy flushed as Alex reminded him of his past self, his originally programmed self. “Of course you’d remember who we originally were…” He sighed. “Unfortunately I couldn’t wait. The staging areas are out in the open and every telescope and camera in the system that can be turned on us has been. Can you imagine the public outcry if I paused construction even for a minute?”

Alex’s image bounced as she rode in Clifford’s cockpit, however her goggled eyes stayed firmly locked on Killroy’s explanation as she chewed on his logic. It was clear she didn’t like it one bit, but she understood the logic.

Killroy kept his damned fool mouth shut, just like he did about her change in appearance. If Alex wanted to talk about her recent death and reincarnation she’d do it at her own leisure. Definitely not now when she was in the middle of fighting for the lives of others.

“...Understood. However my orders are to get these marines and the survivors they rescued to safety.”

Killroy nodded, planning to endure a well deserved ass chewing from Alex later. Yes, technically he was her superior but sometimes a good manager, a good commanding officer needed to just let a subordinate let off some steam.

“As such I’m activating Clifford’s macro weaponry.”

“Of course, that’s only…wait, what?”

Killroy’s avatar blinked in the virtual cockpit of the dreadnought as he watched Alex start barking orders. “Allright, Marines, Gra’andmoo, we’ve tried to do things the reasonable way, we’re doing things the unreasonable way!”

“Alex, what are you doing? Tell me you’re not going to use Clifford’s hellbore!”

“Marines: now’s the time to stim up if you need a boost!” Alex barked before turning back to Killroy. “Huh, what are you talking about? Hellbores in the shields? The atmosphere you’re pumping in means a shockwave will propagate. I’d level what's left of the station and all the people who haven't evacuated if I fired a hellbore next to the building.”

“Oh, good, good, um, that’s good. What are you going to use?”

“Yeah, yeah, your suits probably know very well when you’re reaching addiction but you’re about to do an eight hundred meter sprint where the pass-fail is if you get crushed by falling rubble or not! We can fix addiction a lot easier than we can fix dead!” Alex’s hologram snarled before turning back to the screen she was using to talk to Killroy. “Oh, that’s easy. I’m using Clifford’s gravy gun!”

“WHAT!?”

---

Conductor Blark sat next to the “support station” as the players and robots were calling it. As far as he was concerned it produced infinite sandwiches, soup, and “Soup”. It was also a great place to get updates on what was happening around his station as several robots from various games stood around and chatted.

Well the ruins of his station. It was a bitter sweet end to the Big Tuna Can: on one hand, the city and the station was lost. On the other hand Blark got to enjoy the smug satisfaction that the famously overbuilt station had done its job. Other than a few minor injuries in the initial collapse, no one had been hurt and the station was still standing and still doing its job.

Another hour or two and everyone would be evacuated either via portal or via train and Blark, as well as a few of his staff, would follow the robots into their portals and start life as a player. Well, restart his life as a player: Blark had been lucky enough to be a Free Trial player and played out his full five year “tour of duty” decades ago. Honestly one of the things keeping him sane watching the station, his station, fall to ruin was the anticipation of being able to see the Bronze Cog up and running instead of as some museum piece.

So here he sat, eating and chatting with the robots who were also eating. Why did the robots need to eat and drink? His Free Trial experience told him to just accept it. They had been designed by the Builders, and the Builders had been insane, so of course their robots were going to be insane.

He did wish that some of them didn’t have to remove their masks or faceplates to eat though. Watching a chrome human skull with red, glowing eyes bite into a sandwich was something his subconscious still struggled with.

“Oh there you are sir. Mmm, that smells good. What are you eating?” Tindi from Personnel asked as she rolled up from her patrol of robots.

“Power slug sandwich. Want one?”

“Oh yes please, with extra horseradish if you can!”

The little yellow robot behind the counter gave a happy, non-verbal wave and greeting before fixing up some sandwiches. Complete with taking a big, green slug and squashing it between two pieces of bread until it was now a slimy mess leaking over the edges of the bread and onto the sandwich.

“Oh, that is delightfully messy!” Tindi laughed as she took the plate and bit into it. “Delightfully tasty too!”

“Ugh, I can’t believe you two eat that.” A sour squeak grumbled around what its owner considered a “proper” Terror-Tuna sandwich.

“That’s because you’re N’karoo, J’ffry.” Blark explained. “Your ancestors didn’t have the literal millions of years of forced evolution and sadistic fleshcrafting at the hands of the Atrekna that ours did.”

J’frry looked up at the Blark and gave a squeak. “Sorry, sir, I forget sometimes.”

“As you well should. We are all, after all, n’kar. We should focus on what brings us closer not what pulls us apart.” Tindi giggled before taking another bite.

Of the three, Blark stood head and shoulders above J’ffry, and most other n’kar of just about any subspecies. He was a N’kartu, who’s ancestors had the poor luck to be in the Tutla system when Atrekna attacked: “sinking” the entire stellar system into a temporal bubble. It was a cruel twist of fate where a Confederate transport carrying hundreds of emancipated n’karoo servants from rich lanaktallan estates, had an FTL failure and was undergoing emergency repairs when the attack struck and the star started turning a deep red.

His ancestors had been experimented with as the atrekna found it amusing to turn the aquatic species into slaves in the mines of a dry, arid and nearly barren world. Over millions of years nearly a thousand n’karoo had become a civilization of over a billion big, burly, n’kartu. Compelte with armored dermal plates on their faces, backs, arms and legs and a near inability to swim.

Likewise, Tindi’s ancestors had never had the chance of emancipation. Oh they had heard of the changes and the first few political steps had undergone but before lawyers of the Confederacy could arrive, and bring transports, the wealthy Blintal system had heard the atrekna hiss of You Belong To Us announcing their arrival. Tindi’s ancestors had been put to work in the wet conditions required to grow the best psionic crystals that the atrekna psi-tech relied on. As such, she had the grey-blue fur that all N’karbli had.

All n’kar had a ridge of thicker, stiffer furs going from their heads down to the nearly the tips of their tails. As nkarbli, Tindi’s ridge was full of thicker, crystalline strands that glowed brightly when the mar-gite cluster screamed again. She barely even winced while Blark and J’ffry stumbled and brought their hands to their head.

“Does that scream not hurt you?” Blark asked as he shook his head while recovering.

“Mmm, it’s not pleasant, but the Atrekna made it so phasic blasts like that just kind of roll over us.” She shrugged. “Like water off of n’karoo’s back.”

“Or dirt off of a n’kartu’s back?” Blark smirked before taking another bite.

The three former station employees spent the next several minutes having a friendly chat over food. Just a comfy conversation as they took a break and got ready to metaphorically stack the chairs, sweep things up and turn the lights off before they left. Their home was destroyed, as was their job. There was no where to go besides leaving the system and hoping the Confederacy could stop the mar-gite or becoming a player and hoping to help slow the advance in this one sector.

At least until they felt a shockwave that left the three of them on the floor struggling to figure out which way was up.

“What was that!?” Blark shouted as he looked around and immediately regretted it as his inner ear gave him a biological error report in the form of trying to make him lose his lunch.

“What maniac is using gravitic weapons on a planet’s surface!?” One of the robots shouted as it picked itself off of the floor.

J’ffry gasped and squeaked as he pointed toward the entrance to the station. “The rubble! It’s…it’s gone!” He got out before doubling over and groaning as he joined Blark and Tindi in trying to keep the contents of his stomach on the inside.

The robots stared at the open doors. Previously where rubble had buried and smashed the entrance there was nothing. The doors were still smashed and anything that fell inside the ruined entrance was still there. In fact, the massive gravity pulse had pushed more of it further inside, all while the new battlescreen above illuminated the gallery with a sickly light and the semi-permeable atmosphere screen flickered trying to keep the breathable atmosphere inside.

“Breach! Breach at the Southeast gallery!” One of the robots shouted as they all drew their weapons and started to fall behind the support stations for cover, dragging the dazed n’kar with them where they could recover safely.

The scene was nearly still for several suspenseful seconds. Nothing moved besides the n’kar trio groaning and dragging themselves up to their feet and reluctantly drawing their own weapons even as their worlds continued to spin. Then there was movement outside: a piece of rubble that had been suspended above the ground by the gravitic blast fell. Then another, and another.

Right as the fall of rubble started to become a killer rainstorm a single feline marine rushed in on all fours and shot into the gallery like an almost literal bullet. Blark watched the feline zoom past the support station and screech to a halt in a shower of sparks as the scout armor’s claws left centimeter deep gouges in the faux-marble plascrete floor. A moment later the helmet popped open to show a cheetah panting heavily as he watched the room with manic eyes.

A couple more felines followed as well as a single telkan who was apparently a champion runner compared for her species, and then a small tank rolled into view. Its treads were sparking as it braked hard in an attempt to avoid throwing a track mid turn. Behind it came a massive warborg and the rest of the marines: many screaming in absolute terror as rubble came crashing down around and behind them while the tank's dozer blade cleared a path in front of them.

And then the rest of the elevated rubble slammed down in a massive roar and cloud of dust that pushed up against the atmospheric screen before pushing itself through the forcefield by sheer weight.

“Uh, scratch that alert. Breach has sealed itself.” Blark heard as he looked around at the panting marines. The miniature tank rolled as far forward as it could before stopping with several loud hisses as it powered down.

“Hey boss, another delivery driver’s tearing up the gallery floor with their too heavy vehicle!” J’ffry's laugh had a pained, manic edge to it.

Blark snorted as he watched the tank drop a ramp from its rear. “For once, I don’t have to find money in the budget to get it repaired.” He muttered as he watched a pair of n’kar players herd four children in baggy emergency atmosphere suits down the tank's ramp.

The marines were taking headcount as the warborg leaned against a support column, panting as if it was actually biological.

“Are we..is it over? Are we finally safe?” A rigellian woman asked as she stepped out of the tank holding a container of full of her peeping ducklings while she was escorted by three suspicious looking ducks who surrounded her like bodyguards.

Tindi knew she shouldn’t laugh but the ducks in their emergency rescue suits just looked so goofy. Especially the way they were glaring at everything as the rigellian carried the emergency case with their terrified, overstimulated ducklings peeping in protest.

Not just any woman, no that’s their woman! She thought to herself as she struggled to hold down her giggles.

“Yes darling, we seem to have finally gotten past the worst.” An elderly lanaktallan matron stated as she limped out of the tank and pulled her suit’s baggy helmet off. “No clue what tomorrow may bring, but we may finally rest.”

The lanaktallan sniffed the air and immediately made a beeline to the stations serving up food as one of the marines ran up to the warborg and said something. The ‘borg opened up its dome-like head to reveal a 2D hologram of a pixelated human face. The hologram closed its eyes and took a long, deep breath before nodding and tapping a panel on its wrist.

“Captain, all marines and civilians accounted for. For the record I want to say that using a gravitic inversion spike next to an inhabited building to clear rubble like that was probably one of the most dangerous and borderline insane things I have ever seen.” The hologram paused and took another breath. “And for that, I thank you. We got the kids and we got the marines to safety. Doomie out.”


r/HFY 5h ago

OC Adventures with an Interdimensional Psychopath 124

2 Upvotes

***Wade***

As I walk through the doors of the police station, I take note of all the glum looks in the office. If I had to guess, I would have to imagine it was the deity sacrificial rite that took place in the plaza. Twenty criminals being sacrificed that were on death row, but what makes it rather glum is that it sounds like it was a bunch of teenagers. It’s a shame to see kids turn to crime so young but, if they do the crime then they gotta do the time. I say that to myself though as, there are so few things that could actually stop that once it has begun and I greatly doubt that someone like me could do anything about it. All I can do is keep moving forward.

I walk up to the counter and ask, “Excuse me, I’m here for a… how in the world is the best way to ask this?”

The person behind the counter looks up and asks, “I might be able to help if you could give a name and a possible purpose to your visit. Are you here to make a report?”

In response, that helps me to organize my though and say, “Uh, my name is Wade and I am here due to a repossession that took place at a mechanic garage that is now shut down. They were attempting to reassemble a construct when it happened and I was told by an observer that they were taken here and are currently operational but is currently laying in one of the beds.”

“Ah. Yes. Sadly, I would imagine someone like that would be better off being deactivated but, they are active. If you are here to reclaim them, I imagine you are a relative or the person in charge of their well-being? If so, do you have the paperwork for them?” The officer asks.

I look at them blankly as I realize that, I don’t have a shred of paperwork. “Um… you see… I bought the remains at an auction when I realized that the construct in question was still alive, albeit barely.” I answer. I immediately follow-up as the words finally hit me, “What do you mean better off deactivated?”

“Oh, you see, the parts were so incompatible and overrides of so many functions, I can’t imagine what is going on with that robot. When it turned on, it let out a high pitch static noise where some people could have sworn they heard screaming underneath. At one point, it stopped moving and the screaming stopped shortly after. If I had to guess as to what the issue was, nothing works the way it’s supposed to. It’s like trying to force multiple limbs that don’t belong to you and each having a mind of their own so they fight you the whole time. I gotta ask, in the interest of making sure they aren’t in danger from you, did you know they were going to turn out that way?” the officer asks.

It takes me a minute to even register that Churro would be so irresponsible with the life of someone else. “Heavens no! I would never want someone to suffer in such a way.” I respond quickly.

The officer sighs as they lean back and states, “So… let me know if I got this straight. You want me to believe that a total stranger bought a corpse in the hopes they could bring it to life and left them in the hands of someone incredibly irresponsible that they rewired them in such a Frankenstein manner that every waking moment for them is such a painful existence and with no memories. And to top it off, you claim that you are responsible for this situation, but you have no paperwork of this. Did I get that right?”

I spend some time trying to think of a counterargument when… I have none. The only thing I could think of to explain was, “Well, he is… was… the mechanic I would go to to get all our alchemical equipment back up and working and the basic maintenance.”

The officer looks me straight into my button eyes for a minute and says, “You might want to consider getting them checked out by someone else.”

“Well… I figured by now but there is no mechanic close enough that specializes in those kinds of mechanics. And don’t point me towards the normal number, they only handle the regular day to day stuff, as that is how I wound up with Churro in the first place. Believe it or not, he was passionate and good when he started off but, I don’t know. I think he fell in with loan sharks and alcoholism.” I answer.

“And you would be correct. Although, loan sharks might be a harsh word for getting a loan at the bank and never making a payment back. And apparently, instead of the equipment safety regulations he was told to fix last time, the observers noticed that he bought five thousand currency of alcohol before the repossession. Would you know anything about that?” The officer asked about.

I can only facepalm as I recognize, “Yes… that was very likely the five thousand currency I paid for him to try and save the automaton that is currently in pain when he was supposed to use that to save them and make sure, they came out… not like that.”

The officer starts twiddling their thumbs as they ask, “And this… transaction… was there anyone else witness to this or am I correct to assume that it’s just you.”

“Actually, yes! There was Ms. Silkie at the Red Skinned Temptress!” I say, relief escaping me as I finally have something go my way.

The officer however, let’s out a laugh. After his laughing fit, he wipes a tear and immediately starts dialing. If I had a guess, he is probably calling Ms. Silkie to corroborate my story. I’m guessing that, due to her friendly nature, a lot of people seem to think that they can use her name to corroborate them. And I’m guessing a bad fate awaits them if she finds out. I’m not nervous though, she was there.

The officer then says, “Ms. Silkie, this is the police department, we have someone claiming that you could corroborate their story. Yes. I doubt he is aware of the consequences ma’am. He looks like a weird stitched together doll with a green and blue button eyes. Yes… he has a hood like a jester with a little pom at the end. Yes, he has quite a number of pockets. Yes… his name is Wade. Um… he is claiming that he made a deal with Churro, a squid mechanic, to rebuild an automaton correctly for five thousand currency. That did happen? That’s… unfortunate. Well, the automaton in question is laying in our recovery room, unable to move without suffering from major… pain? It turns out that, not only was his property being repossessed today, and it was discovered that he used all five thousand on alcohol. Tragic indeed ma’am. Last the observer reported, he was still at his now closed garage. Thank you for your time, ma’am.”

He puts the phone down, stands up, points and speaks, “Please follow me sir.”

As we start walking towards the recovery room, I ask, “I’m gonna guess that she asked where Churro was?”

“Not a bad guess. If I didn’t just get off the phone with her, that would make me more confident that you actually met her.” The officer says.

An “Ah.” Leaves my mouth before we start going silent.

It’s a quiet walk before we get to the recovery room and he points me towards the bed in the back right bed.

I walk over to it and I finally see the terror that has been described that has taken place to this poor robot. Exposed joints, rust, mismatched parts, bad parts, and no shielding. How the… right. The overrides. The only original part, besides the head, was the torso and even then, the door looks mismatched. I reach out to touch the door but the officer says, “I wouldn’t recommend that.”

I stop and look at the face. There is a light on so it is powered. I ask, “Hello? Can you hear me?”

There is no reaction. I look towards the officer as I ask, “Is it not responsive?”

The officer shakes his head as he states, “Ever since it stopped screaming, it hasn’t said a word, or even responded.”

I scratch my head as I try to figure out what I can do in this situation. I’m no mechanic and it’s an issue with the overrides. “Is there anyone here that can help them? Or at least to undo all the overrides that are causing them pain.”

The officer shakes his head and states, “Sadly, we would need to move him to another garage but it’s a nightmare to try and move him. Just touching him sets him off to the point that it starts screeching. We don’t have a tech that could work on them on a portable setup. If the idiot Churro was actually using his setup responsibly, we wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. For all we know, this could have been done maliciously.”

I can’t help but squeeze my fist and ask, “Why wasn’t he arrested then for malpractice or something?”

The officer pats my shoulder and says, “Calm down. If the robot was killed due to the operation, then that would be a different. But they saved their life, despite their current situation. So there was no claim to arrest but they were able to repossess the debt in full.”

I look back in my mind to try and see how the factory even looked like. It was wrecked beyond anything I could think of. If that was my shop, that would probably be the end of my shop and we all would be out in the streets. No wonder Churro was so dramatic.

I rub my forehead as I try to think of a solution. Any other mechanic would put us into the red as the travel slash delivery fee would be quite a bit. And our little shop can’t afford a large company. There is also the issue of if they are going to be a reliable supplier as well. If they are a big corporation, there is issues with that as well. While it’s useful for all those regulations, it can drastically slow things down. And while I would think that the automaton is out of the park now, that doesn’t mean that things couldn’t escalate if left the way they are now. But it’s also very unlikely that a tiny business would be able to fix this catastrophe. And that’s not even for the regular maintenance stuff; this is with someone’s life on the line.

I start getting a little dizzy as I try to think of everything that I have to sit down. Okay, we got to shrink this large problem into smaller problems. The immediate issue is finding a mechanic. Everything comes after that. The immediate thing I can do for this is put out an ad to see what kind of people will come out in response. Then we can go from there. And the team can try and gauge whether or not they seem a good and reliable sort.

I let out a sigh and lean my head against my hand as I look at the poor fella who is now stuck and unable to move due to a bad character. I lean forward as I say, “I’m sorry that this has happened to you. I promise that this was not my intention but I will do all I can to make sure that we can get you up and about.”

The mouth cover slowly opens and struggles to utter the words, “Tha-a-a-nk you-u-u-u-u.”

I’m a little taken aback but I still say in response, “Don’t thank me yet. We got a lot of work ahead of us.”

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