How to put words into a friendship bracelet
Chonkers
2018.09.12 02:33 MasterOfTrolls4 Chonkers
http://redd.it/1476ioa
2009.04.22 04:55 lencioni Kombucha
Kombucha is a fermented, fizzy, tea-based drink made using a combination of bacteria and yeast. This sub is for homebrewers and others who appreciate kombucha.
2011.06.03 22:55 Howlinghound What's The Word: For when you can't think of the word you need
Welcome to whatstheword, a community where users help each other to come up with the [perfect, best, ideal, most suitable] word or phrase. Earn community karma by submitting a comment that OP indicates solves their post.
2024.05.17 11:24 RiverThaddeusVictor I've figured out what THE ONE PIECE is!
Foreshadowing and Clues:
1. The world is flooding, which has been hinted at since Water 7 arc, saying Aqua Laguna reaches higher every year. It has been flooding since forever. Wano had an entire kingdom submerged on the sea floor. The world is flooding now. The destruction of Lulusia raised the sea level by 1 meter. Who had been doing it? Imu. He explicitly stated that he/she wanted more Mother Flame (IRL counterpart: Nuclear Power), which was used to destroy Lulusia. This means that he wants to do it again. This also means that the world was much lower than it is now.
2. Since it has always been known that the world WILL flood since Joy Boy’s time, as the Ark, Noah, was entrusted to Fishmen of all people. Fishmen, who NEVER need any freaking ship. So if not for them to use, then for whom? For us. For all other races. And what is an Ark for if it’s not to rescue people? And as it had always been known Imu had been nuking places, Fishmen built Fishmen Island RIGHT UNDER Mary Geoise for exactly that reason. IT CANNOT BE NUKED FROM ABOVE. The Ancient Weapon Poseidon was used to control Sea Kings, and they had their own prophecy that they would carry Noah into the sun. It was all there.
3. Sanji’s dream of finding the All Blue seem like the least possible dream of the crew members. The ocean is clearly divided into four, or at least two that are totally disconnected by landmass. It is impossible to find a place that freely contains all ingredients from all four, all living sea creatures from every ocean, as that means all fishes have to at least cross the Red Line freely to make that one spot All Blue.
4. Oda confirmed in an interview with Momoko Sakura that the One Piece is not something abstract, but a physical reward.
5. Roger DID NOT take the One Piece with him. He FOUND the One Piece and discovered the truth of the world at Laugh Tale and laughed. He was there too soon. He could not use the truth or what he found. In ANY versions of his execution, he NEVER once said that he BURIED it there. At best, in any versions of his execution, he LEFT it there. Official Funimation version: he LEFT EVERYTHING THE WORLD HAD TO OFFER THERE. Could it be because the One Piece could not be taken anywhere? Could it because it was too big?
6. Joy Boy was the first pirate, as confirmed by Vegapunk (IRL counterpart: Einstein). Joy Boy, the first man who took to the sea and sailed for freedom. But if the world had always been dotted with islands, then that's impossible. If the world had always been dotted with islands, it means that people sailed and rode boat/ships like cars. Eventually, a number of them would’ve realized independently at the same time that if you sailed out and had no connection with anyone, you would answer to no one, AKA outlaw/pirate. It was just not possible for multiple of them not to realize that at once. It was therefore impossible to pinpoint anyone as the FIRST pirate. But Joy Boy WAS the first, and we know for sure. That means that sailing far out at sea was a big deal, and that he was the first means sailing out was SIMPLY NOT DONE BEFORE. But how was that possible? You sail out to go somewhere inaccessible by land. If you had never set sail before, does it mean that there had been NO OTHER LAND?
7. The castle where the Gorosei and Imu resides is called “Pangaea Castle.” In our world, it is the name of the continent that included all the landmass in the world at the beginning of Triassic. Its meaning? “Spanning the entire earth.”
8. Red Line is waaay too artificial to be natural. Grand Line has its real life equivalent: the equator, the hottest region where the ocean receives the most sun and have violent weather. Calm Belts? Horse Lattitudes, the region with almost no wind. But Red Line? A landmass that perfectly follows one straight longitude, stretching north to south and perfectly circling back around the world in one perfect loop? Doesn’t it sound too artificial? Reverse Mountain where water flows up? Really? What if it was constructed? What if it was erected by someone?
9. Imu, the Five Elders, and the Celestial Dragons have their own land, the Mary Geoise, placed atop of the world, and their method of destruction is to raise the sea level. This means they have always been certain they would escape somehow. I suspect they could create landmass. If they could create landmass and chose to fill up the ocean at the deepest areas, they would definitely displace a lot of water. We can flood our own world by melting the polar ice caps, meaning we add about continent-sized ice into the ocean. If they created the Red Line, which is a continent, it was bound to do the same to their world. That was most likely the cause of the first Flood that raised the sea level initially. The only suspect who could do this is Imu. The Gorosei called him the Creator of the World. If he was defeated, the Red Line itself might disappear. As foreshadowed by the examples of Poppy and Doflamingo’s powers.
10. One Piece has always been the story about friendship, forgiveness, unity, and co-existence. In pretty much every arc, Luffy finds oppressed people, fights the oppressor, but not before the oppressed unite, forgive each other, and put aside their differences, and fight for a common cause: against their oppressor. The most important lesson of all is this: forgive the wrongs; forget the differences; unite. Fishman Island arc, Otohime pointed out the path towards the sun is to stop hating human. The Sun Pirates’ ideal is to forgive humans and liberate the oppressed. If the world is flooding now, who is the least impacted people? The Fishmen. Who has the Ancient Weapon with the means to move the ark? The Fishmen. Who has the means to rescue everyone? The Fishmen. Everything in set up for them to do this. What other best way to make human change their mind about their prejudices against Fishmen? This. Their time has come now to be the ones with power. Everything is in place for them to extend an olive branch.
11. So we’ve pretty much concluded that the world will flood and the Fishmen will rescue everyone with the ark, this leads me to be very certain of what the One Piece is. If the entire world is going to flood, what is the most valuable treasure in the world right now?
12. And as the goal is to lower the sea level and bring back up the lands, what if there’s a piece of land down there where people can unite and live freely as one people, the landmass that spans the entire world, one single piece of land, what should that one piece of land be called?
13. If there’s only one piece of land in the world, does that mean there’s only one single ocean in the world also? What should that only one ocean in the world be called? Whose dreams are coming true?
submitted by RiverThaddeusVictor to OnePiece [link] [comments]
1. The world is flooding, which has been hinted at since Water 7 arc, saying Aqua Laguna reaches higher every year. It has been flooding since forever. Wano had an entire kingdom submerged on the sea floor. The world is flooding now. The destruction of Lulusia raised the sea level by 1 meter. Who had been doing it? Imu. He explicitly stated that he/she wanted more Mother Flame (IRL counterpart: Nuclear Power), which was used to destroy Lulusia. This means that he wants to do it again. This also means that the world was much lower than it is now.
2. Since it has always been known that the world WILL flood since Joy Boy’s time, as the Ark, Noah, was entrusted to Fishmen of all people. Fishmen, who NEVER need any freaking ship. So if not for them to use, then for whom? For us. For all other races. And what is an Ark for if it’s not to rescue people? And as it had always been known Imu had been nuking places, Fishmen built Fishmen Island RIGHT UNDER Mary Geoise for exactly that reason. IT CANNOT BE NUKED FROM ABOVE. The Ancient Weapon Poseidon was used to control Sea Kings, and they had their own prophecy that they would carry Noah into the sun. It was all there.
3. Sanji’s dream of finding the All Blue seem like the least possible dream of the crew members. The ocean is clearly divided into four, or at least two that are totally disconnected by landmass. It is impossible to find a place that freely contains all ingredients from all four, all living sea creatures from every ocean, as that means all fishes have to at least cross the Red Line freely to make that one spot All Blue.
4. Oda confirmed in an interview with Momoko Sakura that the One Piece is not something abstract, but a physical reward.
5. Roger DID NOT take the One Piece with him. He FOUND the One Piece and discovered the truth of the world at Laugh Tale and laughed. He was there too soon. He could not use the truth or what he found. In ANY versions of his execution, he NEVER once said that he BURIED it there. At best, in any versions of his execution, he LEFT it there. Official Funimation version: he LEFT EVERYTHING THE WORLD HAD TO OFFER THERE. Could it be because the One Piece could not be taken anywhere? Could it because it was too big?
6. Joy Boy was the first pirate, as confirmed by Vegapunk (IRL counterpart: Einstein). Joy Boy, the first man who took to the sea and sailed for freedom. But if the world had always been dotted with islands, then that's impossible. If the world had always been dotted with islands, it means that people sailed and rode boat/ships like cars. Eventually, a number of them would’ve realized independently at the same time that if you sailed out and had no connection with anyone, you would answer to no one, AKA outlaw/pirate. It was just not possible for multiple of them not to realize that at once. It was therefore impossible to pinpoint anyone as the FIRST pirate. But Joy Boy WAS the first, and we know for sure. That means that sailing far out at sea was a big deal, and that he was the first means sailing out was SIMPLY NOT DONE BEFORE. But how was that possible? You sail out to go somewhere inaccessible by land. If you had never set sail before, does it mean that there had been NO OTHER LAND?
7. The castle where the Gorosei and Imu resides is called “Pangaea Castle.” In our world, it is the name of the continent that included all the landmass in the world at the beginning of Triassic. Its meaning? “Spanning the entire earth.”
8. Red Line is waaay too artificial to be natural. Grand Line has its real life equivalent: the equator, the hottest region where the ocean receives the most sun and have violent weather. Calm Belts? Horse Lattitudes, the region with almost no wind. But Red Line? A landmass that perfectly follows one straight longitude, stretching north to south and perfectly circling back around the world in one perfect loop? Doesn’t it sound too artificial? Reverse Mountain where water flows up? Really? What if it was constructed? What if it was erected by someone?
9. Imu, the Five Elders, and the Celestial Dragons have their own land, the Mary Geoise, placed atop of the world, and their method of destruction is to raise the sea level. This means they have always been certain they would escape somehow. I suspect they could create landmass. If they could create landmass and chose to fill up the ocean at the deepest areas, they would definitely displace a lot of water. We can flood our own world by melting the polar ice caps, meaning we add about continent-sized ice into the ocean. If they created the Red Line, which is a continent, it was bound to do the same to their world. That was most likely the cause of the first Flood that raised the sea level initially. The only suspect who could do this is Imu. The Gorosei called him the Creator of the World. If he was defeated, the Red Line itself might disappear. As foreshadowed by the examples of Poppy and Doflamingo’s powers.
10. One Piece has always been the story about friendship, forgiveness, unity, and co-existence. In pretty much every arc, Luffy finds oppressed people, fights the oppressor, but not before the oppressed unite, forgive each other, and put aside their differences, and fight for a common cause: against their oppressor. The most important lesson of all is this: forgive the wrongs; forget the differences; unite. Fishman Island arc, Otohime pointed out the path towards the sun is to stop hating human. The Sun Pirates’ ideal is to forgive humans and liberate the oppressed. If the world is flooding now, who is the least impacted people? The Fishmen. Who has the Ancient Weapon with the means to move the ark? The Fishmen. Who has the means to rescue everyone? The Fishmen. Everything in set up for them to do this. What other best way to make human change their mind about their prejudices against Fishmen? This. Their time has come now to be the ones with power. Everything is in place for them to extend an olive branch.
11. So we’ve pretty much concluded that the world will flood and the Fishmen will rescue everyone with the ark, this leads me to be very certain of what the One Piece is. If the entire world is going to flood, what is the most valuable treasure in the world right now?
12. And as the goal is to lower the sea level and bring back up the lands, what if there’s a piece of land down there where people can unite and live freely as one people, the landmass that spans the entire world, one single piece of land, what should that one piece of land be called?
13. If there’s only one piece of land in the world, does that mean there’s only one single ocean in the world also? What should that only one ocean in the world be called? Whose dreams are coming true?
2024.05.17 11:10 GreedyPersonality390 Best Powerful Ayat E Karima Wazifa for Marriage
 | Ayat E Karima Wazifa for Marriage submitted by GreedyPersonality390 to u/GreedyPersonality390 [link] [comments] Now I am writing article about Ayat E Karima Wazifa for Marriage I hope readers like this article. Husband and wife choosing the dress by using songs. This process is described in the first verse of the nasheeds. With wedding being among the very big occasions happened in the course of an individual`s life, it is like any other memorable event. However, some may prefer the delay in searching for “the one” of their lives to some things in life being either congruous or contradictory. It is then that Ha’aq!iya us voryaamu aba ungaana waafate brings upon the determining Ayat. A holy Ayat e Karima verse from the Quran is what eases the souls and softens our hearts during the real time. It is usually referring to Verse 36 of Surat Yaseen in the glorious Quran. It is the most beautiful fruits from The Lord who is kind and wise. He created, provided, and also the one who makes the counting. Thus, What is Worthiness Oaths Doing This is the religious plan in the Muslim societies which is related to Allah and also which asks for the blessings of Allah for the perfect life partner. It has proved to be one of the more effective wazifa informally helping out with the number of marriages including both men and women. Here is how it works:Here's the working:
If someone was to read our wazifa and meditate on these verses, we are confident he/she would gain an equal benefit. Some of its main benefits are:One main reason why this is a helpful strategy is that it:
The issue to keep in mind concerning social media is that there is a variety of possibilities to promoter products, but we should be able to implement it well. Article Subject : Ayat E Karima Wazifa for Marriage To gain optimum results from the ayat e karima wazifa, it is crucial to follow some etiquettes:Adhering a few etiquettes provides a much powerful effects for ayat e karima. Hence, you need to follow this to maximize the outcome.
While there is another fatwa (opinion) in which the conclusion is the opposite, this ayah (ayah karima amazaja) can be viewed as a final promise to those who dream of getting married but there are hindrances. The fairy tale stands out in that the magic it brought out in the ability to foretell their destiny helped people to prevail over the hardship and the love that finally came into their lives which is nothing short of a soulmate duo. Authenticity which ensured in the continuous emulation shows the reason behind some great results at the end. Online Free Consultation With Maulana Ji Please Visit: https://www.onlinemaulana.com/ AyatEKarima #WazifaForMarriage #IslamicRemedies #DuaForMarriage #ShadiKiDua #LoveMarriageProblems #MuslimFaith #MaritalBliss #BlessingsOfAllah #TogetherForever #SpouseGoals #MarriageOath #SoulmateConnection #PeacefulMarriage #HappilyEverAfter #LoveInIslam #StrongerTogether #RelationshipGoals #DivineIntervention #IslamicPrayers |
2024.05.17 11:09 Scootscootbeepbeep Alters that don’t front / can’t front (this is why we won’t) (autistic system)
As a little girl and for most of adolescence we would live inside our inner world. We’d spend hours inside there, and people would find us staring blankly at the wall or the window. We got told by our family members that we “lived in our own world” and weren’t “all there” and that we were “a really spacey kid.” When we’d come back to reality we wouldn’t know what we’d missed. Often we angered out abusive mother for this because we’d have no idea what was happening and she’d want us to be present for her or attend to her needs, but we were incapable, and due to autism we were developmentally delayed and couldn’t speak like the other kids our age. This pissed our mother off because she wanted us to be able to do things we were not mentally able to do, and we were too delayed and too young and too dissociative, we spent most of early childhood “asleep” in the mind and on physical autopilot. We’d think we were walking through the woods, but we would be walking down the stairs and trip and fall. We ended up in dangerous situations because of it. Dangers ranged from wandering into traffic, falling into the pool, tripping and falling down, spilling things, breaking things, eloping and getting lost, going along with strangers, and getting hit by our mom for not being aware of what was happening around us.
We legit were dreaming while awake and would lose touch with reality. A little like sleepwalking.
This got harder as we got older (preteen) because social demands increased, and suddenly one of our alters became a main host and fronted the body all the time. We were pulled into reality and out of the inner world more and more and some of us couldn’t handle reality. For many different reasons, one being it didn’t look like home, or where we grew up. (We spent so much time in the inner world that we experienced childhood in it and not in our real home) we cried to sleep at night to the point of hyperventilating when we started losing access too it. What happened eventually is that Liz took over the body and began trying to participate in real life, and most of us stayed behind. Because our abusers and bullies have used to word “reality” so much and critized us for not “living in it” we call the outer world “The Realities” In our world, we can see the portal, it looks a little like a vertical wall of “aurora borealis” and it’s on the edge of a wheat farm field. We do not like to step through it.
Liz had all sorts of psychological issues from us, we’d try to “haunt her” to wake her up and get her to realize she was missing out on us in here. She didn’t get to visit much and soon forgot who we were and didn’t know what to do with our dreams at night. (That’s where she’d come home to us sometimes and we’d try to comfort her)
Not all of us live in our inner world. We know of other alters that don’t live here. We hear of them, but they are behind a thick subconscious wall of black space. Much like outer space, except with muffled sounds.
Liz is who everyone in the realities thinks she is, but she doesn’t know we exist anymore. When we come out sometimes, we cause her to lose consciousness, and she’s deathly afraid of that. We aren’t very good at handling the outer world and could put her in danger. What we mean by this is that we feel physical pain in the body when we fully live the inner world, so we don’t. We step half out, half in, and have less control of the body. She’s afraid we will accidentally ently kill her. (We don’t know how to drive and there are no real threats in our world, we can’t die, so we’re not able to worry about danger.)
So some of us can’t front and we won’t front. It’s too much physical/sensory pain.
Who else is an alter that lives in there own place instead of The Realities ? Anyone? Tonight is a dreamlike night for us, so we can finally speak. She’s asleep.
submitted by Scootscootbeepbeep to DID [link] [comments]
We legit were dreaming while awake and would lose touch with reality. A little like sleepwalking.
This got harder as we got older (preteen) because social demands increased, and suddenly one of our alters became a main host and fronted the body all the time. We were pulled into reality and out of the inner world more and more and some of us couldn’t handle reality. For many different reasons, one being it didn’t look like home, or where we grew up. (We spent so much time in the inner world that we experienced childhood in it and not in our real home) we cried to sleep at night to the point of hyperventilating when we started losing access too it. What happened eventually is that Liz took over the body and began trying to participate in real life, and most of us stayed behind. Because our abusers and bullies have used to word “reality” so much and critized us for not “living in it” we call the outer world “The Realities” In our world, we can see the portal, it looks a little like a vertical wall of “aurora borealis” and it’s on the edge of a wheat farm field. We do not like to step through it.
Liz had all sorts of psychological issues from us, we’d try to “haunt her” to wake her up and get her to realize she was missing out on us in here. She didn’t get to visit much and soon forgot who we were and didn’t know what to do with our dreams at night. (That’s where she’d come home to us sometimes and we’d try to comfort her)
Not all of us live in our inner world. We know of other alters that don’t live here. We hear of them, but they are behind a thick subconscious wall of black space. Much like outer space, except with muffled sounds.
Liz is who everyone in the realities thinks she is, but she doesn’t know we exist anymore. When we come out sometimes, we cause her to lose consciousness, and she’s deathly afraid of that. We aren’t very good at handling the outer world and could put her in danger. What we mean by this is that we feel physical pain in the body when we fully live the inner world, so we don’t. We step half out, half in, and have less control of the body. She’s afraid we will accidentally ently kill her. (We don’t know how to drive and there are no real threats in our world, we can’t die, so we’re not able to worry about danger.)
So some of us can’t front and we won’t front. It’s too much physical/sensory pain.
Who else is an alter that lives in there own place instead of The Realities ? Anyone? Tonight is a dreamlike night for us, so we can finally speak. She’s asleep.
2024.05.17 11:00 AutoModerator May 17, 2024 - Weekly FAQ and Beginner Q&A Thread If you are new to Neville, please post your questions here! How do I manifest X? What does Y mean?
Feel free to ask any type of question on this thread. More importantly, feel free to answer questions that have been asked!
Additionally, please refrain from posting multiple questions in the subreddit, and instead post the question in here. Moderators may remove or lock posts that are asking frequently asked questions.
If you believe you have a question that hasn't been answered, or would like to open a broader discussion that you feel it deserves its own thread, feel free to create an individual post! If you make an individual post, make sure to add as much context as possible, and be sure the question hasn't been answered elsewhere, or the post will be disapproved.
Old Scheduled Q&A Threads
Neville's Basic Manifestation Techniques:
If you want a physical copy of his books, publishers continue publishing new copies of Neville's works. Please check your library, locally owned book store, or search online for Neville's works. If you purchase a new physical copy, we recommend The Power of Imagination: The Neville Goddard Treasury, as it contains all of Neville's books in one volume.
All of Neville’s books and lectures are in the public domain and can be searched online for free, and are included in the Wiki and Sidebar links mentioned previously.
See also: Revision: The Complete Guide
submitted by AutoModerator to NevilleGoddard [link] [comments]
Additionally, please refrain from posting multiple questions in the subreddit, and instead post the question in here. Moderators may remove or lock posts that are asking frequently asked questions.
If you believe you have a question that hasn't been answered, or would like to open a broader discussion that you feel it deserves its own thread, feel free to create an individual post! If you make an individual post, make sure to add as much context as possible, and be sure the question hasn't been answered elsewhere, or the post will be disapproved.
Old Scheduled Q&A Threads
New to Neville's teachings? Start here!
The below links contain essentially the entirety of Neville's teachings.Frequently Asked Questions
Can I manifest xyz?
Yes, anything is possible.How do I manifest xyz?
All manifestations use the same technique(s). To get good simply takes practice and imagination.Neville's Basic Manifestation Techniques:
What scene should I choose?
Any scene which you believe you would encounter after your wish is fulfilled.What should I start reading?
We recommend The Law and The Promise or The Power of Awareness first for beginners. This is because Neville includes several examples and success stories from students, in addition to being lighter on Bible references, which can be off-putting or confusing to beginners.If you want a physical copy of his books, publishers continue publishing new copies of Neville's works. Please check your library, locally owned book store, or search online for Neville's works. If you purchase a new physical copy, we recommend The Power of Imagination: The Neville Goddard Treasury, as it contains all of Neville's books in one volume.
All of Neville’s books and lectures are in the public domain and can be searched online for free, and are included in the Wiki and Sidebar links mentioned previously.
What is an SP?
Specific Person. Usually in reference to a person’s romantic interest or crush. The term was popularized by so-called, self-professed online manifestation coaches and "experts". /NevilleGoddardSP is a dedicated, expert subreddit for that.What is a Mental Diet?
Avoiding negative conversation and media, paying attention to positive conversation and media.What is SATS?
State Akin To Sleep (SATS) refers to the deep state of consciousness during meditation or just before falling asleep. In SATS, the body is relaxed, but control over the mind is retained. It is used to create vivid visualizations in imagination for the purposes of manifesting.After you have decided on the action which implies that your desire has been realized, then sit in your nice comfortable chair or lie flat on your back, close your eyes for the simple reason it helps to induce this state that borders on sleep. The minute you feel this lovely drowsy state, or the feeling of gathered togetherness, wherein you feel- I could move if I wanted to, but I do not want to, I could open my eyes if I wanted to, but I do not want to. When you get that feeling you can be quite sure that you are in the perfect state to pray successfully.
Neville Goddard, 1948 Lecture Series, Lesson 4
What is the Lullaby Method?
In SATS, instead of visualizing, repeat an affirmation to oneself again and again, building the feeling of it being true.What is Revision?
Revision is revising in imagination events that have happened in the past as a way of mitigating their effects in the future.See also: Revision: The Complete Guide
What is Door Slamming/You are in Barbados/Living in the End/State of the Wish Fulfilled?
Closing your mind to any other possibility besides your outcome. Assuming your desire is true and not questioning it.Do we have Free Will?
Yes, and no. It’s complicated. See here.What is "Everyone is You Pushed Out" (EIYPO)?
On a practical level, what you believe is what you get. The world only shows you your own beliefs. On a metaphysical level, we are all the same God interacting with Itself through an infinite number of different points.The whole vast world is no more than man's imagining pushed out. I must qualify that by saying that the world outside of man is dead, but Man is a living soul, and it responds to man, yet man is sound asleep and does not know it. The Lord God placed man in a profound sleep, and as he sleeps the world responds as in a dream, for Man does not know he is asleep, and then he moves from a state of sleep where he is only a living soul to an awakened state where he is a life-giving Spirit. And now he can himself create, for everything is responding to an activity in man which is Imagination. "The eternal body of man is all imagination; that is God himself." (Blake)
Neville Goddard, The Law lecture
What if everything is going wrong? What if I am manifesting the opposite of my desire?
Failure is generally due to a lack of consistent faith or belief in the outcome, not feeling as though it had already happened. However, if the one has consistently been loyal to their faith, then we are reminded that all manifestations have their appointed hour (Hab 2:3). Neville writes about the causes of failure here.What about (my sick mom, my crazy grandpa, the homeless, starving children, etc.)?
In Neville's view, there is one being that is God (who is pure imagination), and has split Itself into infinite smaller forms to undergo a series of good/bad experiences across lifetimes until these smaller pieces realize they are God and reintegrate. The less fortunate are to be helped, not looked down upon, but understanding it is necessary for God to realize Itself (to experience bad and good).What happens after I die? What is The Promise?
Neville’s prophetic vision of an individual’s reintegration with God.Can I manifest multiple things at once?
Yes. Here is Neville's answer regarding how to manifest multiple things from Lessons Q&A:\5. Question: Is it possible to imagine several things at the same time, or should I confine my imagining to one desire?
Answer: Personally I like to confine my imaginal act to a single thought, but that does not mean I will stop there. During the course of a day I may imagine many things, but instead of imagining lots of small things, I would suggest that you imagine something so big it includes all the little things. Instead of imagining wealth, health and friends, imagine being ecstatic. You could not be ecstatic and be in pain. You could not be ecstatic and be threatened with a dispossession notice. You could not be ecstatic if you were not enjoying a full measure of friendship and love.
What would the feeling be like were you ecstatic without knowing what had happened to produce your ecstasy? Reduce the idea of ecstasy to the single sensation, "Isn't it wonderful!" Do not allow the conscious, reasoning mind to ask why, because if it does it will start to look for visible causes, and then the sensation will be lost. Rather, repeat over and over again, "Isn't it wonderful!" Suspend judgment as to what is wonderful. Catch the one sensation of the wonder of it all and things will happen to bear witness to the truth of this sensation. And I promise you, it will include all the little things.
What if I have another question?
Please use Reddit's search feature or post it here in the Q&A thread.2024.05.17 10:57 DragonStryk72 Pre-Warp Survival (Part 39)
First Prev Archive Royal Road Patreon
Reader Advisory: The next couple of parts contain talk about a number of sensitive topics centered around PTSD. I'll have some space here so you don't accidentally see something you didn't want to, but if you read on, just know, it is to a purpose, and yes, it does concern some of my own experiences with PTSD.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
I hate this. This feeling of them all around my mind, but I need to see it. How did Keith become this? I can feel my tribemate, Hoda... I had expected her to choose to be my wife, but I feel it, she has become wife to Keith.... whatever, it is unimportant. I am Trayg, and I have four wives already, and at least six when I am done with this 'game'. He is a strong warrior, and I need to learn his strength. I feel all the other weaklings, though. Bah, weak, but they provide in their own ways to make up for it.
Keith's song begins again, and I feel things shift around me, and I see my first view of this Earth. For such a warrior, I expected a stronghold, but it is anything but. The sun is bright on this house, and I see farms back behind it, lines of trees to protect from the wind between fields, and a warm breeze flows outward. And then, I see him, a child, pedaling furiously on some contraption, a bag clutched in his hand, his knuckles paling from how hard he holds it. A tithe for his father, something to instill pride, though the memory does not remember what is inside. I follow the boy as he comes off of the contraption, letting it fall away as he sprints into the house, and suddenly, a sharp, loud bang fires off... something is wrong.
The sound is incredibly loud, the force of it I can feel even from here, but no birds stir, no rodents scurry, and I follow the boy, and something... feels wrong about what I am seeing, what I am hearing, like something screams already, but is muffled, and I can smell the blood already. The boy proceeds up the stairs, still sprinting with his tithe in hand, and the door to his father's chambers open... and the scent does not change, the whole scene is frozen in that moment, no birds chirping. Something is wrong, this still image. Something.... this scene is not real, and I feel the press of minds, Val calling out for me to halt, but I will not have things hidden from me, and I step forward, and I feel it tear, the whole world ripping apart around me. The scene is changed. The sound... it was not made outside the house, the boy did not enter after. He entered as his father took his own life, and I felt the minds shift, and the words of Keith's song pierce the vision:
You can't kill me if I'm already dead Buried alive by the things that they've said I killed myself, but no one knows
I felt a hand, but not in the shelter, the yurt that we occupied. Azoccu. I watched as he stepped into the room with a screaming child crying out for his father to wake up, and Azoccu knelt beside him, "Oh, child, no one should have seen this. This is not your fault."
He laid his hand on him, and the scene faded. Amongst the others, I could feel the Trils. They were gaining power from this somehow, but there was no time to think. Scenes whipped by, the boy at the funeral, comforting his grandparents, and something was wrong, but not the scene. The adults. They gave empty platitudes, and they spoke about him when they thought he could not hear:
"How do you even get over seeing something like that? He's so young..."
"What happens to him now?"
"First his mom, then his dad? Kid's gonna end up in a rubber room."
The boy's grandparents were broken down, inconsolable in seeing the body of their child, and then I felt Dukaetha enter, hopping along to sit next to the boy. Why is she the only one? Where are his friends? His family? Why is no one showing him how to grieve? Why is he the one comforting?
The scene shifted, and the rabbitfolk faded, and I watched as he stood off by himself, watching his father being lowered into the ground in a brown box, until another grandfather stepped up to him, this one hardier, with thick hair over his lip, calloused hand laying on the boy's shoulder, and knelt down, "Hey there, bit. Tell you what, me and Gramma had us a talk about it, and we'd like you to come live with us. How's that suit you?"
The boy trembled, bitter tears coming out, "Pop-Pop... I... I want dad back."
I watched the boy break, but... this is wrong. I felt a similar feeling from Hoda. Where were the other family? Why was his tribe not coming together for him? Two ceremonies for a corpse, and none of them to take him as ward except for an old man and woman? Where were the tribe's children? Even their shaman seemed more concerned over the dead one. Hoda stepped forward, praying over the boy as was her place as shaman.
The scene fell away, and more scenes came past. The boy grew, his 'Pop-Pop' teaching him to hunt, to farm, to ride, but I felt my anger building. His tribe pulled away from him, pulled back. They said the right words, expressed sorrow at the loss, but they all held back from him, like they might somehow catch his grief like a disease. It kept going, increasing as his grandparents died, one after the other, and steadily I watched as members of our new tribe stepped forward to be with him in those moments.
The rage welled up within me, growing by the moment. Again, and again.... I bellowed out, breaking the connection, and shoved aside those in my way as I stalked from the building, hearing the words of Keith from his stage:
As these judging eyes surround me And silence tearing me apart Only seeing to the surface They refuse to see my heart
I stalked across to one of the empty shelters, taking shelter from the storm raging around, and I screamed. I paced, and I felt the insane rage within my chest. I needed to fight, I needed to let this out, before it could stain my spirit. I ripped the hatchet from my belt, and put everything into hacking into one of the logs that were used for seating. I swung again and again, putting every bit of my anger into the act when I heard the door bang open. Val. She stepped inside, "Are you okay, Trayg?"
I threw the hatchet into what was left of the log, "Fuck your entire species!"
She stepped back as I stepped forward, shocked, "Look, I get it-"
"THEY ABANDONED HIM!"
She shook her head in that negative way the humans used, "No, they-"
I slammed a fist into a pillar, "Don't lie to me! I saw it with my own eyes! His whole tribe left him to rot save for one old man and woman who were too old to be caring for a young boy. Where were his friends?! Where was his shaman to heal his spirit? Where was anyone for him?!"
Val teared up, and stayed mute, "My world may be savages, but we never would have left a child like that."
I pushed past, exiting the shelter to go back, "And I won't abandon him now."
First Prev Archive Royal Road Patreon
submitted by DragonStryk72 to HFY [link] [comments]
Reader Advisory: The next couple of parts contain talk about a number of sensitive topics centered around PTSD. I'll have some space here so you don't accidentally see something you didn't want to, but if you read on, just know, it is to a purpose, and yes, it does concern some of my own experiences with PTSD.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
I hate this. This feeling of them all around my mind, but I need to see it. How did Keith become this? I can feel my tribemate, Hoda... I had expected her to choose to be my wife, but I feel it, she has become wife to Keith.... whatever, it is unimportant. I am Trayg, and I have four wives already, and at least six when I am done with this 'game'. He is a strong warrior, and I need to learn his strength. I feel all the other weaklings, though. Bah, weak, but they provide in their own ways to make up for it.
Keith's song begins again, and I feel things shift around me, and I see my first view of this Earth. For such a warrior, I expected a stronghold, but it is anything but. The sun is bright on this house, and I see farms back behind it, lines of trees to protect from the wind between fields, and a warm breeze flows outward. And then, I see him, a child, pedaling furiously on some contraption, a bag clutched in his hand, his knuckles paling from how hard he holds it. A tithe for his father, something to instill pride, though the memory does not remember what is inside. I follow the boy as he comes off of the contraption, letting it fall away as he sprints into the house, and suddenly, a sharp, loud bang fires off... something is wrong.
The sound is incredibly loud, the force of it I can feel even from here, but no birds stir, no rodents scurry, and I follow the boy, and something... feels wrong about what I am seeing, what I am hearing, like something screams already, but is muffled, and I can smell the blood already. The boy proceeds up the stairs, still sprinting with his tithe in hand, and the door to his father's chambers open... and the scent does not change, the whole scene is frozen in that moment, no birds chirping. Something is wrong, this still image. Something.... this scene is not real, and I feel the press of minds, Val calling out for me to halt, but I will not have things hidden from me, and I step forward, and I feel it tear, the whole world ripping apart around me. The scene is changed. The sound... it was not made outside the house, the boy did not enter after. He entered as his father took his own life, and I felt the minds shift, and the words of Keith's song pierce the vision:
You can't kill me if I'm already dead Buried alive by the things that they've said I killed myself, but no one knows
I felt a hand, but not in the shelter, the yurt that we occupied. Azoccu. I watched as he stepped into the room with a screaming child crying out for his father to wake up, and Azoccu knelt beside him, "Oh, child, no one should have seen this. This is not your fault."
He laid his hand on him, and the scene faded. Amongst the others, I could feel the Trils. They were gaining power from this somehow, but there was no time to think. Scenes whipped by, the boy at the funeral, comforting his grandparents, and something was wrong, but not the scene. The adults. They gave empty platitudes, and they spoke about him when they thought he could not hear:
"How do you even get over seeing something like that? He's so young..."
"What happens to him now?"
"First his mom, then his dad? Kid's gonna end up in a rubber room."
The boy's grandparents were broken down, inconsolable in seeing the body of their child, and then I felt Dukaetha enter, hopping along to sit next to the boy. Why is she the only one? Where are his friends? His family? Why is no one showing him how to grieve? Why is he the one comforting?
The scene shifted, and the rabbitfolk faded, and I watched as he stood off by himself, watching his father being lowered into the ground in a brown box, until another grandfather stepped up to him, this one hardier, with thick hair over his lip, calloused hand laying on the boy's shoulder, and knelt down, "Hey there, bit. Tell you what, me and Gramma had us a talk about it, and we'd like you to come live with us. How's that suit you?"
The boy trembled, bitter tears coming out, "Pop-Pop... I... I want dad back."
I watched the boy break, but... this is wrong. I felt a similar feeling from Hoda. Where were the other family? Why was his tribe not coming together for him? Two ceremonies for a corpse, and none of them to take him as ward except for an old man and woman? Where were the tribe's children? Even their shaman seemed more concerned over the dead one. Hoda stepped forward, praying over the boy as was her place as shaman.
The scene fell away, and more scenes came past. The boy grew, his 'Pop-Pop' teaching him to hunt, to farm, to ride, but I felt my anger building. His tribe pulled away from him, pulled back. They said the right words, expressed sorrow at the loss, but they all held back from him, like they might somehow catch his grief like a disease. It kept going, increasing as his grandparents died, one after the other, and steadily I watched as members of our new tribe stepped forward to be with him in those moments.
The rage welled up within me, growing by the moment. Again, and again.... I bellowed out, breaking the connection, and shoved aside those in my way as I stalked from the building, hearing the words of Keith from his stage:
As these judging eyes surround me And silence tearing me apart Only seeing to the surface They refuse to see my heart
I stalked across to one of the empty shelters, taking shelter from the storm raging around, and I screamed. I paced, and I felt the insane rage within my chest. I needed to fight, I needed to let this out, before it could stain my spirit. I ripped the hatchet from my belt, and put everything into hacking into one of the logs that were used for seating. I swung again and again, putting every bit of my anger into the act when I heard the door bang open. Val. She stepped inside, "Are you okay, Trayg?"
I threw the hatchet into what was left of the log, "Fuck your entire species!"
She stepped back as I stepped forward, shocked, "Look, I get it-"
"THEY ABANDONED HIM!"
She shook her head in that negative way the humans used, "No, they-"
I slammed a fist into a pillar, "Don't lie to me! I saw it with my own eyes! His whole tribe left him to rot save for one old man and woman who were too old to be caring for a young boy. Where were his friends?! Where was his shaman to heal his spirit? Where was anyone for him?!"
Val teared up, and stayed mute, "My world may be savages, but we never would have left a child like that."
I pushed past, exiting the shelter to go back, "And I won't abandon him now."
First Prev Archive Royal Road Patreon
2024.05.17 10:55 kaashusa2 How Gold Plated Bracelets Can Transform Your Fashion Game
Fashion is all approximately making statements, expressing individuality, and sometimes, indulging in a piece of luxury. Gold plated bracelets are the proper accent to obtain a lot of these desires. They offer a hint of beauty and sophistication without the hefty rate tag of strong gold. In this blog, we can explore how gold plated bracelets can remodel your fashion recreation, adding versatility, charm, and style to your wardrobe.
submitted by kaashusa2 to u/kaashusa2 [link] [comments]
The Appeal of Gold Plated Jewelry
Affordable Luxury
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When well cared for, gold plated bracelets can preserve their shine and luster for years. They are designed to face up to the pains of everyday wear, making them a practical preference for folks who need to revel in the look of gold without demanding approximate damage or loss.Transforming Your Look with Gold Plated Bracelets
1) Elevating Everyday Outfits
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Consider Your Style
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Exposure to harsh chemicals, including the ones observed in cleaning merchandise, perfumes, and creams, can cause the gold plating to be put on off. Remove your bracelets earlier than cleaning or applying beauty merchandise.Store Properly
Store your gold plated jewelry in a gentle cloth pouch or a separate compartment on your jewelry's container to prevent scratches and tarnishing. Keeping them far from direct daylight and moisture may also assist preserve their look.Clean Gently
Clean your gold plated bracelets frequently with a smooth, damp material to do away with any dust or oils. Avoid the use of abrasive substances or harsh chemical compounds, as those can damage the gold plating.The Psychological Impact of Wearing Gold Plated Jewelry
Wearing gold plated jewelry, together with bracelets, could have an advantageous mental effect. Gold is regularly related to wealth, fulfillment, and self-belief. Adorning yourself with gold plated jewelry can enhance your self-esteem and make your experience extra polished and placed collectively. This better feeling of self-assurance can affect how others understand you, making you seem greater elegant and self-confident.Gold Plated Bracelets as Gifts
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Gold plated bracelets are a versatile and fashionable addition to any earrings series. They provide the high-priced look of gold without the high price, making them reachable to an in-depth variety of favorite fans. By incorporating gold plated bracelets into your dresser, you may easily transform your fashion game, including beauty, sophistication, and a touch of glamour to any outfit. Whether you select sensitive chains, bold cuffs, or customized portions, there may be a gold plated bracelet to match each fashion and occasion. Embrace the splendor of gold plated jewelry and permit it to elevate your style game to new heights.2024.05.17 10:32 Resident1567899 The Quran can't be the Word of God. Islam's version of the Problem of the Trinity
Introduction
Muslims believe the Quran, the holy book of Islam itself is not just a religious book for guidance but also the literal word of god i.e. Allah itself. In everyday conversations, you will hear Muslims call it Kalamullah (Word of God), not in the Christian sense where the Word is Jesus and God but actual sayings, sentences, and words uttered by god himself and compiled into a single book by human hands. While Muslims are proud of their holy book being the literal words of god sent down to all of mankind, there are a few problems with that mainly concerning Islam's doctrinal theology and its core beliefs.
Disclaimer and Notes
Now, before I start, a disclaimer. The issue of the Quran being god's word or not has been one of the most pretentious and divided issues in the Muslim community. Because of this issue, multiple sects (considered deviant and heretical today) popped up in the early years of Islam's history leading to multiple debates, condemnations, and even inquisitions for those that were against the majority-held view in history. So to make it easy considering Islam has tons of historical sects, all of whom held widely different views than modern-day Islam when it comes to the Quran's states as the word of god (or not), this post is aimed at Ashari, Maturidi and Ahlul Hadith/Athari aqeedah sects who make up the majority of Muslims today, collectively considered to be under the umbrella of Ahlul Sunnah Wal Jema'ah (Literally meaning "The People of the Prophet's Tradition and Consensus" or to make it easier to understand "The Followers of the Prophet's Teachings and the Righteous Community"). This term is commonly understood in Islam as those who follow the true and righteous path in Islam which according to the hadiths, out of 73 deviant sects, only 1 (the above I already mention) will be on the correct spiritual path.
Why do I say this problem is akin to the Trinity problem in Christianity? Both are key problems that form the basis of the entire religion, not just for an individual believer but also for the scholars who dabble in religious sciences. Both the Quran and Trinity make up the core fundamental teachings upon which other teachings are established and expanded further. Without these key concepts, the entire premise of both religions (Islam and Christianity) would fall apart within a matter of seconds. Both issues are also hotly debated even to this day. As I mentioned before, the issue of the Quran's creation or non-creation was an important issue that occupied the minds of early-century Muslim scholars and thinkers, to the point schisms and breakaways from the main branch started to emerge. The same thing happened in Christianity with the Trinity which led to excommunication, the Arian controversy, and multiple individual distinct sects, all of whom have a different understanding of what the Trinity is.
Last, I would also like to mention that considering the Trinity has been severely criticized by non-Christians alike as proof of Christianity's falsehood and internal contradictions, then the same should be said with Islam's problem of the Quran's status. However, unlike in Islam, Christianity continued to debate up to the present day and even adopted Greek philosophical concepts to better explain away the Trinity and the relationship between each Divine Person of the Trinity. In Islam, the opposite occurred. Those who used Greek philosophy and rhetoric were condemned as either falling into falsehood or corrupting the religion by introducing pagan concepts. Ironically, the most condemned bunch of the Muslim sects I'll talk about below, the Mutazilites were the ones who most used philosophy which led to their rejection of the Quran's non-createdness.
Due to the decline of the Mutazilite sect, the rise of more conservative movements, and the criticism of Aristotelian philosophical ideas by Al-Ghazali (Note, he wasn't against philosophy, he was against philosophical ideas that went against Islam like the eternity of the world and denying bodily resurrection in the afterlife), theological discussions and debates surrounding the question faded away. Even now, most Muslims consider the issue "solved" and simply adopt one of the three main positions. Unsurprisingly, while the West and Christianity continued adopting new ideas, this means the Muslim positions lacked much substance and arguments seen in Christianity with Greek and Neo-Platonist ideas which in turn, means there are tons of problems with their positions, (which is the whole point of the post)
Now, with that out of the way, let's begin.
How Have Muslims Historically Responded to this Problem?
There are two answers to the question of the Quran's status. One, to affirm that it is the literal word of god from Allah Himself which existed with him since eternity or to affirm it is a created being just like every other creature and human planet earth. The second view doesn't mean that the Quran is simply the work of man, quite the opposite. Rather, it posits that the Quran still holds religious significance as Islam's holy book and is still the Word of God but it was created at a later time by God, not existing eternally with god before the creation of everything. In the second view, the Quran still holds religious significance for praying, guidance, and the basis for Islam, only that it is of a lower status than god himself, being a creation of god that was created at a certain time.
The second view is considered invalid and rejected by all major sects of Islam in the modern era (Ashari, Maturidi, Athari) as a heretical belief that the Mutazilites (The Withdrawers) held. I'm not going to go into who they are, what is their history, or what are their beliefs (you can google it yourself). Just know these are the guys who believe the Quran was a creation of god and were condemned by pretty much every Islamic group and sect from their beginning all the way up to the present modern day. This is one the only issues where every Islamic sect agrees with each other in condemning this belief, be it Ashari, Maturidi, or Athari. Thus, the second option then is 100% of the table for most Muslims, unless they want to affirm holding beliefs of a heretical group that died out 1000 years ago. I don't think any Muslim will dare to affirm Mutazilite beliefs for fear of ridicule and committing major sins, so there's not much here to discuss. For the sake of brevity, I will address the second view since the one even Muslims will deny and reject. After that, I'll address the Second View.
The Second View
But for the sake of argument, I'll assume some rare brave Mutazilite Muslim wants to give it a try. Now, here are some of my questions for you. If the Quran is a creation of god and not the literal Word of God before time immemorial, what is the Quran's relationship with god? You believe these are still words from Allah that help mankind to arrive at the truth and Islam yet at the same you also believe that these were created at a time later than god. How can something that is both speech from god and also created by god himself exist simultaneously at the same time? Anything that is created at a later time means it's a creation, a contingent object that depends on an external creator. It can't be part of god because god is eternal, atemporal, necessary, and independent of everything and anything. If it were god or contained some part of god inside of it, then this is no different than Jesus and the Son of God in Christianity where it contains both a human and godly nature, so does that mean you now believe the Quran to be both god and creation? Just like the Christians who you condemn as a false corrupted religion? This is the First Problem you must face, that be affirming it is both from god and not god, you are throwing yourself into the same pit as Christianity with a dual nature which is already a false religion. I like to call people who affirm this stance "Dualists".
The Second Problem "dualists" face is that this nullifies the Quran's honorific status in Islam, which goes against what the majority of the Muslim world believes in. For Dualists, what is the Quran's honorific and spiritual status in Islam now? We've all seen Muslim riots and protests against the burning or stepping on the Quran by non-Muslims around the world. A man burns or rips up the Quran and the entire Muslim world goes into a frenzy. In Islam, simply placing the Quran on the floor is considered disrespectful and sinful. In the majority of sects today, the Quran must be honored and respected 24/7 partly due to the fact Muslims believe it to be the literal Word. But for Dualists, what is your stance and reason for continuing to respect the Quran? Considering you no longer believe the Quran to be the actual Word, can non-Muslims now vandalize, rip apart, step on, or place the Quran on the floor?? Would you have any problem with it? It's no longer the Word itself but a creation of god. Sure, you might ask others to "respect other religions and beliefs" but aside from this, what else do you have?? Is simply putting a religious book on the floor disrespecting other religions? What makes your holy book now any different from the Jewish and Christian perspectives on their religious books? They don't go into a frenzy every time Bibles are burned or disrespected. Will you do the same thing?
The Third Problem since it's a created thing, wouldn't this also mean that at some point in the future, the Quran no longer exists? That the Quran is finite and will at some point cease to exist? Wouldn't this mean at some point, Islam itself becomes useless because the number one source for everything, the Quran no longer exists? The Quran will cease to exist if it were created, when it happens, will the meaning of the verses and Muslim understanding built up over the centuries also cease to exist? Tafsirs, Fiqh, and Tajwid all suddenly become useless and void of any meaning because the backbone of Islam, the Quran no longer exists. What about the Muslim understanding of what Allah is? Isn't that detrimental should the Quran cease to exist? The best outcome is that Muslims still retain the knowledge but Islam becomes spineless without a religious book and the worst outcome is the complete disintegration of Islam as everything built upon the Quran, now becomes useless. It would mean the complete death of Islam as a major Abrahamic religion.
Next, what about during the Hour, when everything in the heavens and on the Earth will be destroyed and no longer exist? Muslims believe that when the Hour arrives, everything will be destroyed. Every human, child, animal, plant, planet, universe, devil, and angel will die inevitably. Only god remains. Due to this, according to Dualists, will the Quran experience the same fate? All of its verses and Surahs destroyed by god himself. Now I know Muslims, even those of other sects believe the Quran will disappear bit by bit before the Hour as a sign of the impending doom and apocalypse. However, other Muslims believe that yes, the Quran will disappear but the verses themselves remain preserved with god i.e. Allah since these are the literal words of god himself. In a sense, the verses suddenly don't exist, they return back to god.
TLDR, the Dualist Mutazilite view implies a contradiction where the Quran is both God and not God at the same time, it nullifies the Quran's holy status and the divine meaning of the verses, and last, it means the Quran is finite and will cease to exist at some point in the future.
Now, onto the Ashari, Maturidi and Athari sects,
The First View (The Majority)
These three are the most prominent and widely held doctrinal sects in the current Muslim population. I will be splitting the next sections into two sections, Ashari-Maturidi (since both are quite similar and considered a single unified school of thought by Muslim scholars) and the Athari school.
Ashari-Maturidi
The Asharis and Maturidis believe the Quran and its verses to be the literal Word of God itself, with Allah since eternity before time however they believe the book form of the Quran (mushaf), the one which every Muslim holds and reads is of man-made origin. In other words, the verses, sentences, letters, and meaning of the text are from god himself while the cover, paper, ink, writing, and publishing are from mankind. The Ash'ari creed makes a point of difference between the content of the Quran and the physical manifestation of it (in speech or as pages in a book).
The Main Problem with this argument as said by Atharis and Mutazilites is that this strips the Quran of its spiritual and holy essence in Islam. If the real divine aspect of the Quran that came from god itself are the verses and meaning of it only, then should we burn every last Quran in the world, it wouldn't be a problem. After all, the divine part still exists as it is from and with god himself, only the earthly worldly portions of it get destroyed. Why's that a problem? I mean what is the problem spiritually concerning Islam's doctrinal theology itself? What's the problem with destroying the cover or vandalizing the writing of it? It's not from god, it's man-made. The effect of this would be enormous.
This means now non-Muslims and Islamaphobes can now burn, rip, tear apart, step on, vandalize, and desecrate the Quran because they are only destroying the part that is not divine. Would Asharis or Maturidis agree to this? Is now destroying the Quran not a major sin but actually allowed? The true essence of the Quran i.e. the part that is truly divine remains preserved and exists since humans were created and will continue to exist long after everything has died and withered away. The vandalization and desecration of it does not affect the Quran because the true divine verses and meaning remain preserved. This problem is similar to the Second Problem with the Mutazilite belief, it nullifies and strips away the Quran's holy status and honorific place among the Muslim community. If it isn't truly god's divine word, what's the problem if it gets destroyed, wet, or burned?
Heck, I've heard this same argument from other sects, claiming and accusing the Ashari are just Mutazilites in disguise because their main stance of the Quran's identity revolves back to the Mutazilite position where the Quran is a creation of god. One of the main accusations against the Ashari sect is that it's just a rehash version of Mutazilite or Jahmiyyah theology (I don't have time to explain what this is right now, better if you look it up yourselves) due to similarities in doctrine and also because Imam Ashari, the founder was once a Mutazilite himself (not helping the Ashari case) but Asharis claim he renounced all Mutazilite theology and returned back to the true correct path. In this case, should the objection above against the Ashari-Maturidi position succeed, then it would help critics a lot against Asharism.
The Second Problem with holding the Ashari position is that this resembles the idolatry of Hinduism and Paganism or at least, is slipping into idolatry practice. If they claim the Speech of God is contained within the letters, pages, and ink of the Mushaf (the Quran's Uthmanic standardized codex), then how dare they believe the actions of humans can absorb and physicalize the Sacred Divine Speech of God, for Muslims believe god can never be limited by His creatures. This would also mean they believe the ink written on the Quran's pages is a physical intermediary, designed to encapsulate the Speech of God into a physical form, no different than the idols of Hindus and Pagans who believe their idols to be an intermediary or a worldly representation of the True Divine Nature.
Hindus don't claim they worship idols, rather they believe them to be ways to spiritually connect with the divine as a locus for prayer just like how Muslims consider the Kaaba as the direction for prayer, not an idol for worship or as a reminder for believers of the faith similar to how a photo of a spiritual leader is a sign of respect and a daily reminder every-day when you wake up. How is this different than believing the ink inside the Quran holds the truth or emulates the Divine Nature from the Ashari claim? Ashari Muslims affirm the Quran is still the Word of God just represented through a physical form, so how is this not idolatry? Believing that a physical human-made physical manifestation holds the Divine Speech so that followers of Islam can get closer to god?
This would be even worse than the Mutazilites, for committing idolatry whether intentionally or not is a major grave sin in Islam, to the point those that who commit it and do not repent back are considered as Kafir (infidels). If even they aren't committing idolatry and shirk (polytheism), another major sin in Islam, then at the very least, they believe that a divine part of God can be captured inside the ink and pen of writers as if they the Speech of God and the ink become one and the same, another reference to the Christian belief of God having both a Divine and Human Nature. Of course, Muslims and Ashari Muslims consider this to be heretical and blasphemous, but what's the difference between believing the Quran is both man-made and divine versus the Christological belief of Jesus being both God and Man?
The Third Problem with the Ashari answer that the Quran itself is created while the Speech of God isn't is where is the Speech of God then? Asharis can't answer that it is still in heaven for they also believe the Mushaf or Quran contains the Word and Speech of God. If they believe that it is still in heaven with god and not on earth, then what are they even reading every day? Clearly not the Speech of God if they claim it isn't with us now, perhaps an imperfect human copy of the divine Speech of God but that would mean the Quran is imperfect and the work of man, which would be affirming the Mutazilite position. So they can't claim it is both in the heavens and on the earth nor claim it is either in the heavens only or on the earth with mankind only.
I already explained they also can't say the Speech of God is contained inside the ink and letters of the Quran for that means the Divine Speech has become limited because of it. God in Islam can never be limited, nor can His creatures limit god. So if isn't option A, B, or C, where is the Holy Sacred Speech of God then? The Speech which is supposed to be the principle guiding force for all of mankind especially, Muslims. How can Asharis then claim they believe in the Quran as the revelation and Word of God sent down to Muhammad if they can't tell us where in their holy book, is the Speech of God itself? At worst, this means the Ashari belief entails the Quran isn't holy or divine thus eliminating Islam's entire main source and one of the 6 pillars of Iman (faith), and at best, reading the Quran isn't a holy act nor can be used as a book for guidance, for Muslims aren't reading the Word of God then. They are reading an imperfect fallible man-made copy of the Speech of God, not the true Divine Inspiration from Allah.
TLDR, the Ashari-Maturidi middle path that the Quran was uncreated and eternal, yet its ink and paper, individual letters and words were created strips the Quran has multiple problems, some may even go against what Islam stands for. It strips the Quran of its Divine Sacred Essence as the Word of God, at worse it may lead to shirk and idolatry akin to the Hindus and Pagans, and at best, Asharis can't point to us where the Word and Speech of God is in the Quran.
Athari/Ahlul Hadith
Now for the Atharis, they are strict literalists who believe the Quran and Allah's Speech both are uncreated unlike the Asharis/Maturidis who adopt a middle path, or the Mutazilite who outright claim the Quran was created, the extreme position.
The First Problem with the Athari position is pretty clear, if the Quran is the literal Word of God completely, then does that mean what Muslims are holding is a literal piece of God here on earth in the moral realm? Does that mean god is with us all the time? How can god, who Muslims consider as being transcendent be here on earth with mankind? If the Quran is the literal physical Speech of God and not just metaphorically or analogically, then does this mean the Speech of God exists on Earth? How can god be here on Earth? The Atharis believe literally that the Quran is the Speech of God, so unless they claim the Speech of God suddenly transformed into a physical object (which I'll address below), the Quran would be a god or at least have a piece of the divine essence of Allah.
This is no different than the Christian position where there exists a God in heaven and a God on Earth at the same time. As I already mentioned, Muslims consider the Christian position of a god on earth unacceptable yet when we look at their own views, we find (in the Athari case) a piece of god exists on earth. Allah still exists in the heavens, yet the Speech of God exists here in the Quran. Let's not even get into the issue of a transcendent god existing in the mortal physical realm, where the laws of physics govern meaning god would be limited in some capacity (which most Muslims would see as ridiculous)
The Second Problem is the relationship between the Quran (God's Speech) and God himself. Considering the Quran was revealed to Muhammad and sent down by Gabriel, how should we understand the Speech of God is here now? Do Atharis believe that the Speech of God suddenly separated from the main body when the Quran was revealed and sent down to earth? Or do Atharis believe the Quran is still the undivided Speech of God, in which case a part of god is literally on earth?
Or what about when the Quran was compiled in book form starting with Abu Bakr's reign and ending with Uthman's standardization? Should we take this to mean now not only does the Speech of God literally exist on earth but the Speech of God now has taken shape, molded into letters and words while compiled into a book equipped with paper pages and covers from front to back? If they want to deny these are from god i.e. the physical cover is man-made, then they would be subscribing to the Ashari-Maturidi doctrine of the middle path (which I already showed also has problems). If they want to take the other path and claim the Quran we have now is not the Word of God literally, then they would be subscribing to the heretical Mutazilite position which also, has tons of religious and doctrinal problems.
TLDR, the Athari literalist position invites more harm than good when it comes to answering the question of the Quran's uncreated nature. It would mean god is literally on earth, or a piece of god's divine essence is. Affirming that a piece of the Divine Essence exists here on earth with mankind would be something similar to the Christian belief that god exists both in the heavens and on earth (Father and Son). Other than that, it would also complicate the relationship between the Quran and God even more. If the Quran is the literal Word and Speech of God, how do Atharis explain the Quran's standardization into a single written book with ink, paper, and covers? Does it mean the Speech of God underwent a physical transformation?
Consequences
Islam posits the Quran to be the Word of God from Allah Himself, however how exactly does that work leads to massive problems within Islam's doctrinal framework. Muslims can't state the Quran is the true literal Speech of God otherwise they would be committing a blasphemous act by believing god is literally on earth with us at this very moment. They also can't deny it is the Speech of God for Islam considers the Quran to be the perfect Kalamullah (literally the Word of God). It is one of the core tenets of belief that Muslims believe the Quran to be the actual Words of God sent down to Muhammad as the last revelation. They also can't adopt a middle path like the Asharis-Maturidis because I've already shown that this just leaves the Quran inside a grey area, it's both the Word of God and also not the Word of God at the same time. Other problems are also relevant which I've already discussed above. Either the middle approach collapses into itself, becoming either one the extreme views, literal divine affirmation like the Atharis, or the extreme divine nullification like the Mutazilites.
Other religions don't have this problem. They do not believe Jesus or Moses were gifted the actual literal Words and Speech of God which existed since time immemorial. Christians believe the Bible was divinely authored by the Apostles of Jesus, where the Holy Spirit guides the writers of the Bible into writing down the true teachings of Jesus and Christianity. Christians don't believe the Bible's passages are the literal Speech of God which has existed with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit as if affirming the Bible was also another Divine Person of the Trinity. No, only Muslims as far as I know affirm both their Holy Book contains the Speech of God which both exists on Earth and also with God up in heaven but that leaves them in a contradiction of whether to affirm the Quran is God Himself on Earth or the true Words of God are still up in heaven. After all, how can the Divine Nature which is uncorrupted and perfect exist in a world not perfect, but actually filled with sin, corruption, and spiritual pollution?
In the end, Muslims face a dilemma with regard to the Quran's Holy and Divine Nature. This a dilemma which after going through all the possible Muslim answers that have been given over the years, still fails to give us a proper satisfying answer.
Conclusion
All the responses and viewpoints of the major Islamic sects fail to answer the question, of whether the Quran is created or not. They tried to square a circle by trying to find a balance between affirming the Quran is the divine Word of God while at the same time not falling into a literalist interpretation where god is on Earth (as the Atharis do). However, all responses so far have failed to properly find the right solution, all either fall into extremities at both ends of the spectrum (Mutazilite and Athari) or tried to strike a balance, but only managed to kick the can down the road even further.
If Christianity has the Problem of the Trinity, a major fundamental question that still has philosophers and theologians scratching their heads trying to find an answer, then the Problem of the Quran's Nature is the Islamic version of it. The difference is while Christians continue to debate and argue about the Trinity's true nature, Muslim and Islamic scholars have relatively abandoned the debate, choosing to hold either one of the three major schools of thought. My personal opinion is this is an unfortunate situation, ever since the decline of philosophy in Islamic thought, Kalam and Falsafah (Islamic philosophy) have gained a bad reputation amongst Muslims as being a "gateway to blasphemy". Rarely you will find Muslim scholars in the modern era debate about this, let alone teach laymen Muslims about these topics.
At the very least, I hope my post can inspire future Muslims to look into this topic further, creating new fascinating answers and arguments that contribute to the Muslim and non-Muslim understanding of what Allah is in Islam.
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Muslims believe the Quran, the holy book of Islam itself is not just a religious book for guidance but also the literal word of god i.e. Allah itself. In everyday conversations, you will hear Muslims call it Kalamullah (Word of God), not in the Christian sense where the Word is Jesus and God but actual sayings, sentences, and words uttered by god himself and compiled into a single book by human hands. While Muslims are proud of their holy book being the literal words of god sent down to all of mankind, there are a few problems with that mainly concerning Islam's doctrinal theology and its core beliefs.
Disclaimer and Notes
Now, before I start, a disclaimer. The issue of the Quran being god's word or not has been one of the most pretentious and divided issues in the Muslim community. Because of this issue, multiple sects (considered deviant and heretical today) popped up in the early years of Islam's history leading to multiple debates, condemnations, and even inquisitions for those that were against the majority-held view in history. So to make it easy considering Islam has tons of historical sects, all of whom held widely different views than modern-day Islam when it comes to the Quran's states as the word of god (or not), this post is aimed at Ashari, Maturidi and Ahlul Hadith/Athari aqeedah sects who make up the majority of Muslims today, collectively considered to be under the umbrella of Ahlul Sunnah Wal Jema'ah (Literally meaning "The People of the Prophet's Tradition and Consensus" or to make it easier to understand "The Followers of the Prophet's Teachings and the Righteous Community"). This term is commonly understood in Islam as those who follow the true and righteous path in Islam which according to the hadiths, out of 73 deviant sects, only 1 (the above I already mention) will be on the correct spiritual path.
Why do I say this problem is akin to the Trinity problem in Christianity? Both are key problems that form the basis of the entire religion, not just for an individual believer but also for the scholars who dabble in religious sciences. Both the Quran and Trinity make up the core fundamental teachings upon which other teachings are established and expanded further. Without these key concepts, the entire premise of both religions (Islam and Christianity) would fall apart within a matter of seconds. Both issues are also hotly debated even to this day. As I mentioned before, the issue of the Quran's creation or non-creation was an important issue that occupied the minds of early-century Muslim scholars and thinkers, to the point schisms and breakaways from the main branch started to emerge. The same thing happened in Christianity with the Trinity which led to excommunication, the Arian controversy, and multiple individual distinct sects, all of whom have a different understanding of what the Trinity is.
Last, I would also like to mention that considering the Trinity has been severely criticized by non-Christians alike as proof of Christianity's falsehood and internal contradictions, then the same should be said with Islam's problem of the Quran's status. However, unlike in Islam, Christianity continued to debate up to the present day and even adopted Greek philosophical concepts to better explain away the Trinity and the relationship between each Divine Person of the Trinity. In Islam, the opposite occurred. Those who used Greek philosophy and rhetoric were condemned as either falling into falsehood or corrupting the religion by introducing pagan concepts. Ironically, the most condemned bunch of the Muslim sects I'll talk about below, the Mutazilites were the ones who most used philosophy which led to their rejection of the Quran's non-createdness.
Due to the decline of the Mutazilite sect, the rise of more conservative movements, and the criticism of Aristotelian philosophical ideas by Al-Ghazali (Note, he wasn't against philosophy, he was against philosophical ideas that went against Islam like the eternity of the world and denying bodily resurrection in the afterlife), theological discussions and debates surrounding the question faded away. Even now, most Muslims consider the issue "solved" and simply adopt one of the three main positions. Unsurprisingly, while the West and Christianity continued adopting new ideas, this means the Muslim positions lacked much substance and arguments seen in Christianity with Greek and Neo-Platonist ideas which in turn, means there are tons of problems with their positions, (which is the whole point of the post)
Now, with that out of the way, let's begin.
How Have Muslims Historically Responded to this Problem?
There are two answers to the question of the Quran's status. One, to affirm that it is the literal word of god from Allah Himself which existed with him since eternity or to affirm it is a created being just like every other creature and human planet earth. The second view doesn't mean that the Quran is simply the work of man, quite the opposite. Rather, it posits that the Quran still holds religious significance as Islam's holy book and is still the Word of God but it was created at a later time by God, not existing eternally with god before the creation of everything. In the second view, the Quran still holds religious significance for praying, guidance, and the basis for Islam, only that it is of a lower status than god himself, being a creation of god that was created at a certain time.
The second view is considered invalid and rejected by all major sects of Islam in the modern era (Ashari, Maturidi, Athari) as a heretical belief that the Mutazilites (The Withdrawers) held. I'm not going to go into who they are, what is their history, or what are their beliefs (you can google it yourself). Just know these are the guys who believe the Quran was a creation of god and were condemned by pretty much every Islamic group and sect from their beginning all the way up to the present modern day. This is one the only issues where every Islamic sect agrees with each other in condemning this belief, be it Ashari, Maturidi, or Athari. Thus, the second option then is 100% of the table for most Muslims, unless they want to affirm holding beliefs of a heretical group that died out 1000 years ago. I don't think any Muslim will dare to affirm Mutazilite beliefs for fear of ridicule and committing major sins, so there's not much here to discuss. For the sake of brevity, I will address the second view since the one even Muslims will deny and reject. After that, I'll address the Second View.
The Second View
But for the sake of argument, I'll assume some rare brave Mutazilite Muslim wants to give it a try. Now, here are some of my questions for you. If the Quran is a creation of god and not the literal Word of God before time immemorial, what is the Quran's relationship with god? You believe these are still words from Allah that help mankind to arrive at the truth and Islam yet at the same you also believe that these were created at a time later than god. How can something that is both speech from god and also created by god himself exist simultaneously at the same time? Anything that is created at a later time means it's a creation, a contingent object that depends on an external creator. It can't be part of god because god is eternal, atemporal, necessary, and independent of everything and anything. If it were god or contained some part of god inside of it, then this is no different than Jesus and the Son of God in Christianity where it contains both a human and godly nature, so does that mean you now believe the Quran to be both god and creation? Just like the Christians who you condemn as a false corrupted religion? This is the First Problem you must face, that be affirming it is both from god and not god, you are throwing yourself into the same pit as Christianity with a dual nature which is already a false religion. I like to call people who affirm this stance "Dualists".
The Second Problem "dualists" face is that this nullifies the Quran's honorific status in Islam, which goes against what the majority of the Muslim world believes in. For Dualists, what is the Quran's honorific and spiritual status in Islam now? We've all seen Muslim riots and protests against the burning or stepping on the Quran by non-Muslims around the world. A man burns or rips up the Quran and the entire Muslim world goes into a frenzy. In Islam, simply placing the Quran on the floor is considered disrespectful and sinful. In the majority of sects today, the Quran must be honored and respected 24/7 partly due to the fact Muslims believe it to be the literal Word. But for Dualists, what is your stance and reason for continuing to respect the Quran? Considering you no longer believe the Quran to be the actual Word, can non-Muslims now vandalize, rip apart, step on, or place the Quran on the floor?? Would you have any problem with it? It's no longer the Word itself but a creation of god. Sure, you might ask others to "respect other religions and beliefs" but aside from this, what else do you have?? Is simply putting a religious book on the floor disrespecting other religions? What makes your holy book now any different from the Jewish and Christian perspectives on their religious books? They don't go into a frenzy every time Bibles are burned or disrespected. Will you do the same thing?
The Third Problem since it's a created thing, wouldn't this also mean that at some point in the future, the Quran no longer exists? That the Quran is finite and will at some point cease to exist? Wouldn't this mean at some point, Islam itself becomes useless because the number one source for everything, the Quran no longer exists? The Quran will cease to exist if it were created, when it happens, will the meaning of the verses and Muslim understanding built up over the centuries also cease to exist? Tafsirs, Fiqh, and Tajwid all suddenly become useless and void of any meaning because the backbone of Islam, the Quran no longer exists. What about the Muslim understanding of what Allah is? Isn't that detrimental should the Quran cease to exist? The best outcome is that Muslims still retain the knowledge but Islam becomes spineless without a religious book and the worst outcome is the complete disintegration of Islam as everything built upon the Quran, now becomes useless. It would mean the complete death of Islam as a major Abrahamic religion.
Next, what about during the Hour, when everything in the heavens and on the Earth will be destroyed and no longer exist? Muslims believe that when the Hour arrives, everything will be destroyed. Every human, child, animal, plant, planet, universe, devil, and angel will die inevitably. Only god remains. Due to this, according to Dualists, will the Quran experience the same fate? All of its verses and Surahs destroyed by god himself. Now I know Muslims, even those of other sects believe the Quran will disappear bit by bit before the Hour as a sign of the impending doom and apocalypse. However, other Muslims believe that yes, the Quran will disappear but the verses themselves remain preserved with god i.e. Allah since these are the literal words of god himself. In a sense, the verses suddenly don't exist, they return back to god.
TLDR, the Dualist Mutazilite view implies a contradiction where the Quran is both God and not God at the same time, it nullifies the Quran's holy status and the divine meaning of the verses, and last, it means the Quran is finite and will cease to exist at some point in the future.
Now, onto the Ashari, Maturidi and Athari sects,
The First View (The Majority)
These three are the most prominent and widely held doctrinal sects in the current Muslim population. I will be splitting the next sections into two sections, Ashari-Maturidi (since both are quite similar and considered a single unified school of thought by Muslim scholars) and the Athari school.
Ashari-Maturidi
The Asharis and Maturidis believe the Quran and its verses to be the literal Word of God itself, with Allah since eternity before time however they believe the book form of the Quran (mushaf), the one which every Muslim holds and reads is of man-made origin. In other words, the verses, sentences, letters, and meaning of the text are from god himself while the cover, paper, ink, writing, and publishing are from mankind. The Ash'ari creed makes a point of difference between the content of the Quran and the physical manifestation of it (in speech or as pages in a book).
The Main Problem with this argument as said by Atharis and Mutazilites is that this strips the Quran of its spiritual and holy essence in Islam. If the real divine aspect of the Quran that came from god itself are the verses and meaning of it only, then should we burn every last Quran in the world, it wouldn't be a problem. After all, the divine part still exists as it is from and with god himself, only the earthly worldly portions of it get destroyed. Why's that a problem? I mean what is the problem spiritually concerning Islam's doctrinal theology itself? What's the problem with destroying the cover or vandalizing the writing of it? It's not from god, it's man-made. The effect of this would be enormous.
This means now non-Muslims and Islamaphobes can now burn, rip, tear apart, step on, vandalize, and desecrate the Quran because they are only destroying the part that is not divine. Would Asharis or Maturidis agree to this? Is now destroying the Quran not a major sin but actually allowed? The true essence of the Quran i.e. the part that is truly divine remains preserved and exists since humans were created and will continue to exist long after everything has died and withered away. The vandalization and desecration of it does not affect the Quran because the true divine verses and meaning remain preserved. This problem is similar to the Second Problem with the Mutazilite belief, it nullifies and strips away the Quran's holy status and honorific place among the Muslim community. If it isn't truly god's divine word, what's the problem if it gets destroyed, wet, or burned?
Heck, I've heard this same argument from other sects, claiming and accusing the Ashari are just Mutazilites in disguise because their main stance of the Quran's identity revolves back to the Mutazilite position where the Quran is a creation of god. One of the main accusations against the Ashari sect is that it's just a rehash version of Mutazilite or Jahmiyyah theology (I don't have time to explain what this is right now, better if you look it up yourselves) due to similarities in doctrine and also because Imam Ashari, the founder was once a Mutazilite himself (not helping the Ashari case) but Asharis claim he renounced all Mutazilite theology and returned back to the true correct path. In this case, should the objection above against the Ashari-Maturidi position succeed, then it would help critics a lot against Asharism.
The Second Problem with holding the Ashari position is that this resembles the idolatry of Hinduism and Paganism or at least, is slipping into idolatry practice. If they claim the Speech of God is contained within the letters, pages, and ink of the Mushaf (the Quran's Uthmanic standardized codex), then how dare they believe the actions of humans can absorb and physicalize the Sacred Divine Speech of God, for Muslims believe god can never be limited by His creatures. This would also mean they believe the ink written on the Quran's pages is a physical intermediary, designed to encapsulate the Speech of God into a physical form, no different than the idols of Hindus and Pagans who believe their idols to be an intermediary or a worldly representation of the True Divine Nature.
Hindus don't claim they worship idols, rather they believe them to be ways to spiritually connect with the divine as a locus for prayer just like how Muslims consider the Kaaba as the direction for prayer, not an idol for worship or as a reminder for believers of the faith similar to how a photo of a spiritual leader is a sign of respect and a daily reminder every-day when you wake up. How is this different than believing the ink inside the Quran holds the truth or emulates the Divine Nature from the Ashari claim? Ashari Muslims affirm the Quran is still the Word of God just represented through a physical form, so how is this not idolatry? Believing that a physical human-made physical manifestation holds the Divine Speech so that followers of Islam can get closer to god?
This would be even worse than the Mutazilites, for committing idolatry whether intentionally or not is a major grave sin in Islam, to the point those that who commit it and do not repent back are considered as Kafir (infidels). If even they aren't committing idolatry and shirk (polytheism), another major sin in Islam, then at the very least, they believe that a divine part of God can be captured inside the ink and pen of writers as if they the Speech of God and the ink become one and the same, another reference to the Christian belief of God having both a Divine and Human Nature. Of course, Muslims and Ashari Muslims consider this to be heretical and blasphemous, but what's the difference between believing the Quran is both man-made and divine versus the Christological belief of Jesus being both God and Man?
The Third Problem with the Ashari answer that the Quran itself is created while the Speech of God isn't is where is the Speech of God then? Asharis can't answer that it is still in heaven for they also believe the Mushaf or Quran contains the Word and Speech of God. If they believe that it is still in heaven with god and not on earth, then what are they even reading every day? Clearly not the Speech of God if they claim it isn't with us now, perhaps an imperfect human copy of the divine Speech of God but that would mean the Quran is imperfect and the work of man, which would be affirming the Mutazilite position. So they can't claim it is both in the heavens and on the earth nor claim it is either in the heavens only or on the earth with mankind only.
I already explained they also can't say the Speech of God is contained inside the ink and letters of the Quran for that means the Divine Speech has become limited because of it. God in Islam can never be limited, nor can His creatures limit god. So if isn't option A, B, or C, where is the Holy Sacred Speech of God then? The Speech which is supposed to be the principle guiding force for all of mankind especially, Muslims. How can Asharis then claim they believe in the Quran as the revelation and Word of God sent down to Muhammad if they can't tell us where in their holy book, is the Speech of God itself? At worst, this means the Ashari belief entails the Quran isn't holy or divine thus eliminating Islam's entire main source and one of the 6 pillars of Iman (faith), and at best, reading the Quran isn't a holy act nor can be used as a book for guidance, for Muslims aren't reading the Word of God then. They are reading an imperfect fallible man-made copy of the Speech of God, not the true Divine Inspiration from Allah.
TLDR, the Ashari-Maturidi middle path that the Quran was uncreated and eternal, yet its ink and paper, individual letters and words were created strips the Quran has multiple problems, some may even go against what Islam stands for. It strips the Quran of its Divine Sacred Essence as the Word of God, at worse it may lead to shirk and idolatry akin to the Hindus and Pagans, and at best, Asharis can't point to us where the Word and Speech of God is in the Quran.
Athari/Ahlul Hadith
Now for the Atharis, they are strict literalists who believe the Quran and Allah's Speech both are uncreated unlike the Asharis/Maturidis who adopt a middle path, or the Mutazilite who outright claim the Quran was created, the extreme position.
The First Problem with the Athari position is pretty clear, if the Quran is the literal Word of God completely, then does that mean what Muslims are holding is a literal piece of God here on earth in the moral realm? Does that mean god is with us all the time? How can god, who Muslims consider as being transcendent be here on earth with mankind? If the Quran is the literal physical Speech of God and not just metaphorically or analogically, then does this mean the Speech of God exists on Earth? How can god be here on Earth? The Atharis believe literally that the Quran is the Speech of God, so unless they claim the Speech of God suddenly transformed into a physical object (which I'll address below), the Quran would be a god or at least have a piece of the divine essence of Allah.
This is no different than the Christian position where there exists a God in heaven and a God on Earth at the same time. As I already mentioned, Muslims consider the Christian position of a god on earth unacceptable yet when we look at their own views, we find (in the Athari case) a piece of god exists on earth. Allah still exists in the heavens, yet the Speech of God exists here in the Quran. Let's not even get into the issue of a transcendent god existing in the mortal physical realm, where the laws of physics govern meaning god would be limited in some capacity (which most Muslims would see as ridiculous)
The Second Problem is the relationship between the Quran (God's Speech) and God himself. Considering the Quran was revealed to Muhammad and sent down by Gabriel, how should we understand the Speech of God is here now? Do Atharis believe that the Speech of God suddenly separated from the main body when the Quran was revealed and sent down to earth? Or do Atharis believe the Quran is still the undivided Speech of God, in which case a part of god is literally on earth?
Or what about when the Quran was compiled in book form starting with Abu Bakr's reign and ending with Uthman's standardization? Should we take this to mean now not only does the Speech of God literally exist on earth but the Speech of God now has taken shape, molded into letters and words while compiled into a book equipped with paper pages and covers from front to back? If they want to deny these are from god i.e. the physical cover is man-made, then they would be subscribing to the Ashari-Maturidi doctrine of the middle path (which I already showed also has problems). If they want to take the other path and claim the Quran we have now is not the Word of God literally, then they would be subscribing to the heretical Mutazilite position which also, has tons of religious and doctrinal problems.
TLDR, the Athari literalist position invites more harm than good when it comes to answering the question of the Quran's uncreated nature. It would mean god is literally on earth, or a piece of god's divine essence is. Affirming that a piece of the Divine Essence exists here on earth with mankind would be something similar to the Christian belief that god exists both in the heavens and on earth (Father and Son). Other than that, it would also complicate the relationship between the Quran and God even more. If the Quran is the literal Word and Speech of God, how do Atharis explain the Quran's standardization into a single written book with ink, paper, and covers? Does it mean the Speech of God underwent a physical transformation?
Consequences
Islam posits the Quran to be the Word of God from Allah Himself, however how exactly does that work leads to massive problems within Islam's doctrinal framework. Muslims can't state the Quran is the true literal Speech of God otherwise they would be committing a blasphemous act by believing god is literally on earth with us at this very moment. They also can't deny it is the Speech of God for Islam considers the Quran to be the perfect Kalamullah (literally the Word of God). It is one of the core tenets of belief that Muslims believe the Quran to be the actual Words of God sent down to Muhammad as the last revelation. They also can't adopt a middle path like the Asharis-Maturidis because I've already shown that this just leaves the Quran inside a grey area, it's both the Word of God and also not the Word of God at the same time. Other problems are also relevant which I've already discussed above. Either the middle approach collapses into itself, becoming either one the extreme views, literal divine affirmation like the Atharis, or the extreme divine nullification like the Mutazilites.
Other religions don't have this problem. They do not believe Jesus or Moses were gifted the actual literal Words and Speech of God which existed since time immemorial. Christians believe the Bible was divinely authored by the Apostles of Jesus, where the Holy Spirit guides the writers of the Bible into writing down the true teachings of Jesus and Christianity. Christians don't believe the Bible's passages are the literal Speech of God which has existed with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit as if affirming the Bible was also another Divine Person of the Trinity. No, only Muslims as far as I know affirm both their Holy Book contains the Speech of God which both exists on Earth and also with God up in heaven but that leaves them in a contradiction of whether to affirm the Quran is God Himself on Earth or the true Words of God are still up in heaven. After all, how can the Divine Nature which is uncorrupted and perfect exist in a world not perfect, but actually filled with sin, corruption, and spiritual pollution?
In the end, Muslims face a dilemma with regard to the Quran's Holy and Divine Nature. This a dilemma which after going through all the possible Muslim answers that have been given over the years, still fails to give us a proper satisfying answer.
Conclusion
All the responses and viewpoints of the major Islamic sects fail to answer the question, of whether the Quran is created or not. They tried to square a circle by trying to find a balance between affirming the Quran is the divine Word of God while at the same time not falling into a literalist interpretation where god is on Earth (as the Atharis do). However, all responses so far have failed to properly find the right solution, all either fall into extremities at both ends of the spectrum (Mutazilite and Athari) or tried to strike a balance, but only managed to kick the can down the road even further.
If Christianity has the Problem of the Trinity, a major fundamental question that still has philosophers and theologians scratching their heads trying to find an answer, then the Problem of the Quran's Nature is the Islamic version of it. The difference is while Christians continue to debate and argue about the Trinity's true nature, Muslim and Islamic scholars have relatively abandoned the debate, choosing to hold either one of the three major schools of thought. My personal opinion is this is an unfortunate situation, ever since the decline of philosophy in Islamic thought, Kalam and Falsafah (Islamic philosophy) have gained a bad reputation amongst Muslims as being a "gateway to blasphemy". Rarely you will find Muslim scholars in the modern era debate about this, let alone teach laymen Muslims about these topics.
At the very least, I hope my post can inspire future Muslims to look into this topic further, creating new fascinating answers and arguments that contribute to the Muslim and non-Muslim understanding of what Allah is in Islam.
2024.05.17 10:18 Ok_Cherry_6258 (Antinatalism related) I don't get any net benefit out of friends, family or relationships
Life is supposed to be a 'gift' because of the great relationships (familial or romantic) and friendships we can have.
However, I get little net benefit out of any of these. I'm not talking 'benefit' like money or anything - I'm talking on a purely emotional, connection level. Both of my parents, particularly my father, were abusive. I have a dissociative disorder because of my dad's neglect. I have an eating disorder because of my mother (on 32nd day of water fasting, thanks mum!)
Then there's the romantic 'options' we women have - men have made sex & the visual their entire personality. You're supposed to be grateful for the bare minimum. While the majority of people understand that fathers are neglectful en masse, we haven't, as a society, recognised that straight men have emotionally neglected straight women en masse (because they only care about sex or what they can take - what should be the absolute basics of a relationship - emotional connection and conversation - are seen as 'luxuries' that women are lucky to have, and sure to lose imminently when they turn 30!). I refuse to put 'not all men'. If the moderators remove this, idc. I'm going to write objective truths - if it's removed, then it's just censorship.
Then there's friends. In the same way I'm turned off having relationships because of how misogynistic/low effort men are, I'm also turned off having friendships with women because of how allistic they are to the patriarchy. Even on Reddit, I'll be scrolling through so-called 'feminist' subreddits and it's all about women supposedly being 'empowered' by hook-up culture.. Meanwhile, complaining that men ghost them after sex (which is r*pe, btw). Apparently, we can't put two-and-two together... If you stop engaging in a culture that was obviously created by men, for men, then they'll have to become better partners or gth. Unfortunately, real feminism is sacrilegious nowadays, due to neoliberalism.
I had some amazing friends in school, but even then, to access my friends I had to ensure extreme bullying from others. Whenever something positive happens, I seem to have to endure knives from all other angles to keep 'access' to it, if that makes sense.
Trauma (from r*pe, abuse and my eating disorder) has fundamentally changed my brain. I have a permanent (thus far) dissociation disorder, rather than periodic episodes of it. I can't connect to anyone, and now I can see that those relationships did not serve me whatsoever. The only relationships I valued were my school friends, who I accidentally ghosted in the 'pushing everyone away' phase of PTSD. I feel too awkward to reach out to them now.
Given that the brain often 'checks out' of emotional connection in response to trauma... It's almost like we know deep down that these relationships are fraught with risk.
What I'm going to say now is quite radical:
We don't actually 'need' connections. Many animals live a solitary life. We evolved to 'need' connections because it was evolutionarily beneficial - it helped us to survive. Antinatalism seems like a good place to post this, because many of us reject the notion that 'what's natural is good' - a naturalistic fallacy. Indeed, many related subreddits discuss how morbid 'mother nature' is.
I argue that a great number of people are actually hurt by our 'need' for connection - particularly in the familial and romantic sense (most parents are quite cruel, and most partners are abusive or cheaters). Even when it comes to friendships, we're deathly afraid of social rejection and bullying is part-and-parcel of everyday life. And don't get me started with 'colleagues'.
I read a great article that said "society is inherently violent, because everyone is trying to control other people." I think this is a great summary of the life we're thrust into - the unique miseries that humans experience, unlike other species. Interacting with people seems to be overwhelmingly fraught with risk with little return, just as dating men as a straight woman is.
I would be quite happy living in solitude, but my biology betrays me. I become lonely and depressed, even though I am free from miseries. There's no actual -reason- for this depression - humans naturally become depressed from loneliness if we have too much solitude, because of our evolutionary drive to survive. Someone like me doesn't actually even miss the interactions!
And that leads me to a final point: I think the evolutionary process is the cause of much pain we have to endure. It's a barrier to antinatalism (we have a biological drive to reproduce - I would love to be a mother, but logically I could never bring a child into the world). It pushes me to try to date men when I objectively get nothing out of it. It pushes me to socialise when I'm actually very content in my own company, until my brain betrays me. etc. etc.
Anticipating some replies: "but we do need to interact sometimes to survive!" Agreed, but we don't necessarily need connections or relationships. I'm a doctor - I'm not besties with people who come to me for a scan. I do it because I care about peoples' wellbeing in general, and I'm paid for it.
Just to reiterate that this does link to AN: I don't think life is worth it because we have pain baked-in, due to the evolutionary process; we humans have to endure unique miseries because of our 'need' for socialising; and, in life, you either have to accept abuse/harassment/cheating from your relationships or be alone, which, as detailed above, our brains and bodies are allergic to needlessly.
I'm a bit weary of rule number 5: 'no venting or lamenting' lol - I'm not sure how I can discuss things that make me AN without venting a little. I prefer to call it 'giving a detailed explanation'. a. These adjacent, related issues make me feel AN -> b. Here's a detailed explanation as to why that is the case. I hope I've at least clarified how it links to AN.
submitted by Ok_Cherry_6258 to antinatalism [link] [comments]
However, I get little net benefit out of any of these. I'm not talking 'benefit' like money or anything - I'm talking on a purely emotional, connection level. Both of my parents, particularly my father, were abusive. I have a dissociative disorder because of my dad's neglect. I have an eating disorder because of my mother (on 32nd day of water fasting, thanks mum!)
Then there's the romantic 'options' we women have - men have made sex & the visual their entire personality. You're supposed to be grateful for the bare minimum. While the majority of people understand that fathers are neglectful en masse, we haven't, as a society, recognised that straight men have emotionally neglected straight women en masse (because they only care about sex or what they can take - what should be the absolute basics of a relationship - emotional connection and conversation - are seen as 'luxuries' that women are lucky to have, and sure to lose imminently when they turn 30!). I refuse to put 'not all men'. If the moderators remove this, idc. I'm going to write objective truths - if it's removed, then it's just censorship.
Then there's friends. In the same way I'm turned off having relationships because of how misogynistic/low effort men are, I'm also turned off having friendships with women because of how allistic they are to the patriarchy. Even on Reddit, I'll be scrolling through so-called 'feminist' subreddits and it's all about women supposedly being 'empowered' by hook-up culture.. Meanwhile, complaining that men ghost them after sex (which is r*pe, btw). Apparently, we can't put two-and-two together... If you stop engaging in a culture that was obviously created by men, for men, then they'll have to become better partners or gth. Unfortunately, real feminism is sacrilegious nowadays, due to neoliberalism.
I had some amazing friends in school, but even then, to access my friends I had to ensure extreme bullying from others. Whenever something positive happens, I seem to have to endure knives from all other angles to keep 'access' to it, if that makes sense.
Trauma (from r*pe, abuse and my eating disorder) has fundamentally changed my brain. I have a permanent (thus far) dissociation disorder, rather than periodic episodes of it. I can't connect to anyone, and now I can see that those relationships did not serve me whatsoever. The only relationships I valued were my school friends, who I accidentally ghosted in the 'pushing everyone away' phase of PTSD. I feel too awkward to reach out to them now.
Given that the brain often 'checks out' of emotional connection in response to trauma... It's almost like we know deep down that these relationships are fraught with risk.
What I'm going to say now is quite radical:
We don't actually 'need' connections. Many animals live a solitary life. We evolved to 'need' connections because it was evolutionarily beneficial - it helped us to survive. Antinatalism seems like a good place to post this, because many of us reject the notion that 'what's natural is good' - a naturalistic fallacy. Indeed, many related subreddits discuss how morbid 'mother nature' is.
I argue that a great number of people are actually hurt by our 'need' for connection - particularly in the familial and romantic sense (most parents are quite cruel, and most partners are abusive or cheaters). Even when it comes to friendships, we're deathly afraid of social rejection and bullying is part-and-parcel of everyday life. And don't get me started with 'colleagues'.
I read a great article that said "society is inherently violent, because everyone is trying to control other people." I think this is a great summary of the life we're thrust into - the unique miseries that humans experience, unlike other species. Interacting with people seems to be overwhelmingly fraught with risk with little return, just as dating men as a straight woman is.
I would be quite happy living in solitude, but my biology betrays me. I become lonely and depressed, even though I am free from miseries. There's no actual -reason- for this depression - humans naturally become depressed from loneliness if we have too much solitude, because of our evolutionary drive to survive. Someone like me doesn't actually even miss the interactions!
And that leads me to a final point: I think the evolutionary process is the cause of much pain we have to endure. It's a barrier to antinatalism (we have a biological drive to reproduce - I would love to be a mother, but logically I could never bring a child into the world). It pushes me to try to date men when I objectively get nothing out of it. It pushes me to socialise when I'm actually very content in my own company, until my brain betrays me. etc. etc.
Anticipating some replies: "but we do need to interact sometimes to survive!" Agreed, but we don't necessarily need connections or relationships. I'm a doctor - I'm not besties with people who come to me for a scan. I do it because I care about peoples' wellbeing in general, and I'm paid for it.
Just to reiterate that this does link to AN: I don't think life is worth it because we have pain baked-in, due to the evolutionary process; we humans have to endure unique miseries because of our 'need' for socialising; and, in life, you either have to accept abuse/harassment/cheating from your relationships or be alone, which, as detailed above, our brains and bodies are allergic to needlessly.
I'm a bit weary of rule number 5: 'no venting or lamenting' lol - I'm not sure how I can discuss things that make me AN without venting a little. I prefer to call it 'giving a detailed explanation'. a. These adjacent, related issues make me feel AN -> b. Here's a detailed explanation as to why that is the case. I hope I've at least clarified how it links to AN.
2024.05.17 10:17 MissMaryJane469 How do you go up when you’ve hit rock bottom? I genuinely need advice.
I (23F) am really struggling to move forward in life. For context I recently switched jobs from sales to Pizza Delivery. My last manager was just awful to deal with, she cared more about putting money in her own wallet than her workers safety. About 2 months ago I transferred to a pizza delivery company because my friend was just raving about how much better it would be for me to work there. She told me I would be making just as much money and the work environment was comfortable with kind customers/employees. Literally a month into working I got in a car accident with a car I JUST took a bank loan out to pay for. (He was wanting to drive at least 300 feet in the bike lane to turn right at a light way behind me. Traffic was at a complete stop and backed up, the two lanes to the left of me had traffic stopped with a gap for me to turn left back into work. He was driving so fast when he got in the turning lane I didn’t see him until I was making my turn and it completely totaled my car… my radiator sits in the very front of my car.) my insurance still has not gotten back to me about who is at fault and I had to sell my car because the towing company wanted $500 to give me my car back and I didn’t have the money. I am now without a car having to work as an insider making not even half of what I was making before. I’m stuck with a $4,000 car loan with no car to show for, and I’m barely able to find rides to work every day. I can barely afford to pay for my bills, my boyfriends has to help me pay them every 2 weeks because I keep running short in money. We barely have money for food at this point and i just don’t see me making enough money to be able to afford another car. I can’t afford to take out another loan since I also have snap payments for $5,000 of work I had done on my car to get it up and running. I can switch my job and still barely have enough money to live at this point, with no opportunity to save for another vehicle. I am so lost at, I worked so hard just to end up here, no vehicle, making less money than before, and I’m CONSTANTLY getting sick and vomiting from the stress. I don’t even have the money to see a therapist for a single session.. I really need some advice I don’t know what more I can do except work my life away praying for miracles. Even words of encouragement would be appreciated at this point. Every time I think about my life situation I start bawling.
2024.05.17 10:12 crvmbs Advice on gifters levels
Hi all, I am not very familiar with tiktok lives and battles but I am concerned for a family members financial situation.
From my minimal understanding (as I cannot ask her due to defensiveness and she blocked me for even looking at her tiktok) she is part of a 'team' that show up in people's live streams to cheer them up. That was her words. I have found some recordings of lives she is in and she is gifting animations in large quantities. I checked the coins needed for these gifts in 1 short live clip and it equals £99, at least.
I can see there is possibly an option to trade gifts people have sent you for coins to then repurchase gifts? Is this true?
I've also learned she was a 'level 34' gifter earlier in the year, which apparently amounts to around £10000 worth of gifts.
Could anyone please advise if this means she has put £10000 into tiktok or could that be a combination of 'regifting' and buying coins?
I'm a bit lost with how it all works and I don't want to cause an awkward conversation if there is a possibility it is all harmless, but she does have a long history of financial trouble.
submitted by crvmbs to TikTok [link] [comments]
From my minimal understanding (as I cannot ask her due to defensiveness and she blocked me for even looking at her tiktok) she is part of a 'team' that show up in people's live streams to cheer them up. That was her words. I have found some recordings of lives she is in and she is gifting animations in large quantities. I checked the coins needed for these gifts in 1 short live clip and it equals £99, at least.
I can see there is possibly an option to trade gifts people have sent you for coins to then repurchase gifts? Is this true?
I've also learned she was a 'level 34' gifter earlier in the year, which apparently amounts to around £10000 worth of gifts.
Could anyone please advise if this means she has put £10000 into tiktok or could that be a combination of 'regifting' and buying coins?
I'm a bit lost with how it all works and I don't want to cause an awkward conversation if there is a possibility it is all harmless, but she does have a long history of financial trouble.
2024.05.17 10:07 AnubisWitch I think I inadvertently wrote an entire book series to absolve my dad of his sins and let him pass on to the afterlife
I've decided to tell it. The story of how I wrote a book series that saved my father.
Growing up, I always thought of my dad as a simple man with a simple life. He was a janitor. When I was a kid, I was ashamed of that fact. Now it fills me with pride. There was a moment, when I was very young, a moment and an image that's seared into my memory. I watched my father shuffle off to the school where he worked, lunch box in hand, and it hit me that day: That is a man who is working so hard to provide for his little family.
Eventually, it became clear there was a family secret. One day, my mom said, “there are some secrets I'll be taking to my grave.” Indeed, she took them to the grave, but left us a clue. (More on that later)
My dad was always incredibly afraid of dying. He had a fear of Hell like no one I've ever seen. My sister recently told me a story where he told her about this fear, and she said, “But dad, you're a good man! Why are you so afraid?” His response was, “you just don't know.”
My mom passed away when I was barely 20, which was... let's just say, quite a few years ago. My dad almost died himself. When she was lying in bed, her death imminent, Dad collapsed in the hospital hallway and had to be hospitalized himself. When she died, there was this surreal moment where my two sisters and I were hugging our dad while we all sobbed. This was weird. Dad never hugged us, and he certainly never cried. He said he “lost his angel.”
In the years that followed, my dad relied on my sister and I for everything. I can't speak for my sister, but he almost felt more like a son than a father. I cooked his meals, packed them for work. Every day. Every single day.
Together, the 3 of us were happy(ish) for almost 10 years. My dad worked his janitor job until he retired... then he immediately got dementia after that, which is just tragic. In the beginning, he would think strange things, like my sister and I were selling drugs and getting arrested. (If you knew me and my sister, you would know this was preposterous). Eventually, it got to a point that he didn't remember our names or who we were. I was often not his daughter, but his sister, Helen.
My sister and I went from being our dad's helpers to his literal dementia caregivers. That was a period of about 2 years. Those 2 years were among some of the most hellish of my life. Words can't really describe what it feels like to see someone you love accuse you, forget you, and fixate on hallucinations all day.
Eventually, we couldn't take care of him anymore and he moved to a care home. Dad told us once, in his dementia-addled state, “I'll be here 'til November.” That was in July.
Enter The Darkest Knight, aka, The Black Knight Chronicles. I started writing this series around the time Dad moved into the care home. I can't say too much about the book without spoiling its twists, but I encourage you to check it out. https://www.amazon.com/Darkest-Knight-Black-Chronicles-Book-ebook/dp/B07HFTSNDD/
In the very last chapter of the last book, the main character says goodbye to her dying father. She tells him “I forgive you.” My own father died just hours later... on November 1st.
Two days after his death, I heard Dad's voice as soon as I woke up from sleep. I heard his voice say, “I'm Home.”
My eldest sister wanted her piece of a tiny inheritance, so we prepared to clear out Dad's house (where I still lived) to sell it. As we were cleaning out Dad's room, we found letters in a drawer. Without saying too much, they were letters from our aunt to our mom, alluding to something very awful my dad did when my aunt was young. The letter itself wasn't 100% clear, but there was clearly a cryptic & painful truth hidden in there.
Suddenly, I knew the family secret. Sort of.
It took me another year to figure out what I'd done, to put all the overwhelming evidence hidden in The Black Knight Chronicles together. When Kizzy says “I love you, I forgive you” to her father at the end of that series, SHE was ME. I had given my dad, a man who feared Hell like no other, the permission and absolution he needed to pass on.
In the book, Kizzy writes letters to “the father she never knew.” They are also MY letters to HIM.
Perhaps I didn't know him or his darkest shadows... maybe I'll never know. But I do know one thing.
I love him.
Always.
submitted by AnubisWitch to Soulnexus [link] [comments]
Growing up, I always thought of my dad as a simple man with a simple life. He was a janitor. When I was a kid, I was ashamed of that fact. Now it fills me with pride. There was a moment, when I was very young, a moment and an image that's seared into my memory. I watched my father shuffle off to the school where he worked, lunch box in hand, and it hit me that day: That is a man who is working so hard to provide for his little family.
Eventually, it became clear there was a family secret. One day, my mom said, “there are some secrets I'll be taking to my grave.” Indeed, she took them to the grave, but left us a clue. (More on that later)
My dad was always incredibly afraid of dying. He had a fear of Hell like no one I've ever seen. My sister recently told me a story where he told her about this fear, and she said, “But dad, you're a good man! Why are you so afraid?” His response was, “you just don't know.”
My mom passed away when I was barely 20, which was... let's just say, quite a few years ago. My dad almost died himself. When she was lying in bed, her death imminent, Dad collapsed in the hospital hallway and had to be hospitalized himself. When she died, there was this surreal moment where my two sisters and I were hugging our dad while we all sobbed. This was weird. Dad never hugged us, and he certainly never cried. He said he “lost his angel.”
In the years that followed, my dad relied on my sister and I for everything. I can't speak for my sister, but he almost felt more like a son than a father. I cooked his meals, packed them for work. Every day. Every single day.
Together, the 3 of us were happy(ish) for almost 10 years. My dad worked his janitor job until he retired... then he immediately got dementia after that, which is just tragic. In the beginning, he would think strange things, like my sister and I were selling drugs and getting arrested. (If you knew me and my sister, you would know this was preposterous). Eventually, it got to a point that he didn't remember our names or who we were. I was often not his daughter, but his sister, Helen.
My sister and I went from being our dad's helpers to his literal dementia caregivers. That was a period of about 2 years. Those 2 years were among some of the most hellish of my life. Words can't really describe what it feels like to see someone you love accuse you, forget you, and fixate on hallucinations all day.
Eventually, we couldn't take care of him anymore and he moved to a care home. Dad told us once, in his dementia-addled state, “I'll be here 'til November.” That was in July.
Enter The Darkest Knight, aka, The Black Knight Chronicles. I started writing this series around the time Dad moved into the care home. I can't say too much about the book without spoiling its twists, but I encourage you to check it out. https://www.amazon.com/Darkest-Knight-Black-Chronicles-Book-ebook/dp/B07HFTSNDD/
In the very last chapter of the last book, the main character says goodbye to her dying father. She tells him “I forgive you.” My own father died just hours later... on November 1st.
Two days after his death, I heard Dad's voice as soon as I woke up from sleep. I heard his voice say, “I'm Home.”
My eldest sister wanted her piece of a tiny inheritance, so we prepared to clear out Dad's house (where I still lived) to sell it. As we were cleaning out Dad's room, we found letters in a drawer. Without saying too much, they were letters from our aunt to our mom, alluding to something very awful my dad did when my aunt was young. The letter itself wasn't 100% clear, but there was clearly a cryptic & painful truth hidden in there.
Suddenly, I knew the family secret. Sort of.
It took me another year to figure out what I'd done, to put all the overwhelming evidence hidden in The Black Knight Chronicles together. When Kizzy says “I love you, I forgive you” to her father at the end of that series, SHE was ME. I had given my dad, a man who feared Hell like no other, the permission and absolution he needed to pass on.
In the book, Kizzy writes letters to “the father she never knew.” They are also MY letters to HIM.
Perhaps I didn't know him or his darkest shadows... maybe I'll never know. But I do know one thing.
I love him.
Always.
2024.05.17 10:05 MissMaryJane469 How do you go up when you’ve hit rock bottom?
I (23F) am really struggling to move forward in life. For context I recently switched jobs from sales to Pizza Delivery. My last manager was just awful to deal with, she cared more about putting money in her own wallet than her workers safety. About 2 months ago I transferred to a pizza delivery company because my friend was just raving about how much better it would be for me to work there. She told me I would be making just as much money and the work environment was comfortable with kind customers/employees. Literally a month into working I got in a car accident with a car I JUST took a bank loan out to pay for. (He was wanting to drive at least 300 feet in the bike lane to turn right at a light way behind me. Traffic was at a complete stop and backed up, the two lanes to the left of me had traffic stopped with a gap for me to turn left back into work. He was driving so fast when he got in the turning lane I didn’t see him until I was making my turn and it completely totaled my car… my radiator sits in the very front of my car.) my insurance still has not gotten back to me about who is at fault and I had to sell my car because the towing company wanted $500 to give me my car back and I didn’t have the money. I am now without a car having to work as an insider making not even half of what I was making before. I’m stuck with a $4,000 car loan with no car to show for, and I’m barely able to find rides to work every day. I can barely afford to pay for my bills, my boyfriends has to help me pay them every 2 weeks because I keep running short in money. We barely have money for food at this point and i just don’t see me making enough money to be able to afford another car. I can’t afford to take out another loan since I also have snap payments for $5,000 of work I had done on my car to get it up and running. I can switch my job and still barely have enough money to live at this point, with no opportunity to save for another vehicle. I am so lost at, I worked so hard just to end up here, no vehicle, making less money than before, and I’m CONSTANTLY getting sick and vomiting from the stress. I don’t even have the money to see a therapist for a single session.. I really need some advice I don’t know what more I can do except work my life away praying for miracles. Even words of encouragement would be appreciated at this point. Every time I think about my life situation I start bawling.
2024.05.17 10:05 MYSFITS_OFFICIAL Children of Sol 59
Subreddit Patreon
First Prev
Anglestan
Augustus 5, 1923
Facility 9, Mancheston
Colonel Jacobs
His hands flew through the folders General Jorgenson and Colonel Thatcher had. There were dozens of them, stacked upon each other all filed in alphabetical order. It had only been a few days since he had woken up from his coma and visited his home— now his mother’s grave. He clenched his fists at the thought. The grief and rage threatened to bubble and spill over once again. He took a deep breath and dragged out the exhale, almost to the point where he had emptied out his lungs.
He was the only one with clearance, and so he couldn’t disclose any of what he learned with his team. They would simply have to trust him and his judgment. Which he was sure they would do. His hands went over one of the folders skimming through it. There were multiple secret projects, but the ones with the most notes were Project S.T.A.R, Project L.U.N.A.R.I, Project R.E.V.I.V.E, Project D.A.W.N, and Project T.E.M.P.L.A.R.
The colonel decided to start with the most notes and papers. Project D.A.W.N.
He skimmed through the notes, reading through some of the details and highlighted words. Project D.A.W.N, the espionage project Thatcher had started placed two spies in Verlin who were to report directly to a Crescent general named Sienna Moretti who was apparently on humanity’s side.
So I was right. There was an espionage element. With the recent attacks and Thatcher’s death, however, it’s safe to assume that it had somehow failed. Either they got found out or they betrayed us. Both seem very likely, but if they were found out, it would be possible that they had died.
He read through all of it before setting the folder down. There were no new notes recently. He sighed and assumed that Project DAWN was a failure. Whether or not the agents were still alive and well, it was too risky to check if they had been compromised. It was better to assume that they had been and cut all contact. The only way to find out now was to go there himself and check. I can’t contact them again. There’s no telling if it would still be Moretti or the agents who would see my messages. It’s a big risk, and judging by the state of things, best to assume it failed.
He picked up another folder. This one had the label ‘under development’ on the folder. Project Templar. He opened the folder and was instantly met with a blueprint and drawings of a massive bipedal machine. It looked humanoid with strange proportions and was supposed to be standing at an impressive 30 meters, or 100 feet. The Titanic Engine Mech for Personal Land Assault and Reconnaissance.
It was apparently a joint project with the Church of Sol, utilizing new and advanced technologies he hadn’t heard of. A 203mm Gatling cannon on one arm, while the other had three different weapons. A massive firestarter that utilized a new type of fuel mixture that could theoretically spew flames a kilometer away using a high-pressure nozzle. The fuel was ignited using an electrical spark. The second weapon was a high-powered light weapon that fired a single powerful beam of focused light that was even further amplified by layers of focusing lenses that could increase its output several times. Its third weapon was… a dust domina?
Mark read through the specifications of the so-called ‘sand cannon’ weapon. It was a massive cannon that accelerated tiny particles several times. Each particle was to be electrically charged, and it would travel at immense speeds. Near impossible speeds. The resulting impact of a microscopic particle at such speeds would be enough to form a small crater and punch through armor like it was nothing. This weapon would fire multiple at the same time, which could literally eat away at anything on the opposing end.
In terms of secondary weapons, the titan had two missile launch chambers in front of its shoulder each containing about 40 missiles, and two massive howitzer cannons on top of it. Both are 800mm in caliber. It had massive stumpy legs that served as bunkers for a small platoon on each leg. Each leg had machine dominas and 155mm cannons. Its chassis held two nuclear reactors inside providing for its power and weaponry. Its armor was the thickest and most ridiculous he’d ever read. Two meters of heavy steel armor.
How far are we in terms of technology? This thing looks like it came out of an H.G. Wells sci-fi novel. He thought, shaking his head. It was over the top, but there was no denying its combat capabilities. If it was already under-developed then it must be the first prototype. This has already been approved. Guess I better see it for myself later and check how it's coming along. Construction apparently started just a few months before the invasion.
Next was project L.U.N.A.R.I. It was a project involving Six. “Huh,” he said, continuing to read on.
The Light Undone: Nocturnal’s Adaptive Resistance Initiative. As he read further, his eyes widened. The reason why Six was so special wasn’t just because of her immunity to all strigoi weaknesses, but because of her impressive ability to turn any true born strigoi like her. She could transfer her strain like any other strigoi and transform them into a version of hers. It however only seemed to work for naturally born strigoi. The new species of ‘half-breeds’ were called ‘Blessed Children’ as Thatcher had coined in the folder.
The plan was to turn all willing true-born hemolite strigoi into these blessed children. Able to withstand the sun. Immune to silver. Free from the dependency on blood. They could remove all the weaknesses of the strigoi and after the war— make it possible to integrate them into society as normal citizens living on the surface. The project folder also made mentions of a city-wide draft in Dante and highlighted the possibility of turning all Dantenite true born strigoi into these blessed children and renaming them as ‘Lunari’. A mix of the dark and the light. The light of Sol reflected in the children of the night.
“Thatcher, what the fuck have you been up to…” Mark whispered to himself.
While it was true that it could help in the war effort by utilizing Six and the dantenite population, it would also invite some unforeseen problems and consequences. Would humanity be okay with the Lunari? Would the world even be ready for them? Strigoi who were immune to the sun. They wouldn’t be impossible to kill, but they would be immensely more powerful if we were to take away their inherent weaknesses. This is a gamble. Its gain would only be seen during the war period, but its unintended effects on society could be catastrophic.
He frowned, setting the folder down. It was obviously Thatcher’s main plan; seeing as all her moves could be traced to the path of the eventual completion of this project. It seemed dangerous in the long run, but the duskwalkers and dantenites had been monumental in the war effort. Maybe it was the time the world started to accept them more. Isolation and segregation was definitely not the way to disperse fears and foster understanding.
If Thatcher thinks this is the next step forward… then I’ll put my faith in her plans.
Next up was Project S.T.A.R, or the Superior Tech and Adaptive Resistance. An upgrade to the current hemolite weapons and gear by using new researched studies. The Starfire Pattern Domina. The SFD-23 This thing features a new loading system and magazine, ditching the rotating cylinder most domina used, or the rotating helix magazine design of the current hemolite standard BM-16 domina.
The new domina had its magazine like a box… a strange design but it was certainly easier to handle than the bulky cylinders the helical mags used. In terms of ergonomics, it was smoother and fit more. Its placement however was on top of the domina, just above the barrel. Most of the weapon were to be made of lightweight polymers and the barrel itself were to be crafted out of reinforced aluminium. In addition to that, it had a 10-inch bayonet attached to it.
There were other new things as well, such as the composition of the bullet. Looking at the conceptual cross-section designs, Mark read through its description and how it would function. A .308 cased telescoped bullet covered in a silver jacket with break-away petals surrounding the main body. Inside the jacket was a penetrator core that was to be made of depleted uranium. It had a small amount of incendiary compound and… powdered white phosphorus behind an explosive compound. The thin silver jacket would deform and trigger the explosive compound inside the body. It would blow up causing massive internal damage and release the incendiary materials into the body with the flecks of powdered white phosphorus. The penetrator core could still potentially keep going and hit a second target, or punch through heavily armored targets.
Part of the new Project S.T.A.R was overhauling the armor and gear of not just the Hemolites but the Hunters as well. Starfire Mk 1. Carapace Armor. Carapace? It looked like plates of steel covered in a rubberized coat. It was supposed to be slipped on over the original hemolite body armor. It added a spring-loaded wrist blade to the gauntlet, a thicker coat made of resistant materials, and added extra padding for the knees, shoulders, and elbows.
However, the hemolites weren’t the only ones mentioned in the folder. It was to serve the Hunters as well. “Hunters…” Mark said. “August’s group is part of this initiative too.” He flipped through some of the pages. There were blueprints and drawings of an armored suit. A mechanized suit even smaller and more compact than the jotunn units. The Mark 1 STR battlesuit. It was supposed to hug the wearer’s frame and increase their overall power. It was supposed to be built of titanium alloy and a heavy steel frame with composite armor. It had a cooling system, life support systems that could recycle bodily fluids, and an exoskeleton frame that could increase the wearer’s strength and speed.
However, the real eye-opener was Thatcher’s notes. She had been ranting about the new human evolution, and how the Hunters were the first of the ‘Solari’. She wanted to enhance human genetics and push past the peak of human ability to reach greater heights. Implants and restructuring of the anatomy to make it more efficient. Using the blood of the goddess herself. She must have lost it. These are the ramblings of a lunatic. At least… if she didn’t mention the goddess. Why was the goddess important here?
The writings ended with the words: “See Project R.E.V.I.V.E, for more details.”
Mark eyed the final folder. His hands shook as he reached out to take it. Flipping it open, his hands nearly dropped it in shock. The goddess Helena was alive. There were pictures of her naked form floating in a giant tube of fluid. There were more of Thatcher’s ramblings and excited rants about the possibilities of such a discovery. Resurrection, Enhancement, and Veneration: Implementation of Visionary Evolution.
The goddess is alive?! According to the file, she’s currently under the Cathedral of New Lundun. Not only that, but the file also detailed the extraterrestrial tech that lay beneath the cathedral. So the goddess is real and she’s— not really a goddess, but rather, a vampyr who created herself a human body to stand in the sun, and decided that it wants to be on humanity’s side… what the fuck.
Mark’s frown and confusion only increased as he read on. Thatcher’s notes seemed to nearly descend into madness as she had written about creating ‘the first hundred’, alluding to the 100 members of the Hunters division. Her plan was to revive the goddess, and with her help and expertise in genetics— use her DNA to transform the Hunters into demi-humans. Super soldiers. Literal children of the goddess Helena. They would then don the STR battlesuits, the first of the superhuman warriors to defend humanity. Solari.
Their lightning-speed advancement into technology was heralded by studying the alien tech, which deepened the understanding of physics and engineering. Nuclear technologies, chemical warfare, new material sciences, the mechs, and walkers, it was spearheaded by trying to reverse-engineer technology centuries ahead of our own… for the past hundred years. It wasn’t completely stolen, however. More or less borrowed ideas that had been made into our own with our own designs and implements. Still, the speed at which the Church and the military had deciphered such advancements all by themselves was… impressive to say the least.
Still, the fact that the goddess was alive, and could be brought back was big news. Checking the file for details, he found that the previous general, Jorgenson, had already approved this project. It was their next step as soon as they returned from New Amsterdam; which never happened.
If Helena was alive, then she could end this war swiftly, or at the very least help greatly like she once did during the War of Darkness. Having the goddess back would throw a massive wrench in the Crescent’s plans. It would certainly be something they wouldn’t expect. Not even I expected this, since many sources say that the goddess had already ascended to watch over humanity, while conspiracy theorists claim she had died in battle and that the Church was worshiping a corpse. This could be the trick up our sleeves that no one would even consider.
The colonel quickly got up from his seat and gathered the main files he had read. He placed them in a bag and rushed outside of his office in Facility 9. He went over to a nearby room and flicked the lights on. “We need to go,” he said. In an instant seven hemolite soldiers got up from whatever they were doing and instantly stood in line.
“Sir! Whatever you need of us, sir,” the group said in unison.
They were Hemo-1. His former squad members. He had taken up Louis' suggestion that they be his personal security detail. It was a shame that he had basically placed the best hemolite team out of commission, but after all he had been through he convinced himself that he could be just a little selfish. He didn’t want to lose any more friends. Not on his watch. Not while he was in an office, and they were out fighting.
“We’re going to New Lundun. Better pack up, it’s going to be a long night.”
“Mark,” Olivia said.
Jacobs turned to her direction and gave her a nod.
“Colonel, sir, may I ask where in New Lundun?”
“Liv, you don’t need to do that with me. Please. I give all of you special permission,” the colonel groaned. “It’s so weird. I mean, ‘captain’ was bad enough, but now you’re acting like I’m an authority figure.”
“You… are, though,” Emma shrugged.
“I’m your friend, and Liv I’m literally your partner. Unless you have some kind of weird fetish, save it for later.”
Olivia grinned, shaking her head. “Duly noted!” she chirped.
“That’s better,” Mark chuckled. “Now come on, we have a cathedral to visit.”
“Uhh, I’m not sure if you noticed, but we’re kinda… strigoi?!” Louis groaned. “I’d burn the moment I step in that place! Plus, it’s coated in silver! Anything I even touch will give me burns!”
“Oh come on, Lou. You have fucking gloves on. As long as you’re not a clumsy dumbass you’ll be fine… oh wait.’
“Uh huh, just sayin’ what I think, boss.”
The group headed out and Mark said something on his radio. He then sat on the ground, making his joints pop. The rest of the squad shrugged and followed his example, sitting down on the grass and waiting for… nothing. Charles and Zach looked at each other in confusion. “Uh, sir?” they asked. “Aren’t we supposed to be heading out and traveling right now?”
“Oh yeah, we’re just waiting.”
“Foooor…?”
The colonel gave them a smirk as a loud noise began to make itself known. A hummingbird transport appeared out of the distance and stopped right above them, slowly descending into the grass. “Being colonel has its perks,” Mark said with a smile. He stood up and hopped inside the hummingbird as soon as it landed. “Come on now! We’ve got work to do! Last one aboard buys everyone food later!”
Emma zipped in before Mark could even finish his sentence, followed by Olivia, Phineas, Charles, Zach, and then Louis, who sadly took too long to process what the colonel said, and lagged behind.
“Aw, man! Fuck this shit.”
“Rules are rules, Lou. Prepare your wallet later.” Mark grinned.
With a smile, the colonel pulled Olivia to his side, who blushed for a moment before shaking her head. “Take us up! New Lundun Cathedral! How long would it take?” he asked the pilot.
“About an hour and a half!” The pilot replied. “Less if you want to get there as soon as possible!”
“Take your time! The night’s still young.”
The hummingbird started to lift up, taking them into the air. The group settled down in their seats and watched outside the open. Mark opened up a bag inside the hummingbird and took out some ear muffs built for a strigoi. Extremely loud noises were damaging for a strigoi’s enhanced hearing, so the military started implementing ear muffs for them after complaints from early deployments of the hemolite squads.
The trip didn’t take too long. In only an hour and twenty minutes they had arrived at the safe zone of New Lundun, heading straight for the cathedral. The night mass had just ended and people were leaving the cathedral. “Looks like we made it in perfect time!” Mark smiled. They hovered for a few minutes in the air before eventually landing down right in front of the statue of Helena.
As soon as they landed, the colonel and his group left the hummingbird. Mark instructed the pilot to wait for them. He went straight for the cathedral with his group following behind. He entered inside, clearing his throat. “Hello?”
“Well this is surely unexpected,” an old man said, walking up to greet them.
“Great Grandfather Aurelius. It’s uh, an honor.”
“Please. The honor is mine… I see you’re the new colonel. Yes, I’ve heard the news,” he said. “Would you mind telling me your name, young man? As well as your companions, if they feel so. I usually don’t allow duskwalkers here but, I have nothing against them. I’ll make an exception for your group.”
“Thank you, Great Grandfather,” Mark replied. “I am Colonel Mark Jacobs. These are my friends and security detail. Olivia, Zach, Phineas, Charles, Emma, and Louis.”
“I see, and what brings you here?”
“Since Thatcher’s demise, I was given access to her research and project folders upon taking up the title. I’ve learned about what’s under your cathedral,” Mark cleared his throat. “Would it be alright if we could see it? I’d like to check it for myself. Of course, under your permission and guidance, Great Grandfather.”
The church head looked from Mark to his companions. He pulled a slight frown and hummed. “Do these companions of yours have the clearance? Surely, we wish to keep our secrets hidden,” he said. Mark nodded.
“They do not have clearance to know what is in Thatcher’s folders and her findings,” the colonel nodded. “However, I give them permission to accompany me, and should they discover things for themselves, then you have my word and my trust that I can keep them from spilling state secrets.”
The Great Grandfather gave a short pause before ultimately relenting. “Very well,” he let out a sigh. “Follow me.”
Aurelius walked behind the altar and pulled the same lever, which opened the same staircase leading underground, where Jorgenson and Thatcher had once gone. “Over here, colonel,” he said. “I do not know you completely yet, but this is a big deal of trust I am giving you. Perhaps you would be the one to do things that Thatcher could not have.”
Mark nodded, he and his group followed the Great Grandfather down the staircase. It led down to a massive underground facility, with numerous priests, researchers, and scientists. Libraries, records, instruments, and artifacts of old. It was a treasure trove of learning.
“So,” Aurelius cleared his throat. “What would you like to know about?”
“This isn’t all of it,” Mark said. “Thatcher mentioned a living, breathing, Helena.”
His group behind him let out a soft gasp, but they tried their best to hide their surprise.
“Hm,” the Great Grandfather nodded. “Perceptive young man aren’t you? Very well.”
They were then led into another room, behind a set of heavy blast doors. If the whole group were trying to hide their surprise then, now they could barely contain it. Even the colonel stared awestruck at the things he had seen. Despite the near-magical objects around them, the true shock was the massive starship at the end of the hallway. “It’s impressive isn’t it?” Aurelius said. “All of the goddess’ artifacts and items at our disposal, to use and learn from, to integrate into our own. This is why Anglestan is the most powerful nation in the UHT in terms of development. When it comes to industry, however, that would go to the UNA. But we share our secrets with them. All our advancements are handed to them first before any other nation.”
“This is all amazing, Great Grandfather,” Mark replied. “But this is not what I’m here for.”
“No, it’s not.” Aurelius nodded.
He led them to another room, one that was sterilized and sported advanced machinery. Things that Mark had never even seen. There were screens with luminous green texts that appeared in front of it. Large panels with numerous keys, levers, and dials. Graphs of all sorts and beeping monitors. In the center, was the very thing he had come all this way to confirm. A large cylinder filled with liquid, sporting tubes and pipes connecting to its base. Inside was a woman of large proportion. Four arms, two legs, and six wings. In her bare chest was a symbol of the sun that seemed to glow dimly.
“There she is, there’s you goddess.”
Neither Mark nor his group spoke a word. He walked up to it, eyeing the woman inside. It really is her. Down to the last details. Golden hair, six limbs, six folded wings, and she looks massive. Probably as big as her statue just outside the cathedral. This is it. The very goddess in the history books, the one spoken about in legends and the one worshiped in the Churches of Sol.
“Can we free her?” he said.
The Great Grandfather nearly choked on his spit upon hearing those words. “Free her?! That could kill her! We don’t even understand this technology, let alone control it!” he said pointing at the panels. “The machines you see here are the best and most advanced we have based on what we can reverse engineer, but even then, the consequences of tampering with its functions may be disastrous!”
“I understand, Great Grandfather,” Mark said. “But we are in a dire situation, and the goddess may be our hope of turning this around. Whatever secrets of her tech that you don’t understand, wouldn’t she be able to teach us directly? What good is she floating around in Sol knows what?”
“That is her miraculous healing fluid. She had already built this contraption centuries ago in case anything were to happen to her, that her body’s natural healing could not sustain,” Aurelius said. “During the War of Darkness, Helena was struck with a weapon so deadly, her very cells began to tear away. The Reaper. Dealt to her by Absolem the progenitor. Her flesh was peeling from her body, and she began to decay whilst she still breathed. She entered this contraption and gave strict instructions to the Great Grandfather at the time, not to interrupt the healing process. The machine that monitored her, however, began to fail over time.”
“So this… these screens and panels…”
“Is only what functions we can understand. We took it upon ourselves to rebuild and study it the best we could. What we have right now is only a cheap imitation of a technology we do not fully comprehend,” he said. “It took us decades to even figure out the fundamentals and create a working prototype of this machine. By some miracle, the goddess’ healing process had remained even while we replaced components of technology ahead of ours.”
“But you know how to free her, don’t you?”
“I… yes.”
“Great Grandfather Aurelius,” Mark began. “We can end this war. Imagine what we could do with the goddess fighting on our side. We could advance even further, we could finally end the bloodshed, and we can show humanity that there is still hope. Imagine how people all over the world would feel seeing as their goddess has returned.”
“I wish I had your enthusiasm,” Aurelius said. “But it is simply too risky. The Church’s duty is to protect Helena and her legacy. We keep her alive, literally and figuratively. She nearly died the last time she was involved in a war. Would you risk losing the goddess?”
“Would you risk humanity losing?”
The Great Grandfather fell silent, looking back at Helena floating inside the tube, then to the panels that controlled it. He frowned and let out a long sigh. “The goddess said that we should not interrupt it. That it would end as soon as it was finished. Maybe we should trust her words.”
Mark shook his head. “I don’t spot a single blemish on the goddess. Not a single scratch,” he argued. “You said it yourself that the machine had begun to fail and you replaced components. How would you know that the thing that’s supposed to wake her up was not tampered with? Think about it. What you may think is a useless piece may be integral to the whole machine. Or maybe your replacements were not up to the task. Just because nothing’s happened doesn’t mean its functions have remained whole.”
“Young man, we simply cannot gamble with the goddess’ life here.”
“Have you no faith? Great Grandfather?”
Aurelius stepped back in shock. Mark’s companions looked at each other, clearly surprised as well. “Mark… I don’t think we should keep arguing with—” Olivia tried to say.
“No,” the colonel said firmly, cutting her off. “Great Grandfather Aurelius, do you think that Helena will not be able to pull through if we wake her? How long has it been? A century? How much longer will we wait? She may be immortal but humans aren’t.”
“I'm sorry, but the chances of failure are too high. The probability of her—”
“I don’t care about the probability! Would you rather put your faith in a statistic?!” Mark raised his voice. “I lost my mother to this war! My friends! My job! My eye, and almost my life! I’ve put mine on the line out there! You don’t know what it’s like out there! Was my mother’s death just a probability too? Was she just a statistic to you?! That as long as the numbers are good, no matter how many are lost, we are ‘winning’?!”
“Mark—!”
“No, Liv! He needs to know what’s really going on out there!” he spat. “Great Grandfather, with all due respect, but you don’t have a damn clue what it’s like to be in the field. You’re a man of faith, aren’t you? Take a risk. Everyone else has.”
Aurelius stood there, dumbfounded. He bit the inside of his cheeks and clenched his fists. “For your insolence, I would have had you flogged and stripped of your rank,” he glared at the young colonel. However, his features slowly softened, letting out a soft sigh. “But I have never seen such conviction. Mighty is your faith.”
The Great Grandfather moved over to the panels and reached into his robe, pulling out from around his neck a key with the symbol of the sun. He inserted it into the machine and turned. A beep sounded, right before Aurelius pulled a lever. In an instant, the fluid inside the glass chamber began to drain out into the tubes under it. Slowly, the chamber emptied and all that was left was the nude form of the goddess sitting in the glass.
“Did it work?” Louis asked, stepping forward and looking at the woman.
Aurelius stayed silent, his hands shaking in anticipation. Mark moved toward the glass chamber, when suddenly, the glass opened up like a door, releasing a fragrant mist. They stood there, watching for a whole minute. Nothing. At first nothing. The Great Grandfather looked like he was about to break down. His knees shook as he covered his mouth, thinking that he was responsible for the death of Helena.
That was when… a soft sound was heard. Movement. Olivia immediately went over to Mark and stood in front of him. Ready to protect him should anything happen. Slowly, the goddess moved more, her arms inched to the side.
Then, her eyes opened.
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Anglestan
Augustus 5, 1923
Facility 9, Mancheston
Colonel Jacobs
His hands flew through the folders General Jorgenson and Colonel Thatcher had. There were dozens of them, stacked upon each other all filed in alphabetical order. It had only been a few days since he had woken up from his coma and visited his home— now his mother’s grave. He clenched his fists at the thought. The grief and rage threatened to bubble and spill over once again. He took a deep breath and dragged out the exhale, almost to the point where he had emptied out his lungs.
He was the only one with clearance, and so he couldn’t disclose any of what he learned with his team. They would simply have to trust him and his judgment. Which he was sure they would do. His hands went over one of the folders skimming through it. There were multiple secret projects, but the ones with the most notes were Project S.T.A.R, Project L.U.N.A.R.I, Project R.E.V.I.V.E, Project D.A.W.N, and Project T.E.M.P.L.A.R.
The colonel decided to start with the most notes and papers. Project D.A.W.N.
He skimmed through the notes, reading through some of the details and highlighted words. Project D.A.W.N, the espionage project Thatcher had started placed two spies in Verlin who were to report directly to a Crescent general named Sienna Moretti who was apparently on humanity’s side.
So I was right. There was an espionage element. With the recent attacks and Thatcher’s death, however, it’s safe to assume that it had somehow failed. Either they got found out or they betrayed us. Both seem very likely, but if they were found out, it would be possible that they had died.
He read through all of it before setting the folder down. There were no new notes recently. He sighed and assumed that Project DAWN was a failure. Whether or not the agents were still alive and well, it was too risky to check if they had been compromised. It was better to assume that they had been and cut all contact. The only way to find out now was to go there himself and check. I can’t contact them again. There’s no telling if it would still be Moretti or the agents who would see my messages. It’s a big risk, and judging by the state of things, best to assume it failed.
He picked up another folder. This one had the label ‘under development’ on the folder. Project Templar. He opened the folder and was instantly met with a blueprint and drawings of a massive bipedal machine. It looked humanoid with strange proportions and was supposed to be standing at an impressive 30 meters, or 100 feet. The Titanic Engine Mech for Personal Land Assault and Reconnaissance.
It was apparently a joint project with the Church of Sol, utilizing new and advanced technologies he hadn’t heard of. A 203mm Gatling cannon on one arm, while the other had three different weapons. A massive firestarter that utilized a new type of fuel mixture that could theoretically spew flames a kilometer away using a high-pressure nozzle. The fuel was ignited using an electrical spark. The second weapon was a high-powered light weapon that fired a single powerful beam of focused light that was even further amplified by layers of focusing lenses that could increase its output several times. Its third weapon was… a dust domina?
Mark read through the specifications of the so-called ‘sand cannon’ weapon. It was a massive cannon that accelerated tiny particles several times. Each particle was to be electrically charged, and it would travel at immense speeds. Near impossible speeds. The resulting impact of a microscopic particle at such speeds would be enough to form a small crater and punch through armor like it was nothing. This weapon would fire multiple at the same time, which could literally eat away at anything on the opposing end.
In terms of secondary weapons, the titan had two missile launch chambers in front of its shoulder each containing about 40 missiles, and two massive howitzer cannons on top of it. Both are 800mm in caliber. It had massive stumpy legs that served as bunkers for a small platoon on each leg. Each leg had machine dominas and 155mm cannons. Its chassis held two nuclear reactors inside providing for its power and weaponry. Its armor was the thickest and most ridiculous he’d ever read. Two meters of heavy steel armor.
How far are we in terms of technology? This thing looks like it came out of an H.G. Wells sci-fi novel. He thought, shaking his head. It was over the top, but there was no denying its combat capabilities. If it was already under-developed then it must be the first prototype. This has already been approved. Guess I better see it for myself later and check how it's coming along. Construction apparently started just a few months before the invasion.
Next was project L.U.N.A.R.I. It was a project involving Six. “Huh,” he said, continuing to read on.
The Light Undone: Nocturnal’s Adaptive Resistance Initiative. As he read further, his eyes widened. The reason why Six was so special wasn’t just because of her immunity to all strigoi weaknesses, but because of her impressive ability to turn any true born strigoi like her. She could transfer her strain like any other strigoi and transform them into a version of hers. It however only seemed to work for naturally born strigoi. The new species of ‘half-breeds’ were called ‘Blessed Children’ as Thatcher had coined in the folder.
The plan was to turn all willing true-born hemolite strigoi into these blessed children. Able to withstand the sun. Immune to silver. Free from the dependency on blood. They could remove all the weaknesses of the strigoi and after the war— make it possible to integrate them into society as normal citizens living on the surface. The project folder also made mentions of a city-wide draft in Dante and highlighted the possibility of turning all Dantenite true born strigoi into these blessed children and renaming them as ‘Lunari’. A mix of the dark and the light. The light of Sol reflected in the children of the night.
“Thatcher, what the fuck have you been up to…” Mark whispered to himself.
While it was true that it could help in the war effort by utilizing Six and the dantenite population, it would also invite some unforeseen problems and consequences. Would humanity be okay with the Lunari? Would the world even be ready for them? Strigoi who were immune to the sun. They wouldn’t be impossible to kill, but they would be immensely more powerful if we were to take away their inherent weaknesses. This is a gamble. Its gain would only be seen during the war period, but its unintended effects on society could be catastrophic.
He frowned, setting the folder down. It was obviously Thatcher’s main plan; seeing as all her moves could be traced to the path of the eventual completion of this project. It seemed dangerous in the long run, but the duskwalkers and dantenites had been monumental in the war effort. Maybe it was the time the world started to accept them more. Isolation and segregation was definitely not the way to disperse fears and foster understanding.
If Thatcher thinks this is the next step forward… then I’ll put my faith in her plans.
Next up was Project S.T.A.R, or the Superior Tech and Adaptive Resistance. An upgrade to the current hemolite weapons and gear by using new researched studies. The Starfire Pattern Domina. The SFD-23 This thing features a new loading system and magazine, ditching the rotating cylinder most domina used, or the rotating helix magazine design of the current hemolite standard BM-16 domina.
The new domina had its magazine like a box… a strange design but it was certainly easier to handle than the bulky cylinders the helical mags used. In terms of ergonomics, it was smoother and fit more. Its placement however was on top of the domina, just above the barrel. Most of the weapon were to be made of lightweight polymers and the barrel itself were to be crafted out of reinforced aluminium. In addition to that, it had a 10-inch bayonet attached to it.
There were other new things as well, such as the composition of the bullet. Looking at the conceptual cross-section designs, Mark read through its description and how it would function. A .308 cased telescoped bullet covered in a silver jacket with break-away petals surrounding the main body. Inside the jacket was a penetrator core that was to be made of depleted uranium. It had a small amount of incendiary compound and… powdered white phosphorus behind an explosive compound. The thin silver jacket would deform and trigger the explosive compound inside the body. It would blow up causing massive internal damage and release the incendiary materials into the body with the flecks of powdered white phosphorus. The penetrator core could still potentially keep going and hit a second target, or punch through heavily armored targets.
Part of the new Project S.T.A.R was overhauling the armor and gear of not just the Hemolites but the Hunters as well. Starfire Mk 1. Carapace Armor. Carapace? It looked like plates of steel covered in a rubberized coat. It was supposed to be slipped on over the original hemolite body armor. It added a spring-loaded wrist blade to the gauntlet, a thicker coat made of resistant materials, and added extra padding for the knees, shoulders, and elbows.
However, the hemolites weren’t the only ones mentioned in the folder. It was to serve the Hunters as well. “Hunters…” Mark said. “August’s group is part of this initiative too.” He flipped through some of the pages. There were blueprints and drawings of an armored suit. A mechanized suit even smaller and more compact than the jotunn units. The Mark 1 STR battlesuit. It was supposed to hug the wearer’s frame and increase their overall power. It was supposed to be built of titanium alloy and a heavy steel frame with composite armor. It had a cooling system, life support systems that could recycle bodily fluids, and an exoskeleton frame that could increase the wearer’s strength and speed.
However, the real eye-opener was Thatcher’s notes. She had been ranting about the new human evolution, and how the Hunters were the first of the ‘Solari’. She wanted to enhance human genetics and push past the peak of human ability to reach greater heights. Implants and restructuring of the anatomy to make it more efficient. Using the blood of the goddess herself. She must have lost it. These are the ramblings of a lunatic. At least… if she didn’t mention the goddess. Why was the goddess important here?
The writings ended with the words: “See Project R.E.V.I.V.E, for more details.”
Mark eyed the final folder. His hands shook as he reached out to take it. Flipping it open, his hands nearly dropped it in shock. The goddess Helena was alive. There were pictures of her naked form floating in a giant tube of fluid. There were more of Thatcher’s ramblings and excited rants about the possibilities of such a discovery. Resurrection, Enhancement, and Veneration: Implementation of Visionary Evolution.
The goddess is alive?! According to the file, she’s currently under the Cathedral of New Lundun. Not only that, but the file also detailed the extraterrestrial tech that lay beneath the cathedral. So the goddess is real and she’s— not really a goddess, but rather, a vampyr who created herself a human body to stand in the sun, and decided that it wants to be on humanity’s side… what the fuck.
Mark’s frown and confusion only increased as he read on. Thatcher’s notes seemed to nearly descend into madness as she had written about creating ‘the first hundred’, alluding to the 100 members of the Hunters division. Her plan was to revive the goddess, and with her help and expertise in genetics— use her DNA to transform the Hunters into demi-humans. Super soldiers. Literal children of the goddess Helena. They would then don the STR battlesuits, the first of the superhuman warriors to defend humanity. Solari.
Their lightning-speed advancement into technology was heralded by studying the alien tech, which deepened the understanding of physics and engineering. Nuclear technologies, chemical warfare, new material sciences, the mechs, and walkers, it was spearheaded by trying to reverse-engineer technology centuries ahead of our own… for the past hundred years. It wasn’t completely stolen, however. More or less borrowed ideas that had been made into our own with our own designs and implements. Still, the speed at which the Church and the military had deciphered such advancements all by themselves was… impressive to say the least.
Still, the fact that the goddess was alive, and could be brought back was big news. Checking the file for details, he found that the previous general, Jorgenson, had already approved this project. It was their next step as soon as they returned from New Amsterdam; which never happened.
If Helena was alive, then she could end this war swiftly, or at the very least help greatly like she once did during the War of Darkness. Having the goddess back would throw a massive wrench in the Crescent’s plans. It would certainly be something they wouldn’t expect. Not even I expected this, since many sources say that the goddess had already ascended to watch over humanity, while conspiracy theorists claim she had died in battle and that the Church was worshiping a corpse. This could be the trick up our sleeves that no one would even consider.
The colonel quickly got up from his seat and gathered the main files he had read. He placed them in a bag and rushed outside of his office in Facility 9. He went over to a nearby room and flicked the lights on. “We need to go,” he said. In an instant seven hemolite soldiers got up from whatever they were doing and instantly stood in line.
“Sir! Whatever you need of us, sir,” the group said in unison.
They were Hemo-1. His former squad members. He had taken up Louis' suggestion that they be his personal security detail. It was a shame that he had basically placed the best hemolite team out of commission, but after all he had been through he convinced himself that he could be just a little selfish. He didn’t want to lose any more friends. Not on his watch. Not while he was in an office, and they were out fighting.
“We’re going to New Lundun. Better pack up, it’s going to be a long night.”
“Mark,” Olivia said.
Jacobs turned to her direction and gave her a nod.
“Colonel, sir, may I ask where in New Lundun?”
“Liv, you don’t need to do that with me. Please. I give all of you special permission,” the colonel groaned. “It’s so weird. I mean, ‘captain’ was bad enough, but now you’re acting like I’m an authority figure.”
“You… are, though,” Emma shrugged.
“I’m your friend, and Liv I’m literally your partner. Unless you have some kind of weird fetish, save it for later.”
Olivia grinned, shaking her head. “Duly noted!” she chirped.
“That’s better,” Mark chuckled. “Now come on, we have a cathedral to visit.”
“Uhh, I’m not sure if you noticed, but we’re kinda… strigoi?!” Louis groaned. “I’d burn the moment I step in that place! Plus, it’s coated in silver! Anything I even touch will give me burns!”
“Oh come on, Lou. You have fucking gloves on. As long as you’re not a clumsy dumbass you’ll be fine… oh wait.’
“Uh huh, just sayin’ what I think, boss.”
The group headed out and Mark said something on his radio. He then sat on the ground, making his joints pop. The rest of the squad shrugged and followed his example, sitting down on the grass and waiting for… nothing. Charles and Zach looked at each other in confusion. “Uh, sir?” they asked. “Aren’t we supposed to be heading out and traveling right now?”
“Oh yeah, we’re just waiting.”
“Foooor…?”
The colonel gave them a smirk as a loud noise began to make itself known. A hummingbird transport appeared out of the distance and stopped right above them, slowly descending into the grass. “Being colonel has its perks,” Mark said with a smile. He stood up and hopped inside the hummingbird as soon as it landed. “Come on now! We’ve got work to do! Last one aboard buys everyone food later!”
Emma zipped in before Mark could even finish his sentence, followed by Olivia, Phineas, Charles, Zach, and then Louis, who sadly took too long to process what the colonel said, and lagged behind.
“Aw, man! Fuck this shit.”
“Rules are rules, Lou. Prepare your wallet later.” Mark grinned.
With a smile, the colonel pulled Olivia to his side, who blushed for a moment before shaking her head. “Take us up! New Lundun Cathedral! How long would it take?” he asked the pilot.
“About an hour and a half!” The pilot replied. “Less if you want to get there as soon as possible!”
“Take your time! The night’s still young.”
The hummingbird started to lift up, taking them into the air. The group settled down in their seats and watched outside the open. Mark opened up a bag inside the hummingbird and took out some ear muffs built for a strigoi. Extremely loud noises were damaging for a strigoi’s enhanced hearing, so the military started implementing ear muffs for them after complaints from early deployments of the hemolite squads.
The trip didn’t take too long. In only an hour and twenty minutes they had arrived at the safe zone of New Lundun, heading straight for the cathedral. The night mass had just ended and people were leaving the cathedral. “Looks like we made it in perfect time!” Mark smiled. They hovered for a few minutes in the air before eventually landing down right in front of the statue of Helena.
As soon as they landed, the colonel and his group left the hummingbird. Mark instructed the pilot to wait for them. He went straight for the cathedral with his group following behind. He entered inside, clearing his throat. “Hello?”
“Well this is surely unexpected,” an old man said, walking up to greet them.
“Great Grandfather Aurelius. It’s uh, an honor.”
“Please. The honor is mine… I see you’re the new colonel. Yes, I’ve heard the news,” he said. “Would you mind telling me your name, young man? As well as your companions, if they feel so. I usually don’t allow duskwalkers here but, I have nothing against them. I’ll make an exception for your group.”
“Thank you, Great Grandfather,” Mark replied. “I am Colonel Mark Jacobs. These are my friends and security detail. Olivia, Zach, Phineas, Charles, Emma, and Louis.”
“I see, and what brings you here?”
“Since Thatcher’s demise, I was given access to her research and project folders upon taking up the title. I’ve learned about what’s under your cathedral,” Mark cleared his throat. “Would it be alright if we could see it? I’d like to check it for myself. Of course, under your permission and guidance, Great Grandfather.”
The church head looked from Mark to his companions. He pulled a slight frown and hummed. “Do these companions of yours have the clearance? Surely, we wish to keep our secrets hidden,” he said. Mark nodded.
“They do not have clearance to know what is in Thatcher’s folders and her findings,” the colonel nodded. “However, I give them permission to accompany me, and should they discover things for themselves, then you have my word and my trust that I can keep them from spilling state secrets.”
The Great Grandfather gave a short pause before ultimately relenting. “Very well,” he let out a sigh. “Follow me.”
Aurelius walked behind the altar and pulled the same lever, which opened the same staircase leading underground, where Jorgenson and Thatcher had once gone. “Over here, colonel,” he said. “I do not know you completely yet, but this is a big deal of trust I am giving you. Perhaps you would be the one to do things that Thatcher could not have.”
Mark nodded, he and his group followed the Great Grandfather down the staircase. It led down to a massive underground facility, with numerous priests, researchers, and scientists. Libraries, records, instruments, and artifacts of old. It was a treasure trove of learning.
“So,” Aurelius cleared his throat. “What would you like to know about?”
“This isn’t all of it,” Mark said. “Thatcher mentioned a living, breathing, Helena.”
His group behind him let out a soft gasp, but they tried their best to hide their surprise.
“Hm,” the Great Grandfather nodded. “Perceptive young man aren’t you? Very well.”
They were then led into another room, behind a set of heavy blast doors. If the whole group were trying to hide their surprise then, now they could barely contain it. Even the colonel stared awestruck at the things he had seen. Despite the near-magical objects around them, the true shock was the massive starship at the end of the hallway. “It’s impressive isn’t it?” Aurelius said. “All of the goddess’ artifacts and items at our disposal, to use and learn from, to integrate into our own. This is why Anglestan is the most powerful nation in the UHT in terms of development. When it comes to industry, however, that would go to the UNA. But we share our secrets with them. All our advancements are handed to them first before any other nation.”
“This is all amazing, Great Grandfather,” Mark replied. “But this is not what I’m here for.”
“No, it’s not.” Aurelius nodded.
He led them to another room, one that was sterilized and sported advanced machinery. Things that Mark had never even seen. There were screens with luminous green texts that appeared in front of it. Large panels with numerous keys, levers, and dials. Graphs of all sorts and beeping monitors. In the center, was the very thing he had come all this way to confirm. A large cylinder filled with liquid, sporting tubes and pipes connecting to its base. Inside was a woman of large proportion. Four arms, two legs, and six wings. In her bare chest was a symbol of the sun that seemed to glow dimly.
“There she is, there’s you goddess.”
Neither Mark nor his group spoke a word. He walked up to it, eyeing the woman inside. It really is her. Down to the last details. Golden hair, six limbs, six folded wings, and she looks massive. Probably as big as her statue just outside the cathedral. This is it. The very goddess in the history books, the one spoken about in legends and the one worshiped in the Churches of Sol.
“Can we free her?” he said.
The Great Grandfather nearly choked on his spit upon hearing those words. “Free her?! That could kill her! We don’t even understand this technology, let alone control it!” he said pointing at the panels. “The machines you see here are the best and most advanced we have based on what we can reverse engineer, but even then, the consequences of tampering with its functions may be disastrous!”
“I understand, Great Grandfather,” Mark said. “But we are in a dire situation, and the goddess may be our hope of turning this around. Whatever secrets of her tech that you don’t understand, wouldn’t she be able to teach us directly? What good is she floating around in Sol knows what?”
“That is her miraculous healing fluid. She had already built this contraption centuries ago in case anything were to happen to her, that her body’s natural healing could not sustain,” Aurelius said. “During the War of Darkness, Helena was struck with a weapon so deadly, her very cells began to tear away. The Reaper. Dealt to her by Absolem the progenitor. Her flesh was peeling from her body, and she began to decay whilst she still breathed. She entered this contraption and gave strict instructions to the Great Grandfather at the time, not to interrupt the healing process. The machine that monitored her, however, began to fail over time.”
“So this… these screens and panels…”
“Is only what functions we can understand. We took it upon ourselves to rebuild and study it the best we could. What we have right now is only a cheap imitation of a technology we do not fully comprehend,” he said. “It took us decades to even figure out the fundamentals and create a working prototype of this machine. By some miracle, the goddess’ healing process had remained even while we replaced components of technology ahead of ours.”
“But you know how to free her, don’t you?”
“I… yes.”
“Great Grandfather Aurelius,” Mark began. “We can end this war. Imagine what we could do with the goddess fighting on our side. We could advance even further, we could finally end the bloodshed, and we can show humanity that there is still hope. Imagine how people all over the world would feel seeing as their goddess has returned.”
“I wish I had your enthusiasm,” Aurelius said. “But it is simply too risky. The Church’s duty is to protect Helena and her legacy. We keep her alive, literally and figuratively. She nearly died the last time she was involved in a war. Would you risk losing the goddess?”
“Would you risk humanity losing?”
The Great Grandfather fell silent, looking back at Helena floating inside the tube, then to the panels that controlled it. He frowned and let out a long sigh. “The goddess said that we should not interrupt it. That it would end as soon as it was finished. Maybe we should trust her words.”
Mark shook his head. “I don’t spot a single blemish on the goddess. Not a single scratch,” he argued. “You said it yourself that the machine had begun to fail and you replaced components. How would you know that the thing that’s supposed to wake her up was not tampered with? Think about it. What you may think is a useless piece may be integral to the whole machine. Or maybe your replacements were not up to the task. Just because nothing’s happened doesn’t mean its functions have remained whole.”
“Young man, we simply cannot gamble with the goddess’ life here.”
“Have you no faith? Great Grandfather?”
Aurelius stepped back in shock. Mark’s companions looked at each other, clearly surprised as well. “Mark… I don’t think we should keep arguing with—” Olivia tried to say.
“No,” the colonel said firmly, cutting her off. “Great Grandfather Aurelius, do you think that Helena will not be able to pull through if we wake her? How long has it been? A century? How much longer will we wait? She may be immortal but humans aren’t.”
“I'm sorry, but the chances of failure are too high. The probability of her—”
“I don’t care about the probability! Would you rather put your faith in a statistic?!” Mark raised his voice. “I lost my mother to this war! My friends! My job! My eye, and almost my life! I’ve put mine on the line out there! You don’t know what it’s like out there! Was my mother’s death just a probability too? Was she just a statistic to you?! That as long as the numbers are good, no matter how many are lost, we are ‘winning’?!”
“Mark—!”
“No, Liv! He needs to know what’s really going on out there!” he spat. “Great Grandfather, with all due respect, but you don’t have a damn clue what it’s like to be in the field. You’re a man of faith, aren’t you? Take a risk. Everyone else has.”
Aurelius stood there, dumbfounded. He bit the inside of his cheeks and clenched his fists. “For your insolence, I would have had you flogged and stripped of your rank,” he glared at the young colonel. However, his features slowly softened, letting out a soft sigh. “But I have never seen such conviction. Mighty is your faith.”
The Great Grandfather moved over to the panels and reached into his robe, pulling out from around his neck a key with the symbol of the sun. He inserted it into the machine and turned. A beep sounded, right before Aurelius pulled a lever. In an instant, the fluid inside the glass chamber began to drain out into the tubes under it. Slowly, the chamber emptied and all that was left was the nude form of the goddess sitting in the glass.
“Did it work?” Louis asked, stepping forward and looking at the woman.
Aurelius stayed silent, his hands shaking in anticipation. Mark moved toward the glass chamber, when suddenly, the glass opened up like a door, releasing a fragrant mist. They stood there, watching for a whole minute. Nothing. At first nothing. The Great Grandfather looked like he was about to break down. His knees shook as he covered his mouth, thinking that he was responsible for the death of Helena.
That was when… a soft sound was heard. Movement. Olivia immediately went over to Mark and stood in front of him. Ready to protect him should anything happen. Slowly, the goddess moved more, her arms inched to the side.
Then, her eyes opened.
2024.05.17 09:58 Witchywoman4201 What to expect while you’re expecting
My husband and I have been trying forever for a baby. And a few months ago I finally got the two lines that indicated our dreams were becoming a reality. I knew it would be high risk but I didn’t care about the risk, this was a dream I would regret not at least trying absolutely everything to fulfill.
The first few months my husband was extremely supportive. Waiting on me hand and foot, massages even though I wasn’t even showing yet. As the second trimester marched on his excitement only grew, slowly watching the baby grow at doctor’s appointments with me.
On the way out of a doctor’s appointment I tripped and landed terribly. Luckily we were right outside the doctor’s office so we could get help immediately. I faint at the sight of blood, so I don’t remember much after touching between my legs and finding crimson stains on my fingertips. When I woke up I was dazed but was so happy to feel my baby still doing gymnastics in my stomach.
My husband, however, must have become frightened that something would happen and slowly started to detach himself from my whole pregnancy. He only offered grunts in support as I picked out colors for the nursery. We had a late term pregnancy loss before so he was just scared of losing a baby again. It was easier to detach than accept something may happen. But you can’t live in the what if’s.
As I began to unpack the furniture for the nursery and set up the cameras for the baby monitor, I could see my husband's discomfort grow. His physical demeanor only got worse the more I progressed with the furniture.
Finally he stood up and shouted what he apparently had been holding in the last two months. “You aren’t pregnant anymore Liv! You lost the baby with the fall, there was nothing the doctor could do! A therapist told me to let you grieve how you saw fit but I can’t do this anymore! It is torture to watch you decorate our dead child’s nursery.”
I didn’t say a word, and just put his hand on my stomach because as I explained to him, I don’t care what the doctor says. I know my body and my baby. As he began to roll his eyes and was just about to lift his hand the baby kicked hard. My husband's face went from disbelief to horror.
All he could mutter as tears of true depression and fear began rolling down his cheeks was, “Liv, I saw them remove our poor sweet baby with my own eyes.”
As his last word slipped out, I could feel a searing pain. I was going into labor, and for the first time I was worried what that meant.
When I wake up I realize I am no longer home. In between bouts of unconsciousness, I take in the scene around me. The doctor screaming “WE HAVE TO SAVE IT!” and it all comes rushing back. I got told I was not pregnant by my husband and immediately went into labor. Which in my haze is a very hard sequence of events to process, hell even in my right mind that would be a difficult one.
I start stirring and the doctor notices and looks down at me, beaming with pride. My husband in a chair clearly drugged also is starting to rouse and try and piece together what happened. All he can keep repeating is, “what is it?” in a stupor. Like he truly couldn’t process what happened and what was currently happening.
As I become more aware, I try and find my voice. While raspy I am able to gasp out the words, “Where is my baby?!”
The doctor looks at me the pride evaporating and a cold expression taking over his face. “Your baby died months ago. Your husband watched us remove it. However, he did not see that I went on to take advantage of your willing and ready womb by implanting something much more important than you or your child would ever become.”
I blink taking in this information. I felt this thing grow in me, thought it was a part of me, loved it more than I loved myself. But that’s when I thought it was my child, my stomach begins turning and bile begins to raise into my throat.
“Would you like to hold what you brought to life, what you birthed?” The doctor said with a look of pure curiosity crossing his face.
“Yes..” I gasp before I can rationally consider his proposition.
Walking over with a bundle, he places it into my arms, and I look down with severe trepidation. Even though I have never seen it, I know it’s the thing I felt so connected to and somehow still do. Pulling the blanket away I see what could only be described as an abomination.
It was three different children stitched together to almost become one but not quite. Clearly in pain and not meant to exist. As a look of horror crosses my face the doctor sighs.
“I was hoping for a better reaction, that maternal instinct may win out. Too bad. Considering one of those babies IS yours. These three babies couldn’t make it on their own but together they could. I tried many times, but you are the first one to actually be able to last full term and have the baby survive. I hoped maternal instinct would have won over, it would have been easier.”
The bile rises again and I listen on in terror.
The doctor continues, “Since you’re the only one this has been successful with, there will be many more attempts we will require your hospitable womb for.”
submitted by Witchywoman4201 to nosleep [link] [comments]
The first few months my husband was extremely supportive. Waiting on me hand and foot, massages even though I wasn’t even showing yet. As the second trimester marched on his excitement only grew, slowly watching the baby grow at doctor’s appointments with me.
On the way out of a doctor’s appointment I tripped and landed terribly. Luckily we were right outside the doctor’s office so we could get help immediately. I faint at the sight of blood, so I don’t remember much after touching between my legs and finding crimson stains on my fingertips. When I woke up I was dazed but was so happy to feel my baby still doing gymnastics in my stomach.
My husband, however, must have become frightened that something would happen and slowly started to detach himself from my whole pregnancy. He only offered grunts in support as I picked out colors for the nursery. We had a late term pregnancy loss before so he was just scared of losing a baby again. It was easier to detach than accept something may happen. But you can’t live in the what if’s.
As I began to unpack the furniture for the nursery and set up the cameras for the baby monitor, I could see my husband's discomfort grow. His physical demeanor only got worse the more I progressed with the furniture.
Finally he stood up and shouted what he apparently had been holding in the last two months. “You aren’t pregnant anymore Liv! You lost the baby with the fall, there was nothing the doctor could do! A therapist told me to let you grieve how you saw fit but I can’t do this anymore! It is torture to watch you decorate our dead child’s nursery.”
I didn’t say a word, and just put his hand on my stomach because as I explained to him, I don’t care what the doctor says. I know my body and my baby. As he began to roll his eyes and was just about to lift his hand the baby kicked hard. My husband's face went from disbelief to horror.
All he could mutter as tears of true depression and fear began rolling down his cheeks was, “Liv, I saw them remove our poor sweet baby with my own eyes.”
As his last word slipped out, I could feel a searing pain. I was going into labor, and for the first time I was worried what that meant.
I start stirring and the doctor notices and looks down at me, beaming with pride. My husband in a chair clearly drugged also is starting to rouse and try and piece together what happened. All he can keep repeating is, “what is it?” in a stupor. Like he truly couldn’t process what happened and what was currently happening.
As I become more aware, I try and find my voice. While raspy I am able to gasp out the words, “Where is my baby?!”
The doctor looks at me the pride evaporating and a cold expression taking over his face. “Your baby died months ago. Your husband watched us remove it. However, he did not see that I went on to take advantage of your willing and ready womb by implanting something much more important than you or your child would ever become.”
I blink taking in this information. I felt this thing grow in me, thought it was a part of me, loved it more than I loved myself. But that’s when I thought it was my child, my stomach begins turning and bile begins to raise into my throat.
“Would you like to hold what you brought to life, what you birthed?” The doctor said with a look of pure curiosity crossing his face.
“Yes..” I gasp before I can rationally consider his proposition.
Walking over with a bundle, he places it into my arms, and I look down with severe trepidation. Even though I have never seen it, I know it’s the thing I felt so connected to and somehow still do. Pulling the blanket away I see what could only be described as an abomination.
It was three different children stitched together to almost become one but not quite. Clearly in pain and not meant to exist. As a look of horror crosses my face the doctor sighs.
“I was hoping for a better reaction, that maternal instinct may win out. Too bad. Considering one of those babies IS yours. These three babies couldn’t make it on their own but together they could. I tried many times, but you are the first one to actually be able to last full term and have the baby survive. I hoped maternal instinct would have won over, it would have been easier.”
The bile rises again and I listen on in terror.
The doctor continues, “Since you’re the only one this has been successful with, there will be many more attempts we will require your hospitable womb for.”
2024.05.17 09:58 Resident1567899 The Quran can't be the Word of God. Islam's version of the Problem of the Trinity
Introduction
Muslims believe the Quran, the holy book of Islam itself is not just a religious book for guidance but also the literal word of god i.e. Allah itself. In everyday conversations, you will hear Muslims call it Kalamullah (Word of God), not in the Christian sense where the Word is Jesus and God but actual sayings, sentences, and words uttered by god himself and compiled into a single book by human hands. While Muslims are proud of their holy book being the literal words of god sent down to all of mankind, there are a few problems with that mainly concerning Islam's doctrinal theology and its core beliefs.
Disclaimer and Notes
Now, before I start, a disclaimer. The issue of the Quran being god's word or not has been one of the most pretentious and divided issues in the Muslim community. Because of this issue, multiple sects (considered deviant and heretical today) popped up in the early years of Islam's history leading to multiple debates, condemnations, and even inquisitions for those that were against the majority-held view in history. So to make it easy considering Islam has tons of historical sects, all of whom held widely different views than modern-day Islam when it comes to the Quran's states as the word of god (or not), this post is aimed at Ashari, Maturidi and Ahlul Hadith/Athari aqeedah sects who make up the majority of Muslims today, collectively considered to be under the umbrella of Ahlul Sunnah Wal Jema'ah (Literally meaning "The People of the Prophet's Tradition and Consensus" or to make it easier to understand "The Followers of the Prophet's Teachings and the Righteous Community"). This term is commonly understood in Islam as those who follow the true and righteous path in Islam which according to the hadiths, out of 73 deviant sects, only 1 (the above I already mention) will be on the correct spiritual path.
Why do I say this problem is akin to the Trinity problem in Christianity? Both are key problems that form the basis of the entire religion, not just for an individual believer but also for the scholars who dabble in religious sciences. Both the Quran and Trinity make up the core fundamental teachings upon which other teachings are established and expanded further. Without these key concepts, the entire premise of both religions (Islam and Christianity) would fall apart within a matter of seconds. Both issues are also hotly debated even to this day. As I mentioned before, the issue of the Quran's creation or non-creation was an important issue that occupied the minds of early-century Muslim scholars and thinkers, to the point schisms and breakaways from the main branch started to emerge. The same thing happened in Christianity with the Trinity which led to excommunication, the Arian controversy, and multiple individual distinct sects, all of whom have a different understanding of what the Trinity is.
Last, I would also like to mention that considering the Trinity has been severely criticized by non-Christians alike as proof of Christianity's falsehood and internal contradictions, then the same should be said with Islam's problem of the Quran's status. However, unlike in Islam, Christianity continued to debate up to the present day and even adopted Greek philosophical concepts to better explain away the Trinity and the relationship between each Divine Person of the Trinity. In Islam, the opposite occurred. Those who used Greek philosophy and rhetoric were condemned as either falling into falsehood or corrupting the religion by introducing pagan concepts. Ironically, the most condemned bunch of the Muslim sects I'll talk about below, the Mutazilites were the ones who most used philosophy which led to their rejection of the Quran's non-createdness.
Due to the decline of the Mutazilite sect, the rise of more conservative movements, and the criticism of Aristotelian philosophical ideas by Al-Ghazali (Note, he wasn't against philosophy, he was against philosophical ideas that went against Islam like the eternity of the world and denying bodily resurrection in the afterlife), theological discussions and debates surrounding the question faded away. Even now, most Muslims consider the issue "solved" and simply adopt one of the three main positions. Unsurprisingly, while the West and Christianity continued adopting new ideas, this means the Muslim positions lacked much substance and arguments seen in Christianity with Greek and Neo-Platonist ideas which in turn, means there are tons of problems with their positions, (which is the whole point of the post)
Now, with that out of the way, let's begin.
How Have Muslims Historically Responded to this Problem?
There are two answers to the question of the Quran's status. One, to affirm that it is the literal word of god from Allah Himself which existed with him since eternity or to affirm it is a created being just like every other creature and human planet earth. The second view doesn't mean that the Quran is simply the work of man, quite the opposite. Rather, it posits that the Quran still holds religious significance as Islam's holy book and is still the Word of God but it was created at a later time by God, not existing eternally with god before the creation of everything. In the second view, the Quran still holds religious significance for praying, guidance, and the basis for Islam, only that it is of a lower status than god himself, being a creation of god that was created at a certain time.
The second view is considered invalid and rejected by all major sects of Islam in the modern era (Ashari, Maturidi, Athari) as a heretical belief that the Mutazilites (The Withdrawers) held. I'm not going to go into who they are, what is their history, or what are their beliefs (you can google it yourself). Just know these are the guys who believe the Quran was a creation of god and were condemned by pretty much every Islamic group and sect from their beginning all the way up to the present modern day. This is one of the only issues where every Islamic sect agrees with each other in condemning this belief, be it Ashari, Maturidi, or Athari. Thus, the second option then is 100% of the table for most Muslims, unless they want to affirm holding beliefs of a heretical group that died out 1000 years ago. I don't think any Muslim will dare to affirm Mutazilite beliefs for fear of ridicule and committing major sins, so there's not much here to discuss. For the sake of brevity, I will address the second view since the one even Muslims will deny and reject. After that, I'll address the Second View
The Second View
But for the sake of argument, I'll assume some rare brave Mutazilite Muslim wants to give it a try. Now, here are some of my questions for you. If the Quran is a creation of god and not the literal Word of God before time immemorial, what is the Quran's relationship with god? You believe these are still words from Allah that help mankind to arrive at the truth and Islam yet at the same you also believe that these were created at a time later than god. How can something that is both speech from god and also created by god himself exist simultaneously at the same time? Anything that is created at a later time means it's a creation, a contingent object that depends on an external creator. It can't be part of god because god is eternal, atemporal, necessary, and independent of everything and anything. If it were god or contained some part of god inside of it, then this is no different than Jesus and the Son of God in Christianity where it contains both a human and godly nature, so does that mean you now believe the Quran to be both god and creation? Just like the Christians who you condemn as a false corrupted religion? This is the First Problem you must face, that be affirming it is both from god and not god, you are throwing yourself into the same pit as Christianity with a dual nature which is already a false religion. I like to call people who affirm this stance "Dualists".
The Second Problem "dualists" face is that this nullifies the Quran's honorific status in Islam, which goes against what the majority of the Muslim world believes in. For Dualists, what is the Quran's honorific and spiritual status in Islam now? We've all seen Muslim riots and protests against the burning or stepping on the Quran by non-Muslims around the world. A man burns or rips up the Quran and the entire Muslim world goes into a frenzy. In Islam, simply placing the Quran on the floor is considered disrespectful and sinful. In the majority of sects today, the Quran must be honored and respected 24/7 partly due to the fact Muslims believe it to be the literal Word. But for Dualists, what is your stance and reason for continuing to respect the Quran? Considering you no longer believe the Quran to be the actual Word, can non-Muslims now vandalize, rip apart, step on, or place the Quran on the floor?? Would you have any problem with it? It's no longer the Word itself but a creation of god. Sure, you might ask others to "respect other religions and beliefs" but aside from this, what else do you have?? Is simply putting a religious book on the floor disrespecting other religions? What makes your holy book now any different from the Jewish and Christian perspectives on their religious books? They don't go into a frenzy every time Bibles are burned or disrespected. Will you do the same thing?
The Third Problem since it's a created thing, wouldn't this also mean that at some point in the future, the Quran no longer exists? That the Quran is finite and will at some point cease to exist? Wouldn't this mean at some point, Islam itself becomes useless because the number one source for everything, the Quran no longer exists? The Quran will cease to exist if it were created, when it happens, will the meaning of the verses and Muslim understanding built up over the centuries also cease to exist? Tafsirs, Fiqh, and Tajwid all suddenly become useless and void of any meaning because the backbone of Islam, the Quran no longer exists. What about the Muslim understanding of what Allah is? Isn't that detrimental should the Quran cease to exist? The best outcome is that Muslims still retain the knowledge but Islam becomes spineless without a religious book and the worst outcome is the complete disintegration of Islam as everything built upon the Quran, now becomes useless. It would mean the complete death of Islam as a major Abrahamic religion.
Next, what about during the Hour, when everything in the heavens and on the Earth will be destroyed and no longer exist? Muslims believe that when the Hour arrives, everything will be destroyed. Every human, child, animal, plant, planet, universe, devil, and angel will die inevitably. Only god remains. Due to this, according to Dualists, will the Quran experience the same fate? All of its verses and Surahs destroyed by god himself. Now I know Muslims, even those of other sects believe the Quran will disappear bit by bit before the Hour as a sign of the impending doom and apocalypse. However, other Muslims believe that yes, the Quran will disappear but the verses themselves remain preserved with god i.e. Allah since these are the literal words of god himself. In a sense, the verses suddenly don't exist, they return back to god.
TLDR, the Dualist Mutazilite view implies a contradiction where the Quran is both God and not God at the same time, it nullifies the Quran's holy status and the divine meaning of the verses, and last, it means the Quran is finite and will cease to exist at some point in the future.
Now, onto the Ashari, Maturidi and Athari sects,
The First View (The Majority)
These three are the most prominent and widely held doctrinal sects in the current Muslim population. I will be splitting the next sections into two sections, Ashari-Maturidi (since both are quite similar and considered a single unified school of thought by Muslim scholars) and the Athari school.
Ashari-Maturidi
The Asharis and Maturidis believe the Quran and its verses to be the literal Word of God itself, with Allah since eternity before time however they believe the book form of the Quran (mushaf), the one which every Muslim holds and reads is of man-made origin. In other words, the verses, sentences, letters, and meaning of the text are from god himself while the cover, paper, ink, writing, and publishing are from mankind. The Ash'ari creed makes a point of difference between the content of the Quran and the physical manifestation of it (in speech or as pages in a book).
The Main Problem with this argument as said by Atharis and Mutazilites is that this strips the Quran of its spiritual and holy essence in Islam. If the real divine aspect of the Quran that came from god itself are the verses and meaning of it only, then should we burn every last Quran in the world, it wouldn't be a problem. After all, the divine part still exists as it is from and with god himself, only the earthly worldly portions of it get destroyed. Why's that a problem? I mean what is the problem spiritually concerning Islam's doctrinal theology itself? What's the problem with destroying the cover or vandalizing the writing of it? It's not from god, it's man-made. The effect of this would be enormous.
This means now non-Muslims and Islamaphobes can now burn, rip, tear apart, step on, vandalize, and desecrate the Quran because they are only destroying the part that is not divine. Would Asharis or Maturidis agree to this? Is now destroying the Quran not a major sin but actually allowed? The true essence of the Quran i.e. the part that is truly divine remains preserved and exists since humans were created and will continue to exist long after everything has died and withered away. The vandalization and desecration of it does not affect the Quran because the true divine verses and meaning remain preserved. This problem is similar to the Second Problem with the Mutazilite belief, it nullifies and strips away the Quran's holy status and honorific place among the Muslim community. If it isn't truly god's divine word, what's the problem if it gets destroyed, wet, or burned?
Heck, I've heard this same argument from other sects, claiming and accusing the Ashari are just Mutazilites in disguise because their main stance of the Quran's identity revolves back to the Mutazilite position where the Quran is a creation of god. One of the main accusations against the Ashari sect is that it's just a rehash version of Mutazilite or Jahmiyyah theology (I don't have time to explain what this is right now, better if you look it up yourselves) due to similarities in doctrine and also because Imam Ashari, the founder was once a Mutazilite himself (not helping the Ashari case) but Asharis claim he renounced all Mutazilite theology and returned back to the true correct path. In this case, should the objection above against the Ashari-Maturidi position succeed, then it would help critics a lot against Asharism.
The Second Problem with holding the Ashari position is that this resembles the idolatry of Hinduism and Paganism or at least, is slipping into idolatry practice. If they claim the Speech of God is contained within the letters, pages, and ink of the Mushaf (the Quran's Uthmanic standardized codex), then how dare they believe the actions of humans can absorb and physicalize the Sacred Divine Speech of God, for Muslims believe god can never be limited by His creatures. This would also mean they believe the ink written on the Quran's pages is a physical intermediary, designed to encapsulate the Speech of God into a physical form, no different than the idols of Hindus and Pagans who believe their idols to be an intermediary or a worldly representation of the True Divine Nature.
Hindus don't claim they worship idols, rather they believe them to be ways to spiritually connect with the divine as a locus for prayer just like how Muslims consider the Kaaba as the direction for prayer, not an idol for worship or as a reminder for believers of the faith similar to how a photo of a spiritual leader is a sign of respect and a daily reminder every-day when you wake up. How is this different than believing the ink inside the Quran holds the truth or emulates the Divine Nature from the Ashari claim? Ashari Muslims affirm the Quran is still the Word of God just represented through a physical form, so how is this not idolatry? Believing that a physical human-made physical manifestation holds the Divine Speech so that followers of Islam can get closer to god?
This would be even worse than the Mutazilites, for committing idolatry whether intentionally or not is a major grave sin in Islam, to the point those that who commit it and do not repent back are considered as Kafir (infidels). If even they aren't committing idolatry and shirk (polytheism), another major sin in Islam, then at the very least, they believe that a divine part of God can be captured inside the ink and pen of writers as if they the Speech of God and the ink become one and the same, another reference to the Christian belief of God having both a Divine and Human Nature. Of course, Muslims and Ashari Muslims consider this to be heretical and blasphemous, but what's the difference between believing the Quran is both man-made and divine versus the Christological belief of Jesus being both God and Man?
The Third Problem with the Ashari answer that the Quran itself is created while the Speech of God isn't is where is the Speech of God then? Asharis can't answer that it is still in heaven for they also believe the Mushaf or Quran contains the Word and Speech of God. If they believe that it is still in heaven with god and not on earth, then what are they even reading every day? Clearly not the Speech of God if they claim it isn't with us now, perhaps an imperfect human copy of the divine Speech of God but that would mean the Quran is imperfect and the work of man, which would be affirming the Mutazilite position. So they can't claim it is both in the heavens and on the earth nor claim it is either in the heavens only or on the earth with mankind only.
I already explained they also can't say the Speech of God is contained inside the ink and letters of the Quran for that means the Divine Speech has become limited because of it. God in Islam can never be limited, nor can His creatures limit god. So if isn't option A, B, or C, where is the Holy Sacred Speech of God then? The Speech which is supposed to be the principle guiding force for all of mankind especially, Muslims. How can Asharis then claim they believe in the Quran as the revelation and Word of God sent down to Muhammad if they can't tell us where in their holy book, is the Speech of God itself? At worst, this means the Ashari belief entails the Quran isn't holy or divine thus eliminating Islam's entire main source and one of the 6 pillars of Iman (faith), and at best, reading the Quran isn't a holy act nor can be used as a book for guidance, for Muslims aren't reading the Word of God then. They are reading an imperfect fallible man-made copy of the Speech of God, not the true Divine Inspiration from Allah.
TLDR, the Ashari-Maturidi middle path that the Quran was uncreated and eternal, yet its ink and paper, individual letters and words were created strips the Quran has multiple problems, some may even go against what Islam stands for. It strips the Quran of its Divine Sacred Essence as the Word of God, at worse it may lead to shirk and idolatry akin to the Hindus and Pagans, and at best, Asharis can't point to us where the Word and Speech of God is in the Quran.
Athari/Ahlul Hadith
Now for the Atharis, they are strict literalists who believe the Quran and Allah's Speech both are uncreated unlike the Asharis/Maturidis who adopt a middle path, or the Mutazilite who outright claim the Quran was created, the extreme position.
The First Problem with the Athari position is pretty clear, if the Quran is the literal Word of God completely, then does that mean what Muslims are holding is a literal piece of God here on earth in the moral realm? Does that mean god is with us all the time? How can god, who Muslims consider as being transcendent be here on earth with mankind? If the Quran is the literal physical Speech of God and not just metaphorically or analogically, then does this mean the Speech of God exists on Earth? How can god be here on Earth? The Atharis believe literally that the Quran is the Speech of God, so unless they claim the Speech of God suddenly transformed into a physical object (which I'll address below), the Quran would be a god or at least have a piece of the divine essence of Allah.
This is no different than the Christian position where there exists a God in heaven and a God on Earth at the same time. As I already mentioned, Muslims consider the Christian position of a god on earth unacceptable yet when we look at their own views, we find (in the Athari case) a piece of god exists on earth. Allah still exists in the heavens, yet the Speech of God exists here in the Quran. Let's not even get into the issue of a transcendent god existing in the mortal physical realm, where the laws of physics govern meaning god would be limited in some capacity (which most Muslims would see as ridiculous)
The Second Problem is the relationship between the Quran (God's Speech) and God himself. Considering the Quran was revealed to Muhammad and sent down by Gabriel, how should we understand the Speech of God is here now? Do Atharis believe that the Speech of God suddenly separated from the main body when the Quran was revealed and sent down to earth? Or do Atharis believe the Quran is still the undivided Speech of God, in which case a part of god is literally on earth?
Or what about when the Quran was compiled in book form starting with Abu Bakr's reign and ending with Uthman's standardization? Should we take this to mean now not only does the Speech of God literally exist on earth but the Speech of God now has taken shape, molded into letters and words while compiled into a book equipped with paper pages and covers from front to back? If they want to deny these are from god i.e. the physical cover is man-made, then they would be subscribing to the Ashari-Maturidi doctrine of the middle path (which I already showed also has problems). If they want to take the other path and claim the Quran we have now is not the Word of God literally, then they would be subscribing to the heretical Mutazilite position which also, has tons of religious and doctrinal problems.
TLDR, the Athari literalist position invites more harm than good when it comes to answering the question of the Quran's uncreated nature. It would mean god is literally on earth, or a piece of god's divine essence is. Affirming that a piece of the Divine Essence exists here on earth with mankind would be something similar to the Christian belief that god exists both in the heavens and on earth (Father and Son). Other than that, it would also complicate the relationship between the Quran and God even more. If the Quran is the literal Word and Speech of God, how do Atharis explain the Quran's standardization into a single written book with ink, paper, and covers? Does it mean the Speech of God underwent a physical transformation?
Consequences
Islam posits the Quran to be the Word of God from Allah Himself, however how exactly does that work leads to massive problems within Islam's doctrinal framework. Muslims can't state the Quran is the true literal Speech of God otherwise they would be committing a blasphemous act by believing god is literally on earth with us at this very moment. They also can't deny it is the Speech of God for Islam considers the Quran to be the perfect Kalamullah (literally the Word of God). It is one of the core tenets of belief that Muslims believe the Quran to be the actual Words of God sent down to Muhammad as the last revelation. They also can't adopt a middle path like the Asharis-Maturidis because I've already shown that this just leaves the Quran inside a grey area, it's both the Word of God and also not the Word of God at the same time. Other problems are also relevant which I've already discussed above. Either the middle approach collapses into itself, becoming either one the extreme views, literal divine affirmation like the Atharis, or the extreme divine nullification like the Mutazilites.
Other religions don't have this problem. They do not believe Jesus or Moses were gifted the actual literal Words and Speech of God which existed since time immemorial. Christians believe the Bible was divinely authored by the Apostles of Jesus, where the Holy Spirit guides the writers of the Bible into writing down the true teachings of Jesus and Christianity. Christians don't believe the Bible's passages are the literal Speech of God which has existed with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit as if affirming the Bible was also another Divine Person of the Trinity. No, only Muslims as far as I know affirm both their Holy Book contains the Speech of God which both exists on Earth and also with God up in heaven but that leaves them in a contradiction of whether to affirm the Quran is God Himself on Earth or the true Words of God are still up in heaven. After all, how can the Divine Nature which is uncorrupted and perfect exist in a world not perfect, but actually filled with sin, corruption, and spiritual pollution?
In the end, Muslims face a dilemma with regard to the Quran's Holy and Divine Nature. This a dilemma which after going through all the possible Muslim answers that have been given over the years, still fails to give us a proper satisfying answer.
Conclusion
All the responses and viewpoints of the major Islamic sects fail to answer the question, of whether the Quran is created or not. They tried to square a circle by trying to find a balance between affirming the Quran is the divine Word of God while at the same time not falling into a literalist interpretation where god is on Earth (as the Atharis do). However, all responses so far have failed to properly find the right solution, all either fall into extremities at both ends of the spectrum (Mutazilite and Athari) or tried to strike a balance, but only managed to kick the can down the road even further.
If Christianity has the Problem of the Trinity, a major fundamental question that still has philosophers and theologians scratching their heads trying to find an answer, then the Problem of the Quran's Nature is the Islamic version of it. The difference is while Christians continue to debate and argue about the Trinity's true nature, Muslim and Islamic scholars have relatively abandoned the debate, choosing to hold either one of the three major schools of thought. My personal opinion is this is an unfortunate situation, ever since the decline of philosophy in Islamic thought, Kalam and Falsafah (Islamic philosophy) have gained a bad reputation amongst Muslims as being a "gateway to blasphemy". Rarely you will find Muslim scholars in the modern era debate about this, let alone teach laymen Muslims about these topics.
At the very least, I hope my post can inspire future Muslims to look into this topic further, creating new fascinating answers and arguments that contribute to the Muslim and non-Muslim understanding of what Allah is in Islam.
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Muslims believe the Quran, the holy book of Islam itself is not just a religious book for guidance but also the literal word of god i.e. Allah itself. In everyday conversations, you will hear Muslims call it Kalamullah (Word of God), not in the Christian sense where the Word is Jesus and God but actual sayings, sentences, and words uttered by god himself and compiled into a single book by human hands. While Muslims are proud of their holy book being the literal words of god sent down to all of mankind, there are a few problems with that mainly concerning Islam's doctrinal theology and its core beliefs.
Disclaimer and Notes
Now, before I start, a disclaimer. The issue of the Quran being god's word or not has been one of the most pretentious and divided issues in the Muslim community. Because of this issue, multiple sects (considered deviant and heretical today) popped up in the early years of Islam's history leading to multiple debates, condemnations, and even inquisitions for those that were against the majority-held view in history. So to make it easy considering Islam has tons of historical sects, all of whom held widely different views than modern-day Islam when it comes to the Quran's states as the word of god (or not), this post is aimed at Ashari, Maturidi and Ahlul Hadith/Athari aqeedah sects who make up the majority of Muslims today, collectively considered to be under the umbrella of Ahlul Sunnah Wal Jema'ah (Literally meaning "The People of the Prophet's Tradition and Consensus" or to make it easier to understand "The Followers of the Prophet's Teachings and the Righteous Community"). This term is commonly understood in Islam as those who follow the true and righteous path in Islam which according to the hadiths, out of 73 deviant sects, only 1 (the above I already mention) will be on the correct spiritual path.
Why do I say this problem is akin to the Trinity problem in Christianity? Both are key problems that form the basis of the entire religion, not just for an individual believer but also for the scholars who dabble in religious sciences. Both the Quran and Trinity make up the core fundamental teachings upon which other teachings are established and expanded further. Without these key concepts, the entire premise of both religions (Islam and Christianity) would fall apart within a matter of seconds. Both issues are also hotly debated even to this day. As I mentioned before, the issue of the Quran's creation or non-creation was an important issue that occupied the minds of early-century Muslim scholars and thinkers, to the point schisms and breakaways from the main branch started to emerge. The same thing happened in Christianity with the Trinity which led to excommunication, the Arian controversy, and multiple individual distinct sects, all of whom have a different understanding of what the Trinity is.
Last, I would also like to mention that considering the Trinity has been severely criticized by non-Christians alike as proof of Christianity's falsehood and internal contradictions, then the same should be said with Islam's problem of the Quran's status. However, unlike in Islam, Christianity continued to debate up to the present day and even adopted Greek philosophical concepts to better explain away the Trinity and the relationship between each Divine Person of the Trinity. In Islam, the opposite occurred. Those who used Greek philosophy and rhetoric were condemned as either falling into falsehood or corrupting the religion by introducing pagan concepts. Ironically, the most condemned bunch of the Muslim sects I'll talk about below, the Mutazilites were the ones who most used philosophy which led to their rejection of the Quran's non-createdness.
Due to the decline of the Mutazilite sect, the rise of more conservative movements, and the criticism of Aristotelian philosophical ideas by Al-Ghazali (Note, he wasn't against philosophy, he was against philosophical ideas that went against Islam like the eternity of the world and denying bodily resurrection in the afterlife), theological discussions and debates surrounding the question faded away. Even now, most Muslims consider the issue "solved" and simply adopt one of the three main positions. Unsurprisingly, while the West and Christianity continued adopting new ideas, this means the Muslim positions lacked much substance and arguments seen in Christianity with Greek and Neo-Platonist ideas which in turn, means there are tons of problems with their positions, (which is the whole point of the post)
Now, with that out of the way, let's begin.
How Have Muslims Historically Responded to this Problem?
There are two answers to the question of the Quran's status. One, to affirm that it is the literal word of god from Allah Himself which existed with him since eternity or to affirm it is a created being just like every other creature and human planet earth. The second view doesn't mean that the Quran is simply the work of man, quite the opposite. Rather, it posits that the Quran still holds religious significance as Islam's holy book and is still the Word of God but it was created at a later time by God, not existing eternally with god before the creation of everything. In the second view, the Quran still holds religious significance for praying, guidance, and the basis for Islam, only that it is of a lower status than god himself, being a creation of god that was created at a certain time.
The second view is considered invalid and rejected by all major sects of Islam in the modern era (Ashari, Maturidi, Athari) as a heretical belief that the Mutazilites (The Withdrawers) held. I'm not going to go into who they are, what is their history, or what are their beliefs (you can google it yourself). Just know these are the guys who believe the Quran was a creation of god and were condemned by pretty much every Islamic group and sect from their beginning all the way up to the present modern day. This is one of the only issues where every Islamic sect agrees with each other in condemning this belief, be it Ashari, Maturidi, or Athari. Thus, the second option then is 100% of the table for most Muslims, unless they want to affirm holding beliefs of a heretical group that died out 1000 years ago. I don't think any Muslim will dare to affirm Mutazilite beliefs for fear of ridicule and committing major sins, so there's not much here to discuss. For the sake of brevity, I will address the second view since the one even Muslims will deny and reject. After that, I'll address the Second View
The Second View
But for the sake of argument, I'll assume some rare brave Mutazilite Muslim wants to give it a try. Now, here are some of my questions for you. If the Quran is a creation of god and not the literal Word of God before time immemorial, what is the Quran's relationship with god? You believe these are still words from Allah that help mankind to arrive at the truth and Islam yet at the same you also believe that these were created at a time later than god. How can something that is both speech from god and also created by god himself exist simultaneously at the same time? Anything that is created at a later time means it's a creation, a contingent object that depends on an external creator. It can't be part of god because god is eternal, atemporal, necessary, and independent of everything and anything. If it were god or contained some part of god inside of it, then this is no different than Jesus and the Son of God in Christianity where it contains both a human and godly nature, so does that mean you now believe the Quran to be both god and creation? Just like the Christians who you condemn as a false corrupted religion? This is the First Problem you must face, that be affirming it is both from god and not god, you are throwing yourself into the same pit as Christianity with a dual nature which is already a false religion. I like to call people who affirm this stance "Dualists".
The Second Problem "dualists" face is that this nullifies the Quran's honorific status in Islam, which goes against what the majority of the Muslim world believes in. For Dualists, what is the Quran's honorific and spiritual status in Islam now? We've all seen Muslim riots and protests against the burning or stepping on the Quran by non-Muslims around the world. A man burns or rips up the Quran and the entire Muslim world goes into a frenzy. In Islam, simply placing the Quran on the floor is considered disrespectful and sinful. In the majority of sects today, the Quran must be honored and respected 24/7 partly due to the fact Muslims believe it to be the literal Word. But for Dualists, what is your stance and reason for continuing to respect the Quran? Considering you no longer believe the Quran to be the actual Word, can non-Muslims now vandalize, rip apart, step on, or place the Quran on the floor?? Would you have any problem with it? It's no longer the Word itself but a creation of god. Sure, you might ask others to "respect other religions and beliefs" but aside from this, what else do you have?? Is simply putting a religious book on the floor disrespecting other religions? What makes your holy book now any different from the Jewish and Christian perspectives on their religious books? They don't go into a frenzy every time Bibles are burned or disrespected. Will you do the same thing?
The Third Problem since it's a created thing, wouldn't this also mean that at some point in the future, the Quran no longer exists? That the Quran is finite and will at some point cease to exist? Wouldn't this mean at some point, Islam itself becomes useless because the number one source for everything, the Quran no longer exists? The Quran will cease to exist if it were created, when it happens, will the meaning of the verses and Muslim understanding built up over the centuries also cease to exist? Tafsirs, Fiqh, and Tajwid all suddenly become useless and void of any meaning because the backbone of Islam, the Quran no longer exists. What about the Muslim understanding of what Allah is? Isn't that detrimental should the Quran cease to exist? The best outcome is that Muslims still retain the knowledge but Islam becomes spineless without a religious book and the worst outcome is the complete disintegration of Islam as everything built upon the Quran, now becomes useless. It would mean the complete death of Islam as a major Abrahamic religion.
Next, what about during the Hour, when everything in the heavens and on the Earth will be destroyed and no longer exist? Muslims believe that when the Hour arrives, everything will be destroyed. Every human, child, animal, plant, planet, universe, devil, and angel will die inevitably. Only god remains. Due to this, according to Dualists, will the Quran experience the same fate? All of its verses and Surahs destroyed by god himself. Now I know Muslims, even those of other sects believe the Quran will disappear bit by bit before the Hour as a sign of the impending doom and apocalypse. However, other Muslims believe that yes, the Quran will disappear but the verses themselves remain preserved with god i.e. Allah since these are the literal words of god himself. In a sense, the verses suddenly don't exist, they return back to god.
TLDR, the Dualist Mutazilite view implies a contradiction where the Quran is both God and not God at the same time, it nullifies the Quran's holy status and the divine meaning of the verses, and last, it means the Quran is finite and will cease to exist at some point in the future.
Now, onto the Ashari, Maturidi and Athari sects,
The First View (The Majority)
These three are the most prominent and widely held doctrinal sects in the current Muslim population. I will be splitting the next sections into two sections, Ashari-Maturidi (since both are quite similar and considered a single unified school of thought by Muslim scholars) and the Athari school.
Ashari-Maturidi
The Asharis and Maturidis believe the Quran and its verses to be the literal Word of God itself, with Allah since eternity before time however they believe the book form of the Quran (mushaf), the one which every Muslim holds and reads is of man-made origin. In other words, the verses, sentences, letters, and meaning of the text are from god himself while the cover, paper, ink, writing, and publishing are from mankind. The Ash'ari creed makes a point of difference between the content of the Quran and the physical manifestation of it (in speech or as pages in a book).
The Main Problem with this argument as said by Atharis and Mutazilites is that this strips the Quran of its spiritual and holy essence in Islam. If the real divine aspect of the Quran that came from god itself are the verses and meaning of it only, then should we burn every last Quran in the world, it wouldn't be a problem. After all, the divine part still exists as it is from and with god himself, only the earthly worldly portions of it get destroyed. Why's that a problem? I mean what is the problem spiritually concerning Islam's doctrinal theology itself? What's the problem with destroying the cover or vandalizing the writing of it? It's not from god, it's man-made. The effect of this would be enormous.
This means now non-Muslims and Islamaphobes can now burn, rip, tear apart, step on, vandalize, and desecrate the Quran because they are only destroying the part that is not divine. Would Asharis or Maturidis agree to this? Is now destroying the Quran not a major sin but actually allowed? The true essence of the Quran i.e. the part that is truly divine remains preserved and exists since humans were created and will continue to exist long after everything has died and withered away. The vandalization and desecration of it does not affect the Quran because the true divine verses and meaning remain preserved. This problem is similar to the Second Problem with the Mutazilite belief, it nullifies and strips away the Quran's holy status and honorific place among the Muslim community. If it isn't truly god's divine word, what's the problem if it gets destroyed, wet, or burned?
Heck, I've heard this same argument from other sects, claiming and accusing the Ashari are just Mutazilites in disguise because their main stance of the Quran's identity revolves back to the Mutazilite position where the Quran is a creation of god. One of the main accusations against the Ashari sect is that it's just a rehash version of Mutazilite or Jahmiyyah theology (I don't have time to explain what this is right now, better if you look it up yourselves) due to similarities in doctrine and also because Imam Ashari, the founder was once a Mutazilite himself (not helping the Ashari case) but Asharis claim he renounced all Mutazilite theology and returned back to the true correct path. In this case, should the objection above against the Ashari-Maturidi position succeed, then it would help critics a lot against Asharism.
The Second Problem with holding the Ashari position is that this resembles the idolatry of Hinduism and Paganism or at least, is slipping into idolatry practice. If they claim the Speech of God is contained within the letters, pages, and ink of the Mushaf (the Quran's Uthmanic standardized codex), then how dare they believe the actions of humans can absorb and physicalize the Sacred Divine Speech of God, for Muslims believe god can never be limited by His creatures. This would also mean they believe the ink written on the Quran's pages is a physical intermediary, designed to encapsulate the Speech of God into a physical form, no different than the idols of Hindus and Pagans who believe their idols to be an intermediary or a worldly representation of the True Divine Nature.
Hindus don't claim they worship idols, rather they believe them to be ways to spiritually connect with the divine as a locus for prayer just like how Muslims consider the Kaaba as the direction for prayer, not an idol for worship or as a reminder for believers of the faith similar to how a photo of a spiritual leader is a sign of respect and a daily reminder every-day when you wake up. How is this different than believing the ink inside the Quran holds the truth or emulates the Divine Nature from the Ashari claim? Ashari Muslims affirm the Quran is still the Word of God just represented through a physical form, so how is this not idolatry? Believing that a physical human-made physical manifestation holds the Divine Speech so that followers of Islam can get closer to god?
This would be even worse than the Mutazilites, for committing idolatry whether intentionally or not is a major grave sin in Islam, to the point those that who commit it and do not repent back are considered as Kafir (infidels). If even they aren't committing idolatry and shirk (polytheism), another major sin in Islam, then at the very least, they believe that a divine part of God can be captured inside the ink and pen of writers as if they the Speech of God and the ink become one and the same, another reference to the Christian belief of God having both a Divine and Human Nature. Of course, Muslims and Ashari Muslims consider this to be heretical and blasphemous, but what's the difference between believing the Quran is both man-made and divine versus the Christological belief of Jesus being both God and Man?
The Third Problem with the Ashari answer that the Quran itself is created while the Speech of God isn't is where is the Speech of God then? Asharis can't answer that it is still in heaven for they also believe the Mushaf or Quran contains the Word and Speech of God. If they believe that it is still in heaven with god and not on earth, then what are they even reading every day? Clearly not the Speech of God if they claim it isn't with us now, perhaps an imperfect human copy of the divine Speech of God but that would mean the Quran is imperfect and the work of man, which would be affirming the Mutazilite position. So they can't claim it is both in the heavens and on the earth nor claim it is either in the heavens only or on the earth with mankind only.
I already explained they also can't say the Speech of God is contained inside the ink and letters of the Quran for that means the Divine Speech has become limited because of it. God in Islam can never be limited, nor can His creatures limit god. So if isn't option A, B, or C, where is the Holy Sacred Speech of God then? The Speech which is supposed to be the principle guiding force for all of mankind especially, Muslims. How can Asharis then claim they believe in the Quran as the revelation and Word of God sent down to Muhammad if they can't tell us where in their holy book, is the Speech of God itself? At worst, this means the Ashari belief entails the Quran isn't holy or divine thus eliminating Islam's entire main source and one of the 6 pillars of Iman (faith), and at best, reading the Quran isn't a holy act nor can be used as a book for guidance, for Muslims aren't reading the Word of God then. They are reading an imperfect fallible man-made copy of the Speech of God, not the true Divine Inspiration from Allah.
TLDR, the Ashari-Maturidi middle path that the Quran was uncreated and eternal, yet its ink and paper, individual letters and words were created strips the Quran has multiple problems, some may even go against what Islam stands for. It strips the Quran of its Divine Sacred Essence as the Word of God, at worse it may lead to shirk and idolatry akin to the Hindus and Pagans, and at best, Asharis can't point to us where the Word and Speech of God is in the Quran.
Athari/Ahlul Hadith
Now for the Atharis, they are strict literalists who believe the Quran and Allah's Speech both are uncreated unlike the Asharis/Maturidis who adopt a middle path, or the Mutazilite who outright claim the Quran was created, the extreme position.
The First Problem with the Athari position is pretty clear, if the Quran is the literal Word of God completely, then does that mean what Muslims are holding is a literal piece of God here on earth in the moral realm? Does that mean god is with us all the time? How can god, who Muslims consider as being transcendent be here on earth with mankind? If the Quran is the literal physical Speech of God and not just metaphorically or analogically, then does this mean the Speech of God exists on Earth? How can god be here on Earth? The Atharis believe literally that the Quran is the Speech of God, so unless they claim the Speech of God suddenly transformed into a physical object (which I'll address below), the Quran would be a god or at least have a piece of the divine essence of Allah.
This is no different than the Christian position where there exists a God in heaven and a God on Earth at the same time. As I already mentioned, Muslims consider the Christian position of a god on earth unacceptable yet when we look at their own views, we find (in the Athari case) a piece of god exists on earth. Allah still exists in the heavens, yet the Speech of God exists here in the Quran. Let's not even get into the issue of a transcendent god existing in the mortal physical realm, where the laws of physics govern meaning god would be limited in some capacity (which most Muslims would see as ridiculous)
The Second Problem is the relationship between the Quran (God's Speech) and God himself. Considering the Quran was revealed to Muhammad and sent down by Gabriel, how should we understand the Speech of God is here now? Do Atharis believe that the Speech of God suddenly separated from the main body when the Quran was revealed and sent down to earth? Or do Atharis believe the Quran is still the undivided Speech of God, in which case a part of god is literally on earth?
Or what about when the Quran was compiled in book form starting with Abu Bakr's reign and ending with Uthman's standardization? Should we take this to mean now not only does the Speech of God literally exist on earth but the Speech of God now has taken shape, molded into letters and words while compiled into a book equipped with paper pages and covers from front to back? If they want to deny these are from god i.e. the physical cover is man-made, then they would be subscribing to the Ashari-Maturidi doctrine of the middle path (which I already showed also has problems). If they want to take the other path and claim the Quran we have now is not the Word of God literally, then they would be subscribing to the heretical Mutazilite position which also, has tons of religious and doctrinal problems.
TLDR, the Athari literalist position invites more harm than good when it comes to answering the question of the Quran's uncreated nature. It would mean god is literally on earth, or a piece of god's divine essence is. Affirming that a piece of the Divine Essence exists here on earth with mankind would be something similar to the Christian belief that god exists both in the heavens and on earth (Father and Son). Other than that, it would also complicate the relationship between the Quran and God even more. If the Quran is the literal Word and Speech of God, how do Atharis explain the Quran's standardization into a single written book with ink, paper, and covers? Does it mean the Speech of God underwent a physical transformation?
Consequences
Islam posits the Quran to be the Word of God from Allah Himself, however how exactly does that work leads to massive problems within Islam's doctrinal framework. Muslims can't state the Quran is the true literal Speech of God otherwise they would be committing a blasphemous act by believing god is literally on earth with us at this very moment. They also can't deny it is the Speech of God for Islam considers the Quran to be the perfect Kalamullah (literally the Word of God). It is one of the core tenets of belief that Muslims believe the Quran to be the actual Words of God sent down to Muhammad as the last revelation. They also can't adopt a middle path like the Asharis-Maturidis because I've already shown that this just leaves the Quran inside a grey area, it's both the Word of God and also not the Word of God at the same time. Other problems are also relevant which I've already discussed above. Either the middle approach collapses into itself, becoming either one the extreme views, literal divine affirmation like the Atharis, or the extreme divine nullification like the Mutazilites.
Other religions don't have this problem. They do not believe Jesus or Moses were gifted the actual literal Words and Speech of God which existed since time immemorial. Christians believe the Bible was divinely authored by the Apostles of Jesus, where the Holy Spirit guides the writers of the Bible into writing down the true teachings of Jesus and Christianity. Christians don't believe the Bible's passages are the literal Speech of God which has existed with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit as if affirming the Bible was also another Divine Person of the Trinity. No, only Muslims as far as I know affirm both their Holy Book contains the Speech of God which both exists on Earth and also with God up in heaven but that leaves them in a contradiction of whether to affirm the Quran is God Himself on Earth or the true Words of God are still up in heaven. After all, how can the Divine Nature which is uncorrupted and perfect exist in a world not perfect, but actually filled with sin, corruption, and spiritual pollution?
In the end, Muslims face a dilemma with regard to the Quran's Holy and Divine Nature. This a dilemma which after going through all the possible Muslim answers that have been given over the years, still fails to give us a proper satisfying answer.
Conclusion
All the responses and viewpoints of the major Islamic sects fail to answer the question, of whether the Quran is created or not. They tried to square a circle by trying to find a balance between affirming the Quran is the divine Word of God while at the same time not falling into a literalist interpretation where god is on Earth (as the Atharis do). However, all responses so far have failed to properly find the right solution, all either fall into extremities at both ends of the spectrum (Mutazilite and Athari) or tried to strike a balance, but only managed to kick the can down the road even further.
If Christianity has the Problem of the Trinity, a major fundamental question that still has philosophers and theologians scratching their heads trying to find an answer, then the Problem of the Quran's Nature is the Islamic version of it. The difference is while Christians continue to debate and argue about the Trinity's true nature, Muslim and Islamic scholars have relatively abandoned the debate, choosing to hold either one of the three major schools of thought. My personal opinion is this is an unfortunate situation, ever since the decline of philosophy in Islamic thought, Kalam and Falsafah (Islamic philosophy) have gained a bad reputation amongst Muslims as being a "gateway to blasphemy". Rarely you will find Muslim scholars in the modern era debate about this, let alone teach laymen Muslims about these topics.
At the very least, I hope my post can inspire future Muslims to look into this topic further, creating new fascinating answers and arguments that contribute to the Muslim and non-Muslim understanding of what Allah is in Islam.
2024.05.17 09:53 thecatcher1716 A Broken Promise Rectified - Chapter 9
 | The betrayal of death submitted by thecatcher1716 to ShuumatsuNoValkyrie [link] [comments] Helheim long ago The human population was continuing to increase, and so the son of the primordial Nyx, Thanatos, was given the task of aiding Azrael in his duties. https://preview.redd.it/k69t9s9xzx0d1.png?width=1024&format=png&auto=webp&s=57a1657dcd7be6936df7ecb06800b903cfef888a With the blood of a primordial flowing through him, Thanatos achieved mastery over the souls of humans, able to manipulate them in any way and guide them to the underworld. When assigned these duties, he was given a weapon forged under the command of Nyx, similarly to his siblings. A marvellous scythe was forged and given to the new god of the dead. A white gem where the handle met the blade. Alongside his primordial blood, this scythe made him nigh unstoppable when directly challenged. With this strength, Thanatos was favoured amongst the gods and heralded as the champion of souls while Azrael watched from the corner, all having forgotten that he was the one who stepped up to take the role initially. The years went by and Thanatos continued to be praised from all the pantheons in Valhalla, while Azrael’s only praise came from his own, but even then the praise was minimal. All the words and actions from the other gods slowly melted down his mental state, until he suddenly snapped. ‘If Thanatos were to die while out in Asgard, all fame will be mine as the sole guardian of souls. And with Thanatos gone, his scythe is for the taking. Nyx is gone, who’s to stop me? All I have to do… is kill Thanatos.’ Azrael muttered in the privacy of his room, his own scythe resting against the wall next to him. His corrupted mind was set. He gripped the handle to his own scythe and set out to find Thanatos fulfilling his duties. Azrael scoured the land until he found Thanatos collecting the soul of a young child, solemnly placing the soul in the jewel of his scythe to later return to the underworld. Taking the opportunity, the angel of death silently approached his distracted nemesis and swung with a deep bloodlust, aiming to end this one sided rivalry to rest immediately. The scythe pierced Thanatos’ clothing and chest from behind, digging in between the ribs as it dug into the death god’s torso. Thanatos coughed up blood as he looked down at the blade sticking out of his chest. His vision began to blur as he tightened his grip on his scythe. Without looking, Thanatos swung back behind him to retaliate, but his swing did nothing as Azrael tugged back his scythe, ripping it out from Thanatos who weakly dropped to the floor, his scythe clattering to the ground next to him. ‘Finally! The torment is over! Finally I can get the recognition I deserve! Finally I get power!’ Azrael yelled as he laughed like a maniac. Thanatos shakily reached out to grab his scythe, but Azrael swung his own down at his hand, pinning it to the floor making Thanatos cry out in pain. ‘Oh no, you’re not taking this away from me now.’ Azrael taunted the slowly dying god. ‘It’s been too long now for you to suddenly get out of this with mommy’s special weapon. Your time is up! You can no longer torment me! Everything you have shall be mine! The strength, the fame, the praise! All that you stole from me!’ Azrael twisted his scythe in Thanatos’ hand which slowly turned cold as blood continued to pour out of the wound. Thanatos weakly got in a final breath, before his head dropped to the ground and his body went limp. Azrael’s boot stepped atop the dead god’s head as an act of superiority, pressing the heel down as if to crush the skull. He pulled his scythe out of the corpse’s hand and grabbed the other with his spare hand. With his grip firmly on the scythe, Azrael felt the scythe’s strength flow through him. ‘So this is what he got. This power… It’s magnificent!’ News of Thanatos’ death quickly spread throughout the halls of Valhalla. None ever knew of the true murderer, but all mourned deeply. None except Azrael and Zeus. With Thanatos gone, Azrael was crowned by Zeus as the supreme guide of souls and ‘gifted’ Thanatos' scythe to continue his duties with. All Azrael had to do in exchange was take an oath of silence. Azrael continued his duty as the sole guardian of souls, the threat of Zeus exposing his crime hanging over him as he worked under the thunder god. With the power granted by Thanatos’ scythe, Azrael swiftly took the souls of humans, however not all made it to Helheim. On occasion, he kept the souls trapped in the scythe for his own gain, using them to grant himself strength, the poor souls never seeing the planes of Helheim. Valhalla arena All in the arena watch in a mixture of horror and confusion as the previously composed angel breaks down into a psychotic maniac before them. ‘So the mad angel has finally lost it.’ Hermes comments, having secretly known of his betrayal. ‘To think he would snap here though.’ ‘He’s gone… Insane. He’s bringing such shame to our pantheon.’ Gabriel says, his eyes wide as he watches the scene below. ‘I always suspected there was something else behind him receiving Thanatos’ scythe rather than just receiving a new title.’ Heracles mutters, realising the true meaning behind this breakdown. ‘Is it just me, or does the air feel colder.’ Mordred asks, a shiver running down his spine. ‘This aura he possesses. It’s terrifying.’ Merlin says in shock. ‘Such an unruly beast. We have exposed the dog for what he truly is.’ Golena scoffs. Morgan doesn’t respond as he readies herself for the coming assault, understanding this was where the true fight began. Instead, to everyone’s surprise, Azrael brings the scythe up to his remaining wing, the blade hooking around it, and yanks it down through the bone, cutting off the remaining wing, the feathers floating down to the arena floor. ‘What is Azrael thinking? From having two wings to now having none when they were giving him such an advantage.’ Ares asks from the commentary booth. Azrael readies his scythe, his own blood dripping off the end point. He then shoots forward at Morgan. The scythe hits the forcefield reactively put up to defend, a small crack forming, but Azrael immediately follows up with another strike with a furious speed. Morgan keeps her guard up as Azrael continues his assault, striking with all parts of the blade. The shield smashes again and Morgan is forced to block the scythe with her staff, the scythe narrowly missing her skin. She flicks a single finger and a small spike of ice shoots out. Azrael backs off and is hit in the stomach by a blast of wind, pushing him back to the other side of the arena. In his psychotic fury, Azrael is immediately back on his feet, sprinting down Morgan. ‘Hurry up and die!’ He yells as he swings his scythe back down, Morgan blocks with her staff again, and the jewel glows again as Azrael suddenly increases in speed, circling behind Morgan and swinging again. With no chance to react, Morgan feels as the scythe slashes through her back, similarly to how Azrael attacked Thanatos. Morgan coughs up blood as both hands grip onto the staff. ‘That surely has to be the end!’ Ares yells, seeing the point of the scythe sticking out of Morgan’s chest and all the blood pouring out onto the floor. ‘Has the witch finally met her match?’ Mordred asks. Everyone in the arena spectating doubted the odds of Morgan surviving this, all but two. ‘If she were to die this easily, she’d have no right to call herself my sister. My killer or not, she’s a strong showing of the true might of our blood.’ Arthur comments. ‘Go ahead Morgan, show the true strength behind humanity’s coldness.’ Heracles mutters. Morgan's lips curl into a smirk as she plants the staff on the ground in front of her, blood trickling down from the corner of her mouth. A pulse of energy spreads out of the arena, kicking up the dust on the floor and pushing it to the edges. Azrael pulls his scythe out and is about to attack again when another pulse comes out, forcing him back as the pulse turns into a heatwave. Another pulse and the ground begins to rumble with the force of an earthquake. Another pulse and the moisture in the air begins to condense into droplets that stay suspended in the air. Another pulse and the air becomes charged with static electricity, the metal in Azrael’s scythe becoming charged and shocking the dewinged angel. A final pulse and the air immediately freezes, the droplets turning to ice. All the energy released in the pulses condenses down on top of Morgan and a bright glow comes from her staff. The energy flows throughout all of Morgan’s being, the hole caused by the scythe closing quicker than any wound yet. The energy continues to pulse out to then condense into the tip of the staff until it reaches its maximum density. The energy bursts out across the arena, pushing Azrael even further back. ‘Woah, where did she get that?’ Ishtar asks. ‘How did she live?’ Ares follows up. ‘So the humans all have an extra trick up their sleeve.’ Zeus chuckles. ‘This certainly is fun.’ ‘This human must be desperate now to face Azrael like that.’ Metatron says. ‘Why is she now wearing all that?’ Mordred rhetorically asks. ‘So it seems she’s been taught more than just magic.’ Merlin muses. ‘Let’s see your strength with a weapon then sister.’ Arthur says with a smirk. Down in the arena, all eyes were trained on Morgan, now adorned with glistening armour made of ice, the staff now topped with a blade of a similar material giving the queen of Britannia a similar scythe. ‘Now this is the true strength held in my blood. Now come angel of death, let’s finish like this.’ https://preview.redd.it/cbqtp76vzx0d1.png?width=1024&format=png&auto=webp&s=778b78a9856870e198129ee266e344f872fedb21 Azrael just laughs at the Queen’s confidence and he points his own scythe out in retaliation. ‘You think that will save you now? You’re dumber than I thought! Now hurry up and die for me!’ |
2024.05.17 09:52 Edwardthecrazyman Hiraeth or Where the Children Play: The Preparation for a Night of Demon Burning [13]
First/Previous
The travel took on a less gloomy quality in the day that passed since Gemma’s self-reflection and although there remained a queer distance in her eyes, she seemed in better spirits in losing the weight of the words.
It was a night just beyond Wabash Crevasse that we pushed on till sunset was almost upon us and we were each tired and the food stocks ran low and so we found harbor in a half collapsed cellar where a home once stood; it was only after examining the slatted, rotted boards of the old place, fallen over, tired with decay, that we spied the cellar doors intact; sheets of door metal plied us with safety from the outside world and the interior of the place stank of mold and the deeper recesses were collapsed, but there was a cradle to crossbar the stair hatch and I put my prybar there for the night. We finished the water and canned tomatoes, and I smoked a cigarette, staving off the inevitable doom which would come with the dwindling of our supplies.
I’d peeked through the space where the doors met at the cellar’s entry and watched the full darkness there while the youngins spoke of life and the trivial pursuits of it and I hardly said a word besides.
Sitting on the lowest step with Trouble dumbly maintaining her station by me, by the low glow of the space in the threshold, I saw they’d pushed their bedrolls together and Andrew had fallen asleep with his arm over Gemma’s shoulder and her eyes glowed with shine from the crack, blinked a few times while seeing me; she too eventually drifted to sleep, and I spent time by the secured door.
Gunshots rang across the stillness, and they stirred from their quiet slumber and Gemma asked, “Harlan, is it alright?”
I moved to the space there at the doorway again and listened and watched what I could through that crack and nothing beyond came. “It’s safe. I’ll be up a bit longer. I’ll watch.”
Andrew asked, “Can’t sleep?”
“I’ll sleep in a bit. Don’t worry about me. Rest. Sleep good and we can put more behind us.
They sat up, legs crossed triangle-wise, and Gemma spoke again, “Why do you have such a hard time sleeping? It seems I’m asleep after you and only awake after you too.”
“Yeah,” said Andrew.
“It’s cool at night. I can listen to the wind.” I shrugged.
“You should be the one that tries to get some sleep,” said Andrew.
I said nothing.
They reached out their arms and I shook my head.
“Here,” Gemma said, “Move your bedroll closer.” She reached across the dirt floor of the cellar and dragged my splayed roll so that it sat beside hers.
“I’ll sleep later.” I turned my attention back to the door and ignored them till their sounds of sleep could be heard. The Alukah was nowhere and did not tap on the door that night and when I moved to sleep, I shimmied onto the roll beside them, facing away on my shoulder; the dog followed, laid on the bare dirt beside me and I held the mutt.
Though I refused a noise as they stirred in the absolute darkness, I felt Gemma’s arm fall over my own shoulder and felt Andrew’s hand touch my back, and water traced the bridge of my nose and I slept deeply thereafter.
There was no breakfast without food, and the water was gone; I felt the eyes of the dog on us as we packed up our belongings that next morning and I tried not to imagine the poor animal skinned over fire. I smiled at Trouble, patted its head, scratched its chin; she sniffed my hand like she was looking for something that wouldn’t be found.
We went west again, ignoring roads and pushed through straight wasteland where nothing was and no one was, and with every dry footfall on the dry hard ground, I wished for rain, and I wished that when it had rained, as infrequent as it was, that I had been wise enough to save what we could from the sky; that sky was red and swollen and refused to burst. We pushed on through strange dead thickets where grayed and twisty yellow branches lurched from the ground into the sky like even they too wished for an end to all the suffering. It was days more till we would see Alexandria and though I could stave off hunger (thirst too, if necessary), I was not so certain that the children would be able to push on without it; they did not complain and watched the ground in our march and maintained higher spirits than I could’ve imagined from them.
Early in the day, they spoke often, and I listened and as they wore on, their words came less and even the dog seemed in a lower mood for the unsaid predicament; me too.
Gemma broke the silence on the matter by saying, “What are we going to do about food? Water?”
“We’ll push on.”
“We could turn back?” asked Andrew.
“The more time we spend out in the open, outside of a city, the more likely it is that the Alukah will catch us unawares. Tighten your belts.” Our feet took us around a dilapidated truck, an old thing with a rusty hook which dangled off a rear arm. “Save your urine.”
They made faces but did not protest.
“Does that work? You ever drink pee?” asked Andrew.
I laughed, “I thought we’d be there by now. I took us too long by trying to drop the scent of the Alukah. That thing’s hunted us for days—last night was the first time it ain’t bothered us. It’s got me wondering why.”
Gemma piped up, licking her dry lips before speaking, “Do you think that monster ran into those scavengers we saw?” Then I caught her shooting a look at Andrew, “At least we warned them.” Her smile was faint and almost indiscernible as one.
I shrugged. “Can’t say. Don’t think it’s smart to turn back. Won’t be long and we’ll touch the 40 and then it’ll be a straight on to Babylon—couple of days—can’t turn back though. Maybe without food; that’s doable. Water’s the worst, but if it comes to it,” I paused and looked on the weathered faces of the children, on the lowered head of Trouble which followed her nose across the ground (it searched just short of frantic), “Like I said, ‘save your urine’.”
The first pains of hunger held within me brought up some reminiscence and I wished for nothing more than to hold Suzanne; I could nearly smell them and in the swaying walk which took us on past toppled townships, I held long blinks where I could nearly make out their face and if I really pushed the limits of my imagination, I could feel them. In those moments, as we passed dead places, rotted pits of despair, I could think of little more than their presence. Though I knew it was a dangerous game, hoping for more than I was worth, I hoped for Suzanne then and I wished that I’d taken them up on their offer to travel to Alexandria with them; it could’ve been home—it never was in all the times I’d gone there, but who knows? The thoughts of Babylon brought forth their gardens; the wild gardens and the water which flowed freely through their pipes. I wished I was a different person entirely and that too would’ve been better for Suzanne; how it was that they’d seen anything in me, I don’t know. How it was that they could stoop to the level of being with someone like me—I warded off that thought, because to place the blame there would certainly be unfair. I thought of my love plainly and wanted a different life more suited to them.
Imaginations played more furiously, and I remembered the evening when Dave stopped me from leaping from that roof—it’s doubtful that he even realized that he’d slowed my demise; perhaps he did know—I wished then that I could ask him. Too kind for the world. People too kind for the world were scarce and hardly worth the trouble. Yet, there I was, chaperoning those two across the wastes.
Gemma was a broken person when I’d found her, tortured in Baphomet’s well; Andrew was a dullard boy who’d lost his hand. What a silly predicament.
I stopped in my movements and swiveled on my heel to catch Andrew by the shoulder. “You still got your hand, don’t you?”
In good humor, the boy grinned, lifted the nub on the end of his left forearm to show me, “Nope.”
“Dammit, no! The hand in the jar!”
Andrew raised his eyebrows. “In my pack.”
“Stop,” I commanded Trouble; the dog hardly recognized my words and continued a way then circled back, sad eyes looking up from where she took to sit by my side. Gemma, both arms dangling loosely from her own pack’s shoulder straps, took into the circle we’d formed.
The girl asked, “What about the jar? It’s nasty, but I guess it’s his.”
“I think that’s it,” I said. I took Andrew by his shoulders, looked him in his eyes, “We could use it!”
“What?” The boy almost laughed in the display of our concern. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I think I’ve got it! It’s good for a trap.” I shook him; maybe too hard. I almost smiled. “It’s worth a shot!”
“It’s mine.” He bit his top lip, withdrew from me.
“You’ll feel differently about that,” I said.
Gemma placed a hand on Andrew’s pack and tried ripping it open. “Give it to him!” shouted the girl.
The boy whipped from her grasp, and he spun on his feet, and panic stood on his face. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”
I took a step forward, “No, not anymore.” I put out my palm, “Give it.”
Andrew nearly flinched at the thought of it and shook his head a little. “Why?”
“I told you why,” I said.
“You don’t even know if it’ll work, do you?” his words were long in protest.
The girl started again, “Andrew, please.”
He locked eyes with Gemma and once again, his bottom teeth came up to meet over his top lip and he moved his jaw methodically with contemplation.
“What does it even matter?” she asked.
“It’s mine. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“C’mon,” he said, but his pack straps fell from his shoulders, and he hunkered down on the ground and opened his bag; his right hand plunged into the recesses therein and withdrew the jar with his severed left hand. He held the object up, refusing to come up from his open pack, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Take it then.” He shook the jar; its contents sloshed with liquid decay.
I grabbed the thing, held it to skylight; the remains within had congealed and rotted and lumps nearly floated in the brownish liquid which had formed in the base of the container. I shook it and stared for a moment at the miniscule debris which floated alongside the hand; each of its digits had swollen and erupted to expose bone; some had come away in pieces. “Tomorrow,” I said and nodded.
We gathered ourselves and Andrew pulled his pack on again and we moved, Trouble still looked sorry and the boy remained quiet while the girl chattered on with questions while we took through the dying ground in a formation with the dog on point then me then the children.
“What will you do with it?” she asked me.
“Not sure yet.”
Andrew made a noise like he wanted to say something but didn’t.
“You think it will work?” asked Gemma.
“Nothing’s a guarantee. They’re smart—Alukah.”
“Smart enough to figure out a trap?”
I shrugged. “We’ll find out.”
“We could put stakes in a pit.”
“Keep on the lookout for a building. Something with multiple floors.”
With that, we moved on, found a worn, mostly destroyed road and we fell into a travelling quiet and the thought of hunger or thirst arose again, and I pushed it down—though I knew the uneasiness could only last so long before savagery would overtake the human condition; the kids seemed strong enough, but I kept an eye on the dog too. Savagery belonged not only to humans, after all.
The ground of the wastes was harder when it was quiet, and it was flatter further west. The sky—red and full of thin and transparent drifting clouds—seemed an awful sight when stared at for too long; it was the thing which stretched as if to signal there wasn’t an end in any direction, as if to declare we had much more to go till safety. Wanderlust is a thing that I believe I’ve felt before, but under that sky, with those two and the dog, I didn’t feel it at all. It was doom that I felt. Ignorance and doom. And it was all because I was certain I’d made all the wrong mistakes, and it was coming back to me. I was experienced. We should’ve had food and water. Perhaps there was some deep and nasty part inside of me that had intended to sacrifice them along the way. The words of the Alukah might have rung true: You say you make no deals, but I smell it. I think you’d deal.
Surely, I felt differently. Surely.
“Getting darker,” called Andrew as we came to where signposts—worn and bent and barely legible—told us of a place once called Annapolis and the buildings were nearly gone entirely; places, maybe places that were once homes, were leveled—I was briefly caught in imagining what it might’ve been like all those ages ago. As are most places, it was haunted like that and when we came to a long rectangular structure of metal walls—thin walls—we took it as a place for rest for the night.
It once served as an agricultural station, for when we breached its entry, there were a line of dead machines—three in all—cultivators or tillers which stood higher than any of our heads and Gemma asked what they were, and I told her I thought they were for farming. The great rusted bodies stood in quiet shadow as we came through a side passage of the building and the great doors which had once been used to release those machines from the building stood frozen in their frame. I approached the doors, lighting my lantern and motioning for the children to shut the door we’d entered through.
Upon closer inspection, it seemed the doors would roll into the ceiling and the chains which held the doors in place were each secured with rusted padlocks—I removed my prybar from my pack and moved along the wall of doors, giving each old lock a smack with the weapon; each one held in place, seemingly fused there through years of corrosion, and I rounded the cultivators once more, back to the children, near the side door where they’d discovered a rickety stair frame which crawled up the side of the wall to a catwalk; along the catwalk, a levitated box stood at the height of the structure, stilted by metal legs, and we took the stairs slowly with the dog following close behind; the poor mutt was mute save the sound of its own shuffling paws.
The metal stairs creaked under our weight and Gemma held her own lantern high over her head so that the strange shadows of the place grew longer, stranger, and suddenly I felt very sure that something was in the dark with us, but there was no noise except what we made. My eyes scanned the darkness, and I followed the children up the stairs till we met the overhang of the catwalk and I peered into the shadows, the blades of the cultivators—far extended on foldable arms—struck up through the pool of blackness beneath us and I felt so cold there and if it were not for the breath of my fellow travelers, I might have been lost in the dark for longer than intended—lost and frozen and contemplative.
“There’s a room,” said the boy, and he pushed ahead on the hanging passage, and he was the first to the door. “Boxes,” he said plainly.
Upon coming to the place where he stood, Gemma pushed her lantern over the threshold, and I saw what he’d meant as I traced my own lantern to help; the room was crammed with plastic totes and old metal containers of varied sizes. There seemed to be enough empty space to maneuver through the room, but only if one watched their feet while they walked. Carefully.
We moved to the room, and I found a stack of crates to place my lantern then motioned for Gemma to douse hers. In minutes, the place was rearranged so that we could sit comfortably on the floor; crates lined the walls precariously and we breathed heavy from the work done, but we began to unpack and upon watching the children while I rolled a cigarette, I felt a pang of guilt, a terrible summation—all choices in my life had led me here and with them and perhaps it would have been a better world for them without me.
Mentally shrugging this thought away, I lit my cigarette, inhaled deeply, and then withdrew the jar which Andrew had handed over. I held it to the lantern to examine it. The grotesqueness of it hardly phased me and I watched it more curious and hopeful than disgusted.
“I hope it’ll work,” said the boy, “Whatever it is that you plan on doing with it.” He grimaced and maintained a further silence in patting his bedding for fluff. The dog moved to him, and she pushed her forehead against him where he squatted on floor. The boy scratched Trouble’s chin and whispered, “Good girl,” into the top of her head where he’d pushed his own face.
“I’m hungry,” said Gemma; she placed her chin in her arm while watching Andrew with the dog. She sat on her own flat bed there on the floor and stated plainly the thing that I’d hoped to ignore for longer.
“I know.” I took another drag from the cigarette and let the smoke hang over my head. “The dog?”
Andrew recoiled, pulling Trouble closer into his arms.
I smiled. “It was a joke.”
Andrew relaxed, but only a moment before Gemma added, “Maybe.”
The boy narrowed his eyes in the girl’s direction, and she shrugged. “If it’s life or death.”
He didn’t say anything and merely continued stroking Trouble’s coat.
That night, we slept awfully and even in the complete darkness, I felt the cramp of the storage room and the angled shapes of the tools that protruded from the containers on all sides remained permanent well after we’d turned the light off and it felt like those shapes were the teeth of a great creature like we were sitting inside of its mouth, looking out.
Trouble positioned herself partially on my chest, her slow rhythmic breathing brought my thoughts calm and I whispered to her in the dark after I was sure the others were asleep, “I promise it was a joke.” And I brushed the back of her neck with my hand and the animal let go of a long sigh then continued that deep rhythmic breathing.
Still without food or water, the following day was the true indication of the misery to come. Gemma’s stomach growled audibly in waking and Andrew—though he kept his complaints to himself—smacked his lips more often or protruded the tongue in his mouth in a starvation for water. The room, in the daylight which peered through pinpricks of its half-decayed roof, seemed another beast altogether from its nighttime counterpart; it was not so frightening. Again, I admonished myself for the lack of preparation, but there was another thought that brought together a more cohesive feeling; we had a possible plan, a trap for the demon that’d been following us.
We went into the field to the west of the building where there was only dirt beneath our feet in the early sunlight and in the coolness of morning air, I nearly felt like a person. The sun crested the horizon and brought with it a warmth that would quickly become overwhelming—in those few minutes though—it felt good enough. I wished for the shy dew and saw none. The weirdness of holding Andrew’s rotting hand in a jar momentarily caught me and I almost laughed, but refrained and the dog and the children looked on while I held the container up and suddenly, seeing the congealed mass of tissue floating in its own excretions, I was overcome with the urge to run, the urge that nothing would ever be right again in my life, and that I was marked to be that way.
I blinked and tossed the jar to Andrew. “Say goodbye,” I said. He fumbled after it with his right hand and caught it to his chest.
“It’s strange you care so much anyway,” said Gemma, shrugging—her eyes forgave a millisecond of pity and when Andrew looked at her, still holding the jar in his right hand, she smiled and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her pants.
“We’ve enough oil, I think,” my voice was raspy from it being early, “Enough for good fire, but if we use it, it’ll mean a few more dark nights on our way.”
“We’re going to set it on fire?” Andrew pondered, keeping his eyes to the contents of the jar. “It worked good enough last time. It’ll work,” I nodded, “I has to, doesn’t it?”
His dry lips creased into a brief smile, and he tossed the jar back to me and I caught it.
“Let’s dig,” I said.
Without much in the way of proper tools, we began at the ground under us with our hands, then taking turns with my prybar till there was a hole in the ground comfortably large enough to conceal a human head and I uncapped the jar and spilled it contents there and we covered it back and I lightly tamped it with my boot. My eyes scanned the outbuilding we’d taken refuge in the night prior and then to the street to the north then to the houses which stood as merely rotted plots of foundation with frames that struck from the ground more as markers than support. “I’ll take up over there across the street when it gets dark. I want you two in that storage room before anything goes off.”
“We can’t help?” asked Gemma.
“You can help by staying out of the way—the mutt too,” I said; the words were harsh, but my feelings were from worry.
“Wouldn’t it be better if we stuck together?” asked the girl.
I shook my head. “You stay in the room and keep quiet. No matter what you hear, you stay quiet and safe.”
“That’ll put you at a bigger risk,” Gemma furrowed her brow at me and shifted around to look out on the houses across the street, “There’s hardly any cover over there.”
The boy nodded, smacked his lips, and rubbed his forearm across his mouth then audibly agreed with her.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, “No matter what you hear happening outside, no matter, you don’t open the door and you don’t scream—don’t make a noise at all. Alright? Even if you hear me calling you, you don’t do it.”
“Pfft,” Gemma crossed her arms and kicked her foot against the ground. The way her eyes seemed hollowed with bruising showed that the irritation would only grow without food. “Alright,” she finally sighed.
Andrew looked much the same as she did in that; he swallowed a dry swallow then stuffed his hand into his pocket and looked away when our eyes matched.
We gathered our light oil. Altogether, it seemed enough; rummaging through the room of the outbuilding we’d earlier taken refuge within, we managed three intact glass containers—the only ones found that wouldn’t leak with liquid; two were bottles and the third was the jar that’d once kept Andrew’s hand. With that work done, we sat with three Molotov cocktails within our huddled circle of the storage room.
“Is it enough?” asked Gemma.
“We’ll see,” I began rolling a cigarette to ignore the hunger and the thirst.
Andrew took to the corner and glanced over his shoulder only a moment before a steady liquid stream could be heard and when he rotated from the wall once the noise was finished and he held a canteen up to his nose, sniffed it and quivered and shook his head.
As the sun pushed on, I scanned the perimeter outside, and they followed. Far south I spied a mass of shadow inching across the horizon and Gemma commented, “What’s that?”
I pushed the binoculars to her and let her gaze through them.
“A fiend—that’s what we called it back in the day anyway. A mutant.”
She held the binoculars up and frowned. “A mutant? So, it was once human?”
“A fiend was once many humans.” I pointed out to the horizon though she couldn’t see me doing so and continued, “If you look at the edges of its shape, you’ll see it’s got limbs galore on it. Sticking up like hairs is what it’ll look like at this distance. Those are arms and legs. It’s got faces too. Many faces.” I shuddered.
“I can barely see any details,” she passed the binoculars to Andrew, and he looked through them, “What’s it do?”
“What?” I asked.
“What’s it do if it catches a person?”
“It pulls people into it. Makes you apart of its mass. Nasty fuckers.”
Andrew removed the lenses from his eyes and held them to his chest and asked, “It won’t mess up your trap, will it?”
“We’ll keep an eye on it,” I said, “You don’t want to mess with a fiend unless you have to.”
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The travel took on a less gloomy quality in the day that passed since Gemma’s self-reflection and although there remained a queer distance in her eyes, she seemed in better spirits in losing the weight of the words.
It was a night just beyond Wabash Crevasse that we pushed on till sunset was almost upon us and we were each tired and the food stocks ran low and so we found harbor in a half collapsed cellar where a home once stood; it was only after examining the slatted, rotted boards of the old place, fallen over, tired with decay, that we spied the cellar doors intact; sheets of door metal plied us with safety from the outside world and the interior of the place stank of mold and the deeper recesses were collapsed, but there was a cradle to crossbar the stair hatch and I put my prybar there for the night. We finished the water and canned tomatoes, and I smoked a cigarette, staving off the inevitable doom which would come with the dwindling of our supplies.
I’d peeked through the space where the doors met at the cellar’s entry and watched the full darkness there while the youngins spoke of life and the trivial pursuits of it and I hardly said a word besides.
Sitting on the lowest step with Trouble dumbly maintaining her station by me, by the low glow of the space in the threshold, I saw they’d pushed their bedrolls together and Andrew had fallen asleep with his arm over Gemma’s shoulder and her eyes glowed with shine from the crack, blinked a few times while seeing me; she too eventually drifted to sleep, and I spent time by the secured door.
Gunshots rang across the stillness, and they stirred from their quiet slumber and Gemma asked, “Harlan, is it alright?”
I moved to the space there at the doorway again and listened and watched what I could through that crack and nothing beyond came. “It’s safe. I’ll be up a bit longer. I’ll watch.”
Andrew asked, “Can’t sleep?”
“I’ll sleep in a bit. Don’t worry about me. Rest. Sleep good and we can put more behind us.
They sat up, legs crossed triangle-wise, and Gemma spoke again, “Why do you have such a hard time sleeping? It seems I’m asleep after you and only awake after you too.”
“Yeah,” said Andrew.
“It’s cool at night. I can listen to the wind.” I shrugged.
“You should be the one that tries to get some sleep,” said Andrew.
I said nothing.
They reached out their arms and I shook my head.
“Here,” Gemma said, “Move your bedroll closer.” She reached across the dirt floor of the cellar and dragged my splayed roll so that it sat beside hers.
“I’ll sleep later.” I turned my attention back to the door and ignored them till their sounds of sleep could be heard. The Alukah was nowhere and did not tap on the door that night and when I moved to sleep, I shimmied onto the roll beside them, facing away on my shoulder; the dog followed, laid on the bare dirt beside me and I held the mutt.
Though I refused a noise as they stirred in the absolute darkness, I felt Gemma’s arm fall over my own shoulder and felt Andrew’s hand touch my back, and water traced the bridge of my nose and I slept deeply thereafter.
There was no breakfast without food, and the water was gone; I felt the eyes of the dog on us as we packed up our belongings that next morning and I tried not to imagine the poor animal skinned over fire. I smiled at Trouble, patted its head, scratched its chin; she sniffed my hand like she was looking for something that wouldn’t be found.
We went west again, ignoring roads and pushed through straight wasteland where nothing was and no one was, and with every dry footfall on the dry hard ground, I wished for rain, and I wished that when it had rained, as infrequent as it was, that I had been wise enough to save what we could from the sky; that sky was red and swollen and refused to burst. We pushed on through strange dead thickets where grayed and twisty yellow branches lurched from the ground into the sky like even they too wished for an end to all the suffering. It was days more till we would see Alexandria and though I could stave off hunger (thirst too, if necessary), I was not so certain that the children would be able to push on without it; they did not complain and watched the ground in our march and maintained higher spirits than I could’ve imagined from them.
Early in the day, they spoke often, and I listened and as they wore on, their words came less and even the dog seemed in a lower mood for the unsaid predicament; me too.
Gemma broke the silence on the matter by saying, “What are we going to do about food? Water?”
“We’ll push on.”
“We could turn back?” asked Andrew.
“The more time we spend out in the open, outside of a city, the more likely it is that the Alukah will catch us unawares. Tighten your belts.” Our feet took us around a dilapidated truck, an old thing with a rusty hook which dangled off a rear arm. “Save your urine.”
They made faces but did not protest.
“Does that work? You ever drink pee?” asked Andrew.
I laughed, “I thought we’d be there by now. I took us too long by trying to drop the scent of the Alukah. That thing’s hunted us for days—last night was the first time it ain’t bothered us. It’s got me wondering why.”
Gemma piped up, licking her dry lips before speaking, “Do you think that monster ran into those scavengers we saw?” Then I caught her shooting a look at Andrew, “At least we warned them.” Her smile was faint and almost indiscernible as one.
I shrugged. “Can’t say. Don’t think it’s smart to turn back. Won’t be long and we’ll touch the 40 and then it’ll be a straight on to Babylon—couple of days—can’t turn back though. Maybe without food; that’s doable. Water’s the worst, but if it comes to it,” I paused and looked on the weathered faces of the children, on the lowered head of Trouble which followed her nose across the ground (it searched just short of frantic), “Like I said, ‘save your urine’.”
The first pains of hunger held within me brought up some reminiscence and I wished for nothing more than to hold Suzanne; I could nearly smell them and in the swaying walk which took us on past toppled townships, I held long blinks where I could nearly make out their face and if I really pushed the limits of my imagination, I could feel them. In those moments, as we passed dead places, rotted pits of despair, I could think of little more than their presence. Though I knew it was a dangerous game, hoping for more than I was worth, I hoped for Suzanne then and I wished that I’d taken them up on their offer to travel to Alexandria with them; it could’ve been home—it never was in all the times I’d gone there, but who knows? The thoughts of Babylon brought forth their gardens; the wild gardens and the water which flowed freely through their pipes. I wished I was a different person entirely and that too would’ve been better for Suzanne; how it was that they’d seen anything in me, I don’t know. How it was that they could stoop to the level of being with someone like me—I warded off that thought, because to place the blame there would certainly be unfair. I thought of my love plainly and wanted a different life more suited to them.
Imaginations played more furiously, and I remembered the evening when Dave stopped me from leaping from that roof—it’s doubtful that he even realized that he’d slowed my demise; perhaps he did know—I wished then that I could ask him. Too kind for the world. People too kind for the world were scarce and hardly worth the trouble. Yet, there I was, chaperoning those two across the wastes.
Gemma was a broken person when I’d found her, tortured in Baphomet’s well; Andrew was a dullard boy who’d lost his hand. What a silly predicament.
I stopped in my movements and swiveled on my heel to catch Andrew by the shoulder. “You still got your hand, don’t you?”
In good humor, the boy grinned, lifted the nub on the end of his left forearm to show me, “Nope.”
“Dammit, no! The hand in the jar!”
Andrew raised his eyebrows. “In my pack.”
“Stop,” I commanded Trouble; the dog hardly recognized my words and continued a way then circled back, sad eyes looking up from where she took to sit by my side. Gemma, both arms dangling loosely from her own pack’s shoulder straps, took into the circle we’d formed.
The girl asked, “What about the jar? It’s nasty, but I guess it’s his.”
“I think that’s it,” I said. I took Andrew by his shoulders, looked him in his eyes, “We could use it!”
“What?” The boy almost laughed in the display of our concern. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I think I’ve got it! It’s good for a trap.” I shook him; maybe too hard. I almost smiled. “It’s worth a shot!”
“It’s mine.” He bit his top lip, withdrew from me.
“You’ll feel differently about that,” I said.
Gemma placed a hand on Andrew’s pack and tried ripping it open. “Give it to him!” shouted the girl.
The boy whipped from her grasp, and he spun on his feet, and panic stood on his face. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”
I took a step forward, “No, not anymore.” I put out my palm, “Give it.”
Andrew nearly flinched at the thought of it and shook his head a little. “Why?”
“I told you why,” I said.
“You don’t even know if it’ll work, do you?” his words were long in protest.
The girl started again, “Andrew, please.”
He locked eyes with Gemma and once again, his bottom teeth came up to meet over his top lip and he moved his jaw methodically with contemplation.
“What does it even matter?” she asked.
“It’s mine. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“C’mon,” he said, but his pack straps fell from his shoulders, and he hunkered down on the ground and opened his bag; his right hand plunged into the recesses therein and withdrew the jar with his severed left hand. He held the object up, refusing to come up from his open pack, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Take it then.” He shook the jar; its contents sloshed with liquid decay.
I grabbed the thing, held it to skylight; the remains within had congealed and rotted and lumps nearly floated in the brownish liquid which had formed in the base of the container. I shook it and stared for a moment at the miniscule debris which floated alongside the hand; each of its digits had swollen and erupted to expose bone; some had come away in pieces. “Tomorrow,” I said and nodded.
We gathered ourselves and Andrew pulled his pack on again and we moved, Trouble still looked sorry and the boy remained quiet while the girl chattered on with questions while we took through the dying ground in a formation with the dog on point then me then the children.
“What will you do with it?” she asked me.
“Not sure yet.”
Andrew made a noise like he wanted to say something but didn’t.
“You think it will work?” asked Gemma.
“Nothing’s a guarantee. They’re smart—Alukah.”
“Smart enough to figure out a trap?”
I shrugged. “We’ll find out.”
“We could put stakes in a pit.”
“Keep on the lookout for a building. Something with multiple floors.”
With that, we moved on, found a worn, mostly destroyed road and we fell into a travelling quiet and the thought of hunger or thirst arose again, and I pushed it down—though I knew the uneasiness could only last so long before savagery would overtake the human condition; the kids seemed strong enough, but I kept an eye on the dog too. Savagery belonged not only to humans, after all.
The ground of the wastes was harder when it was quiet, and it was flatter further west. The sky—red and full of thin and transparent drifting clouds—seemed an awful sight when stared at for too long; it was the thing which stretched as if to signal there wasn’t an end in any direction, as if to declare we had much more to go till safety. Wanderlust is a thing that I believe I’ve felt before, but under that sky, with those two and the dog, I didn’t feel it at all. It was doom that I felt. Ignorance and doom. And it was all because I was certain I’d made all the wrong mistakes, and it was coming back to me. I was experienced. We should’ve had food and water. Perhaps there was some deep and nasty part inside of me that had intended to sacrifice them along the way. The words of the Alukah might have rung true: You say you make no deals, but I smell it. I think you’d deal.
Surely, I felt differently. Surely.
“Getting darker,” called Andrew as we came to where signposts—worn and bent and barely legible—told us of a place once called Annapolis and the buildings were nearly gone entirely; places, maybe places that were once homes, were leveled—I was briefly caught in imagining what it might’ve been like all those ages ago. As are most places, it was haunted like that and when we came to a long rectangular structure of metal walls—thin walls—we took it as a place for rest for the night.
It once served as an agricultural station, for when we breached its entry, there were a line of dead machines—three in all—cultivators or tillers which stood higher than any of our heads and Gemma asked what they were, and I told her I thought they were for farming. The great rusted bodies stood in quiet shadow as we came through a side passage of the building and the great doors which had once been used to release those machines from the building stood frozen in their frame. I approached the doors, lighting my lantern and motioning for the children to shut the door we’d entered through.
Upon closer inspection, it seemed the doors would roll into the ceiling and the chains which held the doors in place were each secured with rusted padlocks—I removed my prybar from my pack and moved along the wall of doors, giving each old lock a smack with the weapon; each one held in place, seemingly fused there through years of corrosion, and I rounded the cultivators once more, back to the children, near the side door where they’d discovered a rickety stair frame which crawled up the side of the wall to a catwalk; along the catwalk, a levitated box stood at the height of the structure, stilted by metal legs, and we took the stairs slowly with the dog following close behind; the poor mutt was mute save the sound of its own shuffling paws.
The metal stairs creaked under our weight and Gemma held her own lantern high over her head so that the strange shadows of the place grew longer, stranger, and suddenly I felt very sure that something was in the dark with us, but there was no noise except what we made. My eyes scanned the darkness, and I followed the children up the stairs till we met the overhang of the catwalk and I peered into the shadows, the blades of the cultivators—far extended on foldable arms—struck up through the pool of blackness beneath us and I felt so cold there and if it were not for the breath of my fellow travelers, I might have been lost in the dark for longer than intended—lost and frozen and contemplative.
“There’s a room,” said the boy, and he pushed ahead on the hanging passage, and he was the first to the door. “Boxes,” he said plainly.
Upon coming to the place where he stood, Gemma pushed her lantern over the threshold, and I saw what he’d meant as I traced my own lantern to help; the room was crammed with plastic totes and old metal containers of varied sizes. There seemed to be enough empty space to maneuver through the room, but only if one watched their feet while they walked. Carefully.
We moved to the room, and I found a stack of crates to place my lantern then motioned for Gemma to douse hers. In minutes, the place was rearranged so that we could sit comfortably on the floor; crates lined the walls precariously and we breathed heavy from the work done, but we began to unpack and upon watching the children while I rolled a cigarette, I felt a pang of guilt, a terrible summation—all choices in my life had led me here and with them and perhaps it would have been a better world for them without me.
Mentally shrugging this thought away, I lit my cigarette, inhaled deeply, and then withdrew the jar which Andrew had handed over. I held it to the lantern to examine it. The grotesqueness of it hardly phased me and I watched it more curious and hopeful than disgusted.
“I hope it’ll work,” said the boy, “Whatever it is that you plan on doing with it.” He grimaced and maintained a further silence in patting his bedding for fluff. The dog moved to him, and she pushed her forehead against him where he squatted on floor. The boy scratched Trouble’s chin and whispered, “Good girl,” into the top of her head where he’d pushed his own face.
“I’m hungry,” said Gemma; she placed her chin in her arm while watching Andrew with the dog. She sat on her own flat bed there on the floor and stated plainly the thing that I’d hoped to ignore for longer.
“I know.” I took another drag from the cigarette and let the smoke hang over my head. “The dog?”
Andrew recoiled, pulling Trouble closer into his arms.
I smiled. “It was a joke.”
Andrew relaxed, but only a moment before Gemma added, “Maybe.”
The boy narrowed his eyes in the girl’s direction, and she shrugged. “If it’s life or death.”
He didn’t say anything and merely continued stroking Trouble’s coat.
That night, we slept awfully and even in the complete darkness, I felt the cramp of the storage room and the angled shapes of the tools that protruded from the containers on all sides remained permanent well after we’d turned the light off and it felt like those shapes were the teeth of a great creature like we were sitting inside of its mouth, looking out.
Trouble positioned herself partially on my chest, her slow rhythmic breathing brought my thoughts calm and I whispered to her in the dark after I was sure the others were asleep, “I promise it was a joke.” And I brushed the back of her neck with my hand and the animal let go of a long sigh then continued that deep rhythmic breathing.
Still without food or water, the following day was the true indication of the misery to come. Gemma’s stomach growled audibly in waking and Andrew—though he kept his complaints to himself—smacked his lips more often or protruded the tongue in his mouth in a starvation for water. The room, in the daylight which peered through pinpricks of its half-decayed roof, seemed another beast altogether from its nighttime counterpart; it was not so frightening. Again, I admonished myself for the lack of preparation, but there was another thought that brought together a more cohesive feeling; we had a possible plan, a trap for the demon that’d been following us.
We went into the field to the west of the building where there was only dirt beneath our feet in the early sunlight and in the coolness of morning air, I nearly felt like a person. The sun crested the horizon and brought with it a warmth that would quickly become overwhelming—in those few minutes though—it felt good enough. I wished for the shy dew and saw none. The weirdness of holding Andrew’s rotting hand in a jar momentarily caught me and I almost laughed, but refrained and the dog and the children looked on while I held the container up and suddenly, seeing the congealed mass of tissue floating in its own excretions, I was overcome with the urge to run, the urge that nothing would ever be right again in my life, and that I was marked to be that way.
I blinked and tossed the jar to Andrew. “Say goodbye,” I said. He fumbled after it with his right hand and caught it to his chest.
“It’s strange you care so much anyway,” said Gemma, shrugging—her eyes forgave a millisecond of pity and when Andrew looked at her, still holding the jar in his right hand, she smiled and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her pants.
“We’ve enough oil, I think,” my voice was raspy from it being early, “Enough for good fire, but if we use it, it’ll mean a few more dark nights on our way.”
“We’re going to set it on fire?” Andrew pondered, keeping his eyes to the contents of the jar. “It worked good enough last time. It’ll work,” I nodded, “I has to, doesn’t it?”
His dry lips creased into a brief smile, and he tossed the jar back to me and I caught it.
“Let’s dig,” I said.
Without much in the way of proper tools, we began at the ground under us with our hands, then taking turns with my prybar till there was a hole in the ground comfortably large enough to conceal a human head and I uncapped the jar and spilled it contents there and we covered it back and I lightly tamped it with my boot. My eyes scanned the outbuilding we’d taken refuge in the night prior and then to the street to the north then to the houses which stood as merely rotted plots of foundation with frames that struck from the ground more as markers than support. “I’ll take up over there across the street when it gets dark. I want you two in that storage room before anything goes off.”
“We can’t help?” asked Gemma.
“You can help by staying out of the way—the mutt too,” I said; the words were harsh, but my feelings were from worry.
“Wouldn’t it be better if we stuck together?” asked the girl.
I shook my head. “You stay in the room and keep quiet. No matter what you hear, you stay quiet and safe.”
“That’ll put you at a bigger risk,” Gemma furrowed her brow at me and shifted around to look out on the houses across the street, “There’s hardly any cover over there.”
The boy nodded, smacked his lips, and rubbed his forearm across his mouth then audibly agreed with her.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, “No matter what you hear happening outside, no matter, you don’t open the door and you don’t scream—don’t make a noise at all. Alright? Even if you hear me calling you, you don’t do it.”
“Pfft,” Gemma crossed her arms and kicked her foot against the ground. The way her eyes seemed hollowed with bruising showed that the irritation would only grow without food. “Alright,” she finally sighed.
Andrew looked much the same as she did in that; he swallowed a dry swallow then stuffed his hand into his pocket and looked away when our eyes matched.
We gathered our light oil. Altogether, it seemed enough; rummaging through the room of the outbuilding we’d earlier taken refuge within, we managed three intact glass containers—the only ones found that wouldn’t leak with liquid; two were bottles and the third was the jar that’d once kept Andrew’s hand. With that work done, we sat with three Molotov cocktails within our huddled circle of the storage room.
“Is it enough?” asked Gemma.
“We’ll see,” I began rolling a cigarette to ignore the hunger and the thirst.
Andrew took to the corner and glanced over his shoulder only a moment before a steady liquid stream could be heard and when he rotated from the wall once the noise was finished and he held a canteen up to his nose, sniffed it and quivered and shook his head.
As the sun pushed on, I scanned the perimeter outside, and they followed. Far south I spied a mass of shadow inching across the horizon and Gemma commented, “What’s that?”
I pushed the binoculars to her and let her gaze through them.
“A fiend—that’s what we called it back in the day anyway. A mutant.”
She held the binoculars up and frowned. “A mutant? So, it was once human?”
“A fiend was once many humans.” I pointed out to the horizon though she couldn’t see me doing so and continued, “If you look at the edges of its shape, you’ll see it’s got limbs galore on it. Sticking up like hairs is what it’ll look like at this distance. Those are arms and legs. It’s got faces too. Many faces.” I shuddered.
“I can barely see any details,” she passed the binoculars to Andrew, and he looked through them, “What’s it do?”
“What?” I asked.
“What’s it do if it catches a person?”
“It pulls people into it. Makes you apart of its mass. Nasty fuckers.”
Andrew removed the lenses from his eyes and held them to his chest and asked, “It won’t mess up your trap, will it?”
“We’ll keep an eye on it,” I said, “You don’t want to mess with a fiend unless you have to.”
First/Previous
Archive
2024.05.17 09:49 Dumquestionsonly Some Suggested Changes to the "Pirate" Game-play loop.
This is a list of suggestions I have seen for CIG when it comes to the pirate gameplay loop in the future. I thought it would be interesting to get peoples feedback as currently piracy is widely seen as griefing.
1) Marked Cargo and Cargo destruction: A system that either marks cargo as stolen(so it is worth less and/or can only be sold in certain places), or destroys a portion of a ships cargo when a trader is blown up. This increases opportunity cost of piracy and adds some consequence to stealing cargo(which currently is not super present). This leads into the second idea.
2) The need to physically board ships to steal cargo: While there is a partial iteration of this in the game currently, I think there is a lot of room for this system to be fleshed out. Piracy Should not be as easy as blowing up a ship unless there is a serious loss in return. in the words of u/ Ehnto "I want to have my ship disabled and boarded, have an opportunity to flee or fight back, rush to gear up and defend myself or negotiate safe passage. That actually sounds fun.". I think proper boarding and/or negotiation would not only add massive RP potential but also allow a trader caught by surprise a chance to defend themselves.
3) Pirate flagging: The one thing piracy lacks immensely in its current state is consequence. I personally have just tanked huge Klescher sentences at the end of a session to come into my next session a law abiding citizen. Piracy should be a hole you actively need to dig yourself out of in order to access law abiding portions of a system. Sections of space controlled by law abiding players or the UEE should be off limits/restricted until a pirate can prove they are upstanding by completing some arbitrary set of quests.
4) Pirate economy: A pirates ship claim time and cost should be increased as well as the cost of equipment. Without the ability to obtain your ship from upstanding sources or nab gear from a large reputable dealer, pirates should have to pay more to obtain goods. Insurance companies are not going to want to work with a pirate and neither would an upstanding arms dealer. This could work in tandem with how a pirate goes about making profit. No one wants to work with a mass murderer BUT if you as a pirate negotiate and dont just blow people up, perhaps you have less of a penalty.
5) Realistic consequences: "If you pirate a yacht operating out of the Bahamas in modern day, you know what happens? You have ASW craft looking for you and any nearby frigates on the alert the same day. You pirate a second one, you're likely to have a couple of DDGs tasked to you and they're going to be looking for an excuse to sink you, not capture you and take you to jail. You hit shipping in a less controlled area but near major shipping lanes like Somalia, you get multiple navies cooperating to stop you.
To put it in a Star Citizen context, that'd be like holding up a Prospector who gets a distress call off causing the INS Jericho to task an Idris-M to look for you and disperse Hornet Trackers and Mantises to Yela and the Aaron Halo to sweep for you. You get within scanning range of any station and they will immediate send fighters and a warship after you, not just disallow landing. You hit a Starliner and rob the passengers and suddenly it's an interstellar incident and you have a pair of Javelins spearheading a joint UEE-Crusader task force to find you, kill you, and kill anyone working with you, and they don't give up after two hours and go away." -u/ CaptFrost
6) A rework of the prison system: The most common idea I have seen is a rework of the prison system where instead of needing time to be spent in prison you make the system merit based. The more charges you have, the more merits you need to get out. You ear merits at a flat rate, but only earn 1/10 of the merits when logged off. To get more merits you need to do community service or missions for whoever owns the prison in order to be set free. Oh and prison should obv not be so easy to escape from.
These are just some ideas, they may not all need to be implemented and they may not all be good ideas. I personally think the threat of piracy will keep the verse interesting. Always having to look over your shoulder makes for few dull moments but murder hobos should not be allowed to roam free with no consequence. Im sure with faction wars, org disputes, and piracy, hopefully there is plenty to do for PVP and PVE players and orgs alike.
submitted by Dumquestionsonly to starcitizen [link] [comments]
1) Marked Cargo and Cargo destruction: A system that either marks cargo as stolen(so it is worth less and/or can only be sold in certain places), or destroys a portion of a ships cargo when a trader is blown up. This increases opportunity cost of piracy and adds some consequence to stealing cargo(which currently is not super present). This leads into the second idea.
2) The need to physically board ships to steal cargo: While there is a partial iteration of this in the game currently, I think there is a lot of room for this system to be fleshed out. Piracy Should not be as easy as blowing up a ship unless there is a serious loss in return. in the words of u/ Ehnto "I want to have my ship disabled and boarded, have an opportunity to flee or fight back, rush to gear up and defend myself or negotiate safe passage. That actually sounds fun.". I think proper boarding and/or negotiation would not only add massive RP potential but also allow a trader caught by surprise a chance to defend themselves.
3) Pirate flagging: The one thing piracy lacks immensely in its current state is consequence. I personally have just tanked huge Klescher sentences at the end of a session to come into my next session a law abiding citizen. Piracy should be a hole you actively need to dig yourself out of in order to access law abiding portions of a system. Sections of space controlled by law abiding players or the UEE should be off limits/restricted until a pirate can prove they are upstanding by completing some arbitrary set of quests.
4) Pirate economy: A pirates ship claim time and cost should be increased as well as the cost of equipment. Without the ability to obtain your ship from upstanding sources or nab gear from a large reputable dealer, pirates should have to pay more to obtain goods. Insurance companies are not going to want to work with a pirate and neither would an upstanding arms dealer. This could work in tandem with how a pirate goes about making profit. No one wants to work with a mass murderer BUT if you as a pirate negotiate and dont just blow people up, perhaps you have less of a penalty.
5) Realistic consequences: "If you pirate a yacht operating out of the Bahamas in modern day, you know what happens? You have ASW craft looking for you and any nearby frigates on the alert the same day. You pirate a second one, you're likely to have a couple of DDGs tasked to you and they're going to be looking for an excuse to sink you, not capture you and take you to jail. You hit shipping in a less controlled area but near major shipping lanes like Somalia, you get multiple navies cooperating to stop you.
To put it in a Star Citizen context, that'd be like holding up a Prospector who gets a distress call off causing the INS Jericho to task an Idris-M to look for you and disperse Hornet Trackers and Mantises to Yela and the Aaron Halo to sweep for you. You get within scanning range of any station and they will immediate send fighters and a warship after you, not just disallow landing. You hit a Starliner and rob the passengers and suddenly it's an interstellar incident and you have a pair of Javelins spearheading a joint UEE-Crusader task force to find you, kill you, and kill anyone working with you, and they don't give up after two hours and go away." -u/ CaptFrost
6) A rework of the prison system: The most common idea I have seen is a rework of the prison system where instead of needing time to be spent in prison you make the system merit based. The more charges you have, the more merits you need to get out. You ear merits at a flat rate, but only earn 1/10 of the merits when logged off. To get more merits you need to do community service or missions for whoever owns the prison in order to be set free. Oh and prison should obv not be so easy to escape from.
These are just some ideas, they may not all need to be implemented and they may not all be good ideas. I personally think the threat of piracy will keep the verse interesting. Always having to look over your shoulder makes for few dull moments but murder hobos should not be allowed to roam free with no consequence. Im sure with faction wars, org disputes, and piracy, hopefully there is plenty to do for PVP and PVE players and orgs alike.
2024.05.17 09:47 Edwardthecrazyman Hiraeth or Where the Children Play: Oh, Dear Brother of Mine, How I Hate What I've Made You [12]
First/Previous
Gemma was right about the sky’s open night, and I could sympathize with her recollection of the beauty, but for me it must’ve been a greater tragedy—the young woman had only ever enjoyed the stars in the pits of Golgotha; I could, long before, drink in the sky at leisure. Cruel memories.
The night the Rednecks died was one of viscera, but before that it was coolness on the breeze, a warmth by the fires while John played his guitar and we had only just taken two dozen kegs of lager (personal reserves) from the Atlanta despot—the man that kept his subjects as slaves and not a person among the camp was left without budding intoxication. No matter the age, everyone was invited to be merry; if it was that children too faced the plight of a bad world, then so too should they reap the moments of plenty—or so the camp figured.
John had taken a group by the fires where wagons were drawn in interlocking semicircles for cover and Jackson sat beside the picker. Jackson was a man which normally preferred quiet reflection over boisterous singing and nearly never wore the band on his throat, and yet there he was belting out the chorus at the top of his lungs, tankard in hand, red cloth blazed around his neck—it was a contagion and those drunk enough for easier embarrassment sang proudly along:
“There is power, there is power in a band of working folk!
When we stand hand in hand,
That’s a power, that’s the power,
That must rule in every land!”
I’d taken to the outlying shadows with my back pressed against the gas-powered caleche, my own tankard in hand. I loved the warmth of that great big family, truly, but even in those days—and maybe it was that queer youthfulness which longed for individualism that made me that way then—I remained as distanced as possible when I could. I sipped the lager, it was a fine drink and my brother Billy, nearly as old as I was when I’d first taken up in the infantry, swaggered to stand beside me just as quiet for minutes and we looked at the stars and he asked me what it was like to kill a man.
“Is it hard?” he asked.
I nodded, “Sometimes.”
“Killing monsters ain’t so bad. Don’t know if I could do it to a person.”
“You could if they meant to kill you; or if they meant to do it to someone you cared about,” I promised him. In those days, spry, energized, I held no time for staring into abysses; though I still wasn’t a man fully, I pretended as one. It was about family, and it was about doing what was right—what’s right seemed to change, or I changed. The world felt stark with good and evil and even later I’d feel that sentiment well up in me, but if that’s true, I know I stand more on the latter and so I intentionally obfuscated it—this I know. If not, it might be too much to bear. I was required to lie to myself and even in knowing I lied, it was better.
Billy tugged on the red kerchief around his throat and asked me how it looked on him.
“Looks good,” I said.
“Don’t think I look stupid at all?”
I smiled over my drink, “You always look stupid.” I sipped. “The neckwear’s fine.”
“Give me a break,” said Billy; he investigated his own cup, gave it a swish with his wrist, watching its contents swirl. “Aren’t you ever afraid you’ll die?”
“Sometimes—nights like this—I wouldn’t mind it.”
“Really?” my brother asked.
“There’s always a chance of it. Every moment, I guess.”
He smiled. “I wish I had that confidence.”
“You’ll get it,” I returned his smile; it was true that he would gain the fighting spirit. It came to us all with time and reminiscing on the early days, I recall the grit and the hatred—there was learning there too though. Besides, I’d seen the squalors of a stationary man. The stagnation of a place, an unmoving home.
John put his guitar away and laughter erupted from the crowd from something said and Sibylle, cowboy hat cocked funny, traipsed across the camp to the open keg for a refill; the man there, tending the cylinders, was a man named Tandy (a foreigner and one unknown besides the way he smoked a skunk pipe and told wild stories). My mother leaned over while Tandy opened the spigot mouth on the keg, and she froze there, and I could see her there cut out forever against the light of the fires; I watched, and it came so suddenly that I couldn’t be sure what’d happened at all. It was so sudden that I couldn’t find my weapon and I couldn’t find even the courage to fight because in those moments it wasn’t courage I needed, it was grounds to understand.
Sibylle came apart in two pieces immediately, torn completely through and dust erupted as her legs struck the ground while her torso spun through the air like a top, a trail of liquid trailed after, caught in the blue of night so it shone as black; she couldn’t scream. Tandy was a statue. Before anyone could react, more flesh, other bodies, went up and there was all manner of limbs which filled the ground, and it is astounding how quickly a red mist forms across the ground during a massacre. Perhaps the wails of my comrades started before, perhaps others fell before Sibylle, but I could not comprehend the goings-on till I saw her drop the way she did.
Frail human screams rose on the night; I slammed to the ground, tankard gone away and hands scrambling in the dirt; I reached up blindly and yanked Billy to my level and his expression was one of innocence, panic, tears even. Glancing around, I saw the demons bolt from the pitch-black darkness on the edges of camp, mutants taking the fore while greater creatures lurked further back, some hurled whips of gliding metal which writhed over their heads when they stretched them out for a strike—alien—and they sliced directly through soft human bodies. Not even a cry escaped me, but Billy let go with it and I slapped my cupped hand over his mouth hard to hold the screams. His voice would not have been alone anyway, not alongside that startling cacophony. Amidst the cries of people, there were the cries of horses, of our hounds.
We rolled across the ground, slipped beneath the raised body of the gas-powered caleche, remained quiet in the dark, peeked out between the wheels.
“What’s happening?” Billy whispered through my fingers; I removed my hand from him and caught a glimpse of him framed in a square of firelight through the wheels—we lay there on our bellies and the left side of his face was glazed with dirt where I’d pulled him down.
“Shh,” I told him, “Shh, please. Please.” Not another word came while I pleaded with him, pleaded with the world to make this all a nightmare.
Through the haze and the running silhouettes painted black, I saw what might have been Jackson; he stumbled and in the moment that it took me to gasp, his head was gone from his body, his torso slid on as he collapsed, came to rest mere feet from the motor wagon. I told myself that it wasn’t him, but it probably was.
Some mutants lumbered through the camp like animated corpses, some leapt with wild energy or sprayed noxious fumes which lingered in the air; others still were amalgams of humanlike limbs themselves—fiends—exhausting terrible sounds, producing smells of sulfur, glistening with whatever liquids excreted from their oblong alien orifices. Demons ran amok, chanted in devil tongued languages, laughed madly at the destruction—others still, those which displayed some greater intelligence, broke into a song I could never hope or want to replicate; it seemed a unified damnation.
“Please,” I repeated in a whimper and Billy hushed me this time and I realized we were holding hands, squeezing for dear life as figures walked the camp, speared those half-alive, elected others for twisted carnality.
In darkness, in fright plainly, we scuttled from the recess of our hiding place, kept quiet, held to each other, and went into the wasteland where nothing was—every shadow was a potential threat, every second could’ve been the last. We were holding hands; then we weren’t.
Only a glance—that’s all I afforded my brother and nothing more—what a joke of a person I am! What a coward I was. Always.
Something got him in the dark and instead of dying alongside those I cared about, I went on, heartbeat driving me till it was all that I heard in my ears and my muscles ached and my chest heaved and sweat covered me, chilled me in the breeze of the night—it was only once I’d accepted the dark completely, crawled into a hollowed space of rocks along a squat ridge that I watched the demolished camp; it seemed no larger than a spark, but the creatures, fiends and others continued their war cries; never before had I witnessed demons participate in such an attack.
I watched till the sun came, till the fires became smoke, then I watched the band of hell creatures disband. The smell of sulfur remained in the air—copper too—and I stumbled back to the camp in a dreamlike daze, totally unbelieving of the things I saw. Among those dead on the ground, I could recognize none; among those piked from rear to shoulder, standing like morbid scarecrows where they’d been steadied against the ground, I could not want to recognize.
Many of the wagons were overturned, including the gas-powered caleche and I went to it; the metal of its body was warped but I fell to the ground by it and pushed my back against the exposed undercarriage, remained frozen there while examining the bodies, the terrible strips of skin which rested places like wet sheets of paper, the piles of bones removed and smashed and piled.
I cried so deeply that oxygen became a memory, and the shakes couldn’t be contained.
It was like that for so long, knees pulled up, face pushed between, and the wails came unafraid of whatever attention they might garner; there was no rationale, but I imagine if there had been, I would’ve welcomed death in that misery. It was a deep wound that not even my own cowardice would overcome for the sake of survival.
Unaware of my surroundings, not wanting to look up from the ground between my legs, the noise which had started out as imaginary became real and I raised my head then to listen better and wipe my sore eyes; it was the sound of clip-clop horse hooves and I mildly wondered if any of the animals had been spared. I stood and pivoted around the dead camp and there it was, a man on a painted horse with golden hair; he leisurely drove the mount through the place, maneuvering around pools of blood, clumps of body parts and upon seeing me, he smiled and offered a languid wave, keeping one of his gloved hands on the reins.
The man wore white and swished his hair back upon arriving directly in front of me. Ahoy, he offered kindly, Did you happen to see the other riders?
I shook my head, feeling numb.
Ah, he said, I could have sworn four other riders, at least, passed me on my way. His gray eyes examined the carnage. Shame. He shook his head. You are?
“H-harlan.”
He nodded and nearly offered an expression of genuine condolence before descending from the horse; the animal gave a gentle grunt and wandered away from its master to inspect a nearby group of the dead. The man offered his hand, and I took it in a shake. Mephisto, said the man. He flashed a smile again before his face grew serious. I’ve come to you to deal.
I shot him a questioning look, one of bafflement.
I heard your calls from far off. He nodded, removed a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and swiped it down his face. Hot out. He shrugged then replaced the cloth in his pocket. This, he motioned to the disarray of vehicles, of bodies, I can’t fix all this—it’s too much—but there’s a person you love, I know. I could bring them back.
“Doctor?” In retrospect it was such a naïve question.
He shook his head.
“Angel?”
He grinned and nodded, Sure.
“Demon?”
Undoubtedly. His eyes—pits of gray in that radiant face—nearly expressed solemness; he daintily shook the hair from his face and looked at his steed which sniffed a corpse. What’s the word, Harlan? There are others calling and I must be on my way soon—I can’t dally. There was a sharpness to the words. Can’t dally. We must convene soon, or I’ll mosey on.
I snorted back the clog in my nose from the tears and wiped my eyes with my sleeves. “Okay.”
Deal?
I nodded, “Deal.”
Sleep tonight, said Mephisto, Sleep and you’ll be rewarded in the morning.
“You said it’s a deal.”
He nodded and scanned the carnage before we matched gazes and then he said, Yes?
“What is it you want from me?”
Nothing you need now. He called the horse, and it came, and he swept his feet quickly from the ground and settled into position atop the animal. Sleep, Harlan. You won’t be bothered. There are worse things still over the horizon.
I watched him go till he disappeared and once he was gone, I couldn’t cry anymore and instead rummaged through the wagons for what I might carry; along the way I found John, face twisted but corpse intact. The body from the previous night that I’d guessed was Jackson couldn’t be determined but I found him nowhere else. I slid Sibylle’s holster from her hips, fell hard onto the ground and found that I could sob more. I took her cowboy hat, placed it on my head and held her pistol in one hand and the belt holster dangled from the other while I searched the other bodies; there were so many, but I could not find Billy.
Waiting for darkness, I took the spot where I rested, back against the caleche’s undercarriage, watched the sky and felt the gun in my hand; it was heavy. I put it to my head, closed my eyes, and whispered affirmations to myself then I put the pistol between my splayed legs, watched it still in the dirt, and pulled the hat down over my eyes but it did little for the smell. Though the brim of the hat cut the sky out, I watched the ground and saw circling shadows form overhead and heard calls of turkey vultures; they came to pick over the bodies. I withdrew my knees to my chest there again and laid my forearm across them and bit into my arm while closing my eyes. I had thought I was a man and for a time, maybe I was, but there in that miserable pit of despair I became a child again and if I’d become more delirious, I’m sure I might’ve called out for Jackson like it was a bad dream.
Into a fading stupor of sleep in the sun I went and when I awoke again it was dark and chilly and I was tired and hungry but too sick to eat and hardly strong enough to move; I looked at the gun and put it into its holster and left it there by the caleche. In the light of the moon and stars, I moved to gather a bolt of canvas; I unfurled the fabric and created a leaning shelter against the overturned vehicle and crawled into it. There was a hole in the canvas, and I peeked out at the stars.
Weeping came again, but not so uproarious; I was stuck there letting go of whimpers, lying on my back, feeling the tears trace in lines from the outer corners of my eyes to collect along my earlobes. In time, I fell to sleep again on the hard ground because the mourning had taken all else from me.
A pinpoint of sunlight broke my eyelids and I jerked awake and reached for the holster, but it was gone. So was the hat. I crawled from the leaning shelter and there he was.
Billy stood plainly among the dried, congealed blood-soaked field and he looked on to the horizon and all shadows were long in the midday sun which hung up there in a soft blue sky. Whether it be a dream or a spell, I couldn’t care—I charged to him and spun him so he faced me and though his face was plain and expressionless, I wrapped him into a forceful hug. He placed his hands on my back and gave a gentle squeeze; when I pulled from him, my hands on his shoulders, I saw he held Sibylle’s hat in his left hand, pinched by the brim; he’d already tugged her holster belt around his hips—he could have it all. I shook while holding him then let go to wipe my face.
“You’re alive,” I nodded.
He nodded without speaking then looked at the hat in his hand and placed it on his head and firmly pressed it down.
“Billy! Hell, you’re alive!”
The corners of his mouth twitched upward for a moment then he nodded again. “Yeah.” His eyes curiously searched our surroundings like he meant to take each detail in forever.
I slapped him on the shoulder and almost squealed. “Goddammit.” I wiped my eyes again and could do little to keep the excitement from exploding from me. “Oh, we should go. We should go on and get somewhere safe.”
He nodded toward the horizon, “’Lanta?”
“Sure.”
We packed and it was a like an ethereal phantom remained among us beside the quiet dead; turkey vultures cawed to break the silence, pecked where they pleased on the bodies, and I couldn’t want to fight them. I kept sidelong eyes on Billy with the ever-present worry that he’d vanish. Perhaps he was the phantom.
From the rear of the caleche, I removed a few sentimental books Jackson liked, essential cookware, and sparse rations for the trek. The last thing I grabbed was my shotgun and a bit of ammo.
As we set from the dead place, the terrible silhouettes that were cut from there on the horizon behind us grew in my mind with every backward glance—I wanted to fall to pieces, but I saw Billy walk alongside me and although contented is not the right word, it is the nearest. The steps of our boots were all that was heard because I could not fathom to pierce the space between us with words for fear that it would all end. It was a dream, surely. I’d lost my mind. With my hands thumbed into the straps of my pack, I saw I my hands still shook, and they would shake a lot longer—years and with memories too. The crunch of earth underfoot became a rhythm and instead of looking at my brother, I watched his shadow on the ground.
“Everyone’s dead?” He asked.
“Yeah.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah,” I repeated.
“How ain’t I? How ain’t you?”
To say that it was luck would’ve been too morbid. Instead of saying anything, I shrugged, kicked a loose stone, watched my feet some more, and felt a queasiness come over me. For the moment, the immeasurable deaths of those I’d left behind were forgotten in the company of my brother and a sickness welled up inside of me so suddenly that I felt that I’d fall to pieces at the slightest provocation. Finally, I did speak again, but only after steeling myself to the troubles, “Yeah, how are you alive?”
Billy shrugged at me then stumbled up a hill which overlooked trash wood wilderness where sticks lay twisted and bare and further on the sight of Atlanta was visible and I cupped a hand across my brow and Billy did the same and we looked on at the shadows of the place out there where strings of smoke rose from the skyline as a signature for the desolation of the city; it was dead. I felt it in my bones.
My hands were light while my head was heavy, my throat was dry, and the entire world seized in moments of stillness or perhaps it was my own vision which construed the world in that way; I took to the small hill which Billy had climbed and sat there and stared at the place between my feet to steady myself.
“Fire,” said Billy.
I nodded and nearly choked.
Leviathan—till then I had no belief in dragons—glided over the broken city, its winged shadow little seen but its voice was deep across the scene, letting go of roars which shook the ground. We hid among the trash wood and moved down the hill and watched the creature thrash in the air as if it was angry for its abominable life. Whatever millennia it spent in the pits of hell seemingly thrust upon it a love of destruction and pain.
My brother moved with a more assured stride and kept a cool distance and upon fleeing from the wreckage, from the outlying area of Atlanta and the place we’d left our family, he spoke little and watched me strangely whenever I took to melancholic fatiguing. We lit no fires for fear of what it could draw from the night so in the dark I’d see him watching some far-off place, maybe seeing through the reality which surrounded us, and he’d snap from it, catch my eye, and disappear for minutes to scan the perimeter of whatever place we stayed. Being alongside my resurrected brother was lonelier than I could bear, and I hoped he’d disappear for good or that I could work up the courage to end my own life. It was like purgatory explained in books and for a time, it felt endless; upon witnessing the destruction of Atlanta, we pushed to Marrietta, and it was much the same. As was Chatanooga, Nashville, Knoxville, Louisville, Charlotte. The ocean had risen so that Fayetville was gone underwater, and the Florida leg disappeared completely as far as I’m aware. I understood later that Memphis was overlooked and more places further west were alive too, but when we’d exhausted the south, we moved north and found strongholds of families or traders or even small groupings of civilization, but by and large we found nothing much in the two years that we hoofed it from place to place; it was my doing mostly—I wanted to find a place untouched by the mayhem in the area my family had once patrolled.
In retrospect, I am certain that Billy only stayed by my side for convenience; there wasn’t any of my brother left in the man that was my travelling companion for that time. He was a ghost of a person and Mephisto had preyed upon my desire in the worst moment of weakness in my life. There were nights—maybe we’d taken up in a natural alcove for shelter or we’d locked ourselves in some ancient structure for sleep—I’d watch Billy lay where he was, Sibylle’s hat and holster lying beside him, and I’d think of putting him down but he’d stir and in a brief shadow I’d see my brother as he’d been and withdraw to bury my face in fake sleep to be met with images of the night the demons attacked where I’d shake, sweat, and bite my lips so hard I’d drink blood.
Two years we marched around the Appalachians and in that time, I felt myself wither and disconnect.
Upon moving further north we met Indianapolis—that’s what it was called back then—and it was run by an older woman called Lady Lazarus; I reckon her father, affluent and dead, was a fan of Plath. Indianapolis was fortified more than most with its high walls, and its wall men, and its underground facilities which produced substantial ammunition. We—me and Billy’s revenant—were travelling with a group of traders we’d taken up with from out west; they called themselves wizards and although they seemed of the occult, their spirits discounted whatever suspicions I might’ve had of them.
I remember first pushing through that big gate; the town kept with it an indisputable malaise and though we were greeted at the gate by the leader Lady Lazarus—her brothers came along with her—and her jovial demeanor carried a certain infectious quality, I could not help but notice that the regular denizens maintained a healthy distance from their leader (the guards which followed the Lady everywhere probably had something to do with this).
Lady Lazarus touched each of our hands in greeting with enthusiasm and I could not help but notice how soft they were, how vibrant her eyes were, how much she smiled, and how beautiful she was given her age; already her head was fully gray.
Upon meeting each of us, going through the wizard traders first, she came to me, and Billy and she shook my hand then pivoted to Billy.
“Welcome. You can call me Lady.”
Billy caught her hand in his, held it longer than she’d intended so that they held eye contact, and he smiled broadly, tipped the cowboy hat on his head back to expose his smooth forehead and said, “And you can call me Maron, mam. You are quite a sight for a tired man.”
Though Maron—as he’d named himself—was more boy than man, Lady took a disturbed liking to him immediately and we prolonged our stay in Indianapolis after the wizards departed to head west.
Under the rule of Lady, Indianapolis was a theocracy, with her addressing the huddled masses at the steps of her grand abode, she’d preach for hours on sin and strife and quote her favorite passages; though reminiscent of my time with the Rednecks, I never found any truth or sincerity or freedom in her teaching—hers was more trouble, brimstone, fire and I’d had enough of that for a lifetime. Public execution was common. As was torture.
Maron distanced himself further from me, but I remained to keep an eye on him—it was not sentimentality but rather I existed without purpose and conjured some from watching my brother.
Often, Lady invited Maron to her private rooms and though the rumors and speculation ran the full spectrum of perverse speculation, every denizen feigned ignorance at her pregnancy.
Upon giving birth, the infant was malformed with two heads—her brothers took this as an omen and killed the child, put their leader in the stocks for months, and stripped her of dignity while the denizens did to her what they pleased.
Maron rose through the wall men while Lady’s brothers assumed control of Indianapolis and called themselves Bosses; in the time since Lady’s reign, the place was renamed to Golgotha for its closeness to a messiah.
I went west but always found myself drawn back to Golgotha because of some emptiness in me. It was only with Suzanne that I wanted something more and knowing them, I almost believed in a world like the one that children dream about. The world that Gemma and Andrew chased after when they left home, like the one Aggie talked about in her mother’s books. There’s a hopelessness in me that I’ll never be rid of. In the interim between our initial arrival to Golgotha and that flight from that terrible city, I cannot know how many people I sacrificed in convening with demons because I refuse to know because the number would destroy me. That is the worst of it; I do not even have courage enough to face myself or the actions of my past in any substantive way.
Mephisto tainted me so that I could speak with his kind as a dealmaker and the disease grew.
Billy or Maron or whatever he is should have been reaped long ago or better, I should never have brought that abomination alive. Such a cruel world where a deep longing like that can be inverted, weaponized. Me and him should both die; me and him should have died a long time ago.
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Gemma was right about the sky’s open night, and I could sympathize with her recollection of the beauty, but for me it must’ve been a greater tragedy—the young woman had only ever enjoyed the stars in the pits of Golgotha; I could, long before, drink in the sky at leisure. Cruel memories.
The night the Rednecks died was one of viscera, but before that it was coolness on the breeze, a warmth by the fires while John played his guitar and we had only just taken two dozen kegs of lager (personal reserves) from the Atlanta despot—the man that kept his subjects as slaves and not a person among the camp was left without budding intoxication. No matter the age, everyone was invited to be merry; if it was that children too faced the plight of a bad world, then so too should they reap the moments of plenty—or so the camp figured.
John had taken a group by the fires where wagons were drawn in interlocking semicircles for cover and Jackson sat beside the picker. Jackson was a man which normally preferred quiet reflection over boisterous singing and nearly never wore the band on his throat, and yet there he was belting out the chorus at the top of his lungs, tankard in hand, red cloth blazed around his neck—it was a contagion and those drunk enough for easier embarrassment sang proudly along:
“There is power, there is power in a band of working folk!
When we stand hand in hand,
That’s a power, that’s the power,
That must rule in every land!”
I’d taken to the outlying shadows with my back pressed against the gas-powered caleche, my own tankard in hand. I loved the warmth of that great big family, truly, but even in those days—and maybe it was that queer youthfulness which longed for individualism that made me that way then—I remained as distanced as possible when I could. I sipped the lager, it was a fine drink and my brother Billy, nearly as old as I was when I’d first taken up in the infantry, swaggered to stand beside me just as quiet for minutes and we looked at the stars and he asked me what it was like to kill a man.
“Is it hard?” he asked.
I nodded, “Sometimes.”
“Killing monsters ain’t so bad. Don’t know if I could do it to a person.”
“You could if they meant to kill you; or if they meant to do it to someone you cared about,” I promised him. In those days, spry, energized, I held no time for staring into abysses; though I still wasn’t a man fully, I pretended as one. It was about family, and it was about doing what was right—what’s right seemed to change, or I changed. The world felt stark with good and evil and even later I’d feel that sentiment well up in me, but if that’s true, I know I stand more on the latter and so I intentionally obfuscated it—this I know. If not, it might be too much to bear. I was required to lie to myself and even in knowing I lied, it was better.
Billy tugged on the red kerchief around his throat and asked me how it looked on him.
“Looks good,” I said.
“Don’t think I look stupid at all?”
I smiled over my drink, “You always look stupid.” I sipped. “The neckwear’s fine.”
“Give me a break,” said Billy; he investigated his own cup, gave it a swish with his wrist, watching its contents swirl. “Aren’t you ever afraid you’ll die?”
“Sometimes—nights like this—I wouldn’t mind it.”
“Really?” my brother asked.
“There’s always a chance of it. Every moment, I guess.”
He smiled. “I wish I had that confidence.”
“You’ll get it,” I returned his smile; it was true that he would gain the fighting spirit. It came to us all with time and reminiscing on the early days, I recall the grit and the hatred—there was learning there too though. Besides, I’d seen the squalors of a stationary man. The stagnation of a place, an unmoving home.
John put his guitar away and laughter erupted from the crowd from something said and Sibylle, cowboy hat cocked funny, traipsed across the camp to the open keg for a refill; the man there, tending the cylinders, was a man named Tandy (a foreigner and one unknown besides the way he smoked a skunk pipe and told wild stories). My mother leaned over while Tandy opened the spigot mouth on the keg, and she froze there, and I could see her there cut out forever against the light of the fires; I watched, and it came so suddenly that I couldn’t be sure what’d happened at all. It was so sudden that I couldn’t find my weapon and I couldn’t find even the courage to fight because in those moments it wasn’t courage I needed, it was grounds to understand.
Sibylle came apart in two pieces immediately, torn completely through and dust erupted as her legs struck the ground while her torso spun through the air like a top, a trail of liquid trailed after, caught in the blue of night so it shone as black; she couldn’t scream. Tandy was a statue. Before anyone could react, more flesh, other bodies, went up and there was all manner of limbs which filled the ground, and it is astounding how quickly a red mist forms across the ground during a massacre. Perhaps the wails of my comrades started before, perhaps others fell before Sibylle, but I could not comprehend the goings-on till I saw her drop the way she did.
Frail human screams rose on the night; I slammed to the ground, tankard gone away and hands scrambling in the dirt; I reached up blindly and yanked Billy to my level and his expression was one of innocence, panic, tears even. Glancing around, I saw the demons bolt from the pitch-black darkness on the edges of camp, mutants taking the fore while greater creatures lurked further back, some hurled whips of gliding metal which writhed over their heads when they stretched them out for a strike—alien—and they sliced directly through soft human bodies. Not even a cry escaped me, but Billy let go with it and I slapped my cupped hand over his mouth hard to hold the screams. His voice would not have been alone anyway, not alongside that startling cacophony. Amidst the cries of people, there were the cries of horses, of our hounds.
We rolled across the ground, slipped beneath the raised body of the gas-powered caleche, remained quiet in the dark, peeked out between the wheels.
“What’s happening?” Billy whispered through my fingers; I removed my hand from him and caught a glimpse of him framed in a square of firelight through the wheels—we lay there on our bellies and the left side of his face was glazed with dirt where I’d pulled him down.
“Shh,” I told him, “Shh, please. Please.” Not another word came while I pleaded with him, pleaded with the world to make this all a nightmare.
Through the haze and the running silhouettes painted black, I saw what might have been Jackson; he stumbled and in the moment that it took me to gasp, his head was gone from his body, his torso slid on as he collapsed, came to rest mere feet from the motor wagon. I told myself that it wasn’t him, but it probably was.
Some mutants lumbered through the camp like animated corpses, some leapt with wild energy or sprayed noxious fumes which lingered in the air; others still were amalgams of humanlike limbs themselves—fiends—exhausting terrible sounds, producing smells of sulfur, glistening with whatever liquids excreted from their oblong alien orifices. Demons ran amok, chanted in devil tongued languages, laughed madly at the destruction—others still, those which displayed some greater intelligence, broke into a song I could never hope or want to replicate; it seemed a unified damnation.
“Please,” I repeated in a whimper and Billy hushed me this time and I realized we were holding hands, squeezing for dear life as figures walked the camp, speared those half-alive, elected others for twisted carnality.
In darkness, in fright plainly, we scuttled from the recess of our hiding place, kept quiet, held to each other, and went into the wasteland where nothing was—every shadow was a potential threat, every second could’ve been the last. We were holding hands; then we weren’t.
Only a glance—that’s all I afforded my brother and nothing more—what a joke of a person I am! What a coward I was. Always.
Something got him in the dark and instead of dying alongside those I cared about, I went on, heartbeat driving me till it was all that I heard in my ears and my muscles ached and my chest heaved and sweat covered me, chilled me in the breeze of the night—it was only once I’d accepted the dark completely, crawled into a hollowed space of rocks along a squat ridge that I watched the demolished camp; it seemed no larger than a spark, but the creatures, fiends and others continued their war cries; never before had I witnessed demons participate in such an attack.
I watched till the sun came, till the fires became smoke, then I watched the band of hell creatures disband. The smell of sulfur remained in the air—copper too—and I stumbled back to the camp in a dreamlike daze, totally unbelieving of the things I saw. Among those dead on the ground, I could recognize none; among those piked from rear to shoulder, standing like morbid scarecrows where they’d been steadied against the ground, I could not want to recognize.
Many of the wagons were overturned, including the gas-powered caleche and I went to it; the metal of its body was warped but I fell to the ground by it and pushed my back against the exposed undercarriage, remained frozen there while examining the bodies, the terrible strips of skin which rested places like wet sheets of paper, the piles of bones removed and smashed and piled.
I cried so deeply that oxygen became a memory, and the shakes couldn’t be contained.
It was like that for so long, knees pulled up, face pushed between, and the wails came unafraid of whatever attention they might garner; there was no rationale, but I imagine if there had been, I would’ve welcomed death in that misery. It was a deep wound that not even my own cowardice would overcome for the sake of survival.
Unaware of my surroundings, not wanting to look up from the ground between my legs, the noise which had started out as imaginary became real and I raised my head then to listen better and wipe my sore eyes; it was the sound of clip-clop horse hooves and I mildly wondered if any of the animals had been spared. I stood and pivoted around the dead camp and there it was, a man on a painted horse with golden hair; he leisurely drove the mount through the place, maneuvering around pools of blood, clumps of body parts and upon seeing me, he smiled and offered a languid wave, keeping one of his gloved hands on the reins.
The man wore white and swished his hair back upon arriving directly in front of me. Ahoy, he offered kindly, Did you happen to see the other riders?
I shook my head, feeling numb.
Ah, he said, I could have sworn four other riders, at least, passed me on my way. His gray eyes examined the carnage. Shame. He shook his head. You are?
“H-harlan.”
He nodded and nearly offered an expression of genuine condolence before descending from the horse; the animal gave a gentle grunt and wandered away from its master to inspect a nearby group of the dead. The man offered his hand, and I took it in a shake. Mephisto, said the man. He flashed a smile again before his face grew serious. I’ve come to you to deal.
I shot him a questioning look, one of bafflement.
I heard your calls from far off. He nodded, removed a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and swiped it down his face. Hot out. He shrugged then replaced the cloth in his pocket. This, he motioned to the disarray of vehicles, of bodies, I can’t fix all this—it’s too much—but there’s a person you love, I know. I could bring them back.
“Doctor?” In retrospect it was such a naïve question.
He shook his head.
“Angel?”
He grinned and nodded, Sure.
“Demon?”
Undoubtedly. His eyes—pits of gray in that radiant face—nearly expressed solemness; he daintily shook the hair from his face and looked at his steed which sniffed a corpse. What’s the word, Harlan? There are others calling and I must be on my way soon—I can’t dally. There was a sharpness to the words. Can’t dally. We must convene soon, or I’ll mosey on.
I snorted back the clog in my nose from the tears and wiped my eyes with my sleeves. “Okay.”
Deal?
I nodded, “Deal.”
Sleep tonight, said Mephisto, Sleep and you’ll be rewarded in the morning.
“You said it’s a deal.”
He nodded and scanned the carnage before we matched gazes and then he said, Yes?
“What is it you want from me?”
Nothing you need now. He called the horse, and it came, and he swept his feet quickly from the ground and settled into position atop the animal. Sleep, Harlan. You won’t be bothered. There are worse things still over the horizon.
I watched him go till he disappeared and once he was gone, I couldn’t cry anymore and instead rummaged through the wagons for what I might carry; along the way I found John, face twisted but corpse intact. The body from the previous night that I’d guessed was Jackson couldn’t be determined but I found him nowhere else. I slid Sibylle’s holster from her hips, fell hard onto the ground and found that I could sob more. I took her cowboy hat, placed it on my head and held her pistol in one hand and the belt holster dangled from the other while I searched the other bodies; there were so many, but I could not find Billy.
Waiting for darkness, I took the spot where I rested, back against the caleche’s undercarriage, watched the sky and felt the gun in my hand; it was heavy. I put it to my head, closed my eyes, and whispered affirmations to myself then I put the pistol between my splayed legs, watched it still in the dirt, and pulled the hat down over my eyes but it did little for the smell. Though the brim of the hat cut the sky out, I watched the ground and saw circling shadows form overhead and heard calls of turkey vultures; they came to pick over the bodies. I withdrew my knees to my chest there again and laid my forearm across them and bit into my arm while closing my eyes. I had thought I was a man and for a time, maybe I was, but there in that miserable pit of despair I became a child again and if I’d become more delirious, I’m sure I might’ve called out for Jackson like it was a bad dream.
Into a fading stupor of sleep in the sun I went and when I awoke again it was dark and chilly and I was tired and hungry but too sick to eat and hardly strong enough to move; I looked at the gun and put it into its holster and left it there by the caleche. In the light of the moon and stars, I moved to gather a bolt of canvas; I unfurled the fabric and created a leaning shelter against the overturned vehicle and crawled into it. There was a hole in the canvas, and I peeked out at the stars.
Weeping came again, but not so uproarious; I was stuck there letting go of whimpers, lying on my back, feeling the tears trace in lines from the outer corners of my eyes to collect along my earlobes. In time, I fell to sleep again on the hard ground because the mourning had taken all else from me.
A pinpoint of sunlight broke my eyelids and I jerked awake and reached for the holster, but it was gone. So was the hat. I crawled from the leaning shelter and there he was.
Billy stood plainly among the dried, congealed blood-soaked field and he looked on to the horizon and all shadows were long in the midday sun which hung up there in a soft blue sky. Whether it be a dream or a spell, I couldn’t care—I charged to him and spun him so he faced me and though his face was plain and expressionless, I wrapped him into a forceful hug. He placed his hands on my back and gave a gentle squeeze; when I pulled from him, my hands on his shoulders, I saw he held Sibylle’s hat in his left hand, pinched by the brim; he’d already tugged her holster belt around his hips—he could have it all. I shook while holding him then let go to wipe my face.
“You’re alive,” I nodded.
He nodded without speaking then looked at the hat in his hand and placed it on his head and firmly pressed it down.
“Billy! Hell, you’re alive!”
The corners of his mouth twitched upward for a moment then he nodded again. “Yeah.” His eyes curiously searched our surroundings like he meant to take each detail in forever.
I slapped him on the shoulder and almost squealed. “Goddammit.” I wiped my eyes again and could do little to keep the excitement from exploding from me. “Oh, we should go. We should go on and get somewhere safe.”
He nodded toward the horizon, “’Lanta?”
“Sure.”
We packed and it was a like an ethereal phantom remained among us beside the quiet dead; turkey vultures cawed to break the silence, pecked where they pleased on the bodies, and I couldn’t want to fight them. I kept sidelong eyes on Billy with the ever-present worry that he’d vanish. Perhaps he was the phantom.
From the rear of the caleche, I removed a few sentimental books Jackson liked, essential cookware, and sparse rations for the trek. The last thing I grabbed was my shotgun and a bit of ammo.
As we set from the dead place, the terrible silhouettes that were cut from there on the horizon behind us grew in my mind with every backward glance—I wanted to fall to pieces, but I saw Billy walk alongside me and although contented is not the right word, it is the nearest. The steps of our boots were all that was heard because I could not fathom to pierce the space between us with words for fear that it would all end. It was a dream, surely. I’d lost my mind. With my hands thumbed into the straps of my pack, I saw I my hands still shook, and they would shake a lot longer—years and with memories too. The crunch of earth underfoot became a rhythm and instead of looking at my brother, I watched his shadow on the ground.
“Everyone’s dead?” He asked.
“Yeah.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah,” I repeated.
“How ain’t I? How ain’t you?”
To say that it was luck would’ve been too morbid. Instead of saying anything, I shrugged, kicked a loose stone, watched my feet some more, and felt a queasiness come over me. For the moment, the immeasurable deaths of those I’d left behind were forgotten in the company of my brother and a sickness welled up inside of me so suddenly that I felt that I’d fall to pieces at the slightest provocation. Finally, I did speak again, but only after steeling myself to the troubles, “Yeah, how are you alive?”
Billy shrugged at me then stumbled up a hill which overlooked trash wood wilderness where sticks lay twisted and bare and further on the sight of Atlanta was visible and I cupped a hand across my brow and Billy did the same and we looked on at the shadows of the place out there where strings of smoke rose from the skyline as a signature for the desolation of the city; it was dead. I felt it in my bones.
My hands were light while my head was heavy, my throat was dry, and the entire world seized in moments of stillness or perhaps it was my own vision which construed the world in that way; I took to the small hill which Billy had climbed and sat there and stared at the place between my feet to steady myself.
“Fire,” said Billy.
I nodded and nearly choked.
Leviathan—till then I had no belief in dragons—glided over the broken city, its winged shadow little seen but its voice was deep across the scene, letting go of roars which shook the ground. We hid among the trash wood and moved down the hill and watched the creature thrash in the air as if it was angry for its abominable life. Whatever millennia it spent in the pits of hell seemingly thrust upon it a love of destruction and pain.
My brother moved with a more assured stride and kept a cool distance and upon fleeing from the wreckage, from the outlying area of Atlanta and the place we’d left our family, he spoke little and watched me strangely whenever I took to melancholic fatiguing. We lit no fires for fear of what it could draw from the night so in the dark I’d see him watching some far-off place, maybe seeing through the reality which surrounded us, and he’d snap from it, catch my eye, and disappear for minutes to scan the perimeter of whatever place we stayed. Being alongside my resurrected brother was lonelier than I could bear, and I hoped he’d disappear for good or that I could work up the courage to end my own life. It was like purgatory explained in books and for a time, it felt endless; upon witnessing the destruction of Atlanta, we pushed to Marrietta, and it was much the same. As was Chatanooga, Nashville, Knoxville, Louisville, Charlotte. The ocean had risen so that Fayetville was gone underwater, and the Florida leg disappeared completely as far as I’m aware. I understood later that Memphis was overlooked and more places further west were alive too, but when we’d exhausted the south, we moved north and found strongholds of families or traders or even small groupings of civilization, but by and large we found nothing much in the two years that we hoofed it from place to place; it was my doing mostly—I wanted to find a place untouched by the mayhem in the area my family had once patrolled.
In retrospect, I am certain that Billy only stayed by my side for convenience; there wasn’t any of my brother left in the man that was my travelling companion for that time. He was a ghost of a person and Mephisto had preyed upon my desire in the worst moment of weakness in my life. There were nights—maybe we’d taken up in a natural alcove for shelter or we’d locked ourselves in some ancient structure for sleep—I’d watch Billy lay where he was, Sibylle’s hat and holster lying beside him, and I’d think of putting him down but he’d stir and in a brief shadow I’d see my brother as he’d been and withdraw to bury my face in fake sleep to be met with images of the night the demons attacked where I’d shake, sweat, and bite my lips so hard I’d drink blood.
Two years we marched around the Appalachians and in that time, I felt myself wither and disconnect.
Upon moving further north we met Indianapolis—that’s what it was called back then—and it was run by an older woman called Lady Lazarus; I reckon her father, affluent and dead, was a fan of Plath. Indianapolis was fortified more than most with its high walls, and its wall men, and its underground facilities which produced substantial ammunition. We—me and Billy’s revenant—were travelling with a group of traders we’d taken up with from out west; they called themselves wizards and although they seemed of the occult, their spirits discounted whatever suspicions I might’ve had of them.
I remember first pushing through that big gate; the town kept with it an indisputable malaise and though we were greeted at the gate by the leader Lady Lazarus—her brothers came along with her—and her jovial demeanor carried a certain infectious quality, I could not help but notice that the regular denizens maintained a healthy distance from their leader (the guards which followed the Lady everywhere probably had something to do with this).
Lady Lazarus touched each of our hands in greeting with enthusiasm and I could not help but notice how soft they were, how vibrant her eyes were, how much she smiled, and how beautiful she was given her age; already her head was fully gray.
Upon meeting each of us, going through the wizard traders first, she came to me, and Billy and she shook my hand then pivoted to Billy.
“Welcome. You can call me Lady.”
Billy caught her hand in his, held it longer than she’d intended so that they held eye contact, and he smiled broadly, tipped the cowboy hat on his head back to expose his smooth forehead and said, “And you can call me Maron, mam. You are quite a sight for a tired man.”
Though Maron—as he’d named himself—was more boy than man, Lady took a disturbed liking to him immediately and we prolonged our stay in Indianapolis after the wizards departed to head west.
Under the rule of Lady, Indianapolis was a theocracy, with her addressing the huddled masses at the steps of her grand abode, she’d preach for hours on sin and strife and quote her favorite passages; though reminiscent of my time with the Rednecks, I never found any truth or sincerity or freedom in her teaching—hers was more trouble, brimstone, fire and I’d had enough of that for a lifetime. Public execution was common. As was torture.
Maron distanced himself further from me, but I remained to keep an eye on him—it was not sentimentality but rather I existed without purpose and conjured some from watching my brother.
Often, Lady invited Maron to her private rooms and though the rumors and speculation ran the full spectrum of perverse speculation, every denizen feigned ignorance at her pregnancy.
Upon giving birth, the infant was malformed with two heads—her brothers took this as an omen and killed the child, put their leader in the stocks for months, and stripped her of dignity while the denizens did to her what they pleased.
Maron rose through the wall men while Lady’s brothers assumed control of Indianapolis and called themselves Bosses; in the time since Lady’s reign, the place was renamed to Golgotha for its closeness to a messiah.
I went west but always found myself drawn back to Golgotha because of some emptiness in me. It was only with Suzanne that I wanted something more and knowing them, I almost believed in a world like the one that children dream about. The world that Gemma and Andrew chased after when they left home, like the one Aggie talked about in her mother’s books. There’s a hopelessness in me that I’ll never be rid of. In the interim between our initial arrival to Golgotha and that flight from that terrible city, I cannot know how many people I sacrificed in convening with demons because I refuse to know because the number would destroy me. That is the worst of it; I do not even have courage enough to face myself or the actions of my past in any substantive way.
Mephisto tainted me so that I could speak with his kind as a dealmaker and the disease grew.
Billy or Maron or whatever he is should have been reaped long ago or better, I should never have brought that abomination alive. Such a cruel world where a deep longing like that can be inverted, weaponized. Me and him should both die; me and him should have died a long time ago.
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2024.05.17 09:46 yagmurozdemr Motion Design Trends in 2024
I’ve put together a list of the top motion design trends you should try to keep your work fresh. These trends are reshaping the field and helping designers create more dynamic, interactive, and visually stunning content.
Dynamic Animations and Expressive Typography: Dynamic animations and kinetic typography are transforming how we engage with text. By adding movement to words, designers can create engaging and memorable stories. This technique is especially effective in advertising, educational content, and social media. Brands like Apple and Nike use kinetic typography in their ads too.
Immersive Experiences and Interactive Elements: Incorporating 3D elements, parallax effects, and interactive features like clickable hotspots or scroll-triggered animations can transform viewers into active participants. Websites like Awwwards showcase excellent examples of interactive elements that enhance user engagement and provide a unique browsing experience.
Minimalism and Simplified Design: As you all know, Google’s homepage is a classic example of minimalist design—simple, effective, and user-friendly. Brands like Apple and Tesla also use minimalist motion design in their product videos.
Futuristic and Sci-Fi Inspired Visuals: Elements like holographic displays, glitch effects, and digital distortions create a forward-thinking aesthetic. This trend is popular in tech and innovation-driven content.
I was wondering your opinions about this in 2024. Many articles are out there about trends, but what do you think is rising at the moment? You can check out the more detailed version here, and I'd like to hear your opinion.
submitted by yagmurozdemr to AfterEffects [link] [comments]
Dynamic Animations and Expressive Typography: Dynamic animations and kinetic typography are transforming how we engage with text. By adding movement to words, designers can create engaging and memorable stories. This technique is especially effective in advertising, educational content, and social media. Brands like Apple and Nike use kinetic typography in their ads too.
Immersive Experiences and Interactive Elements: Incorporating 3D elements, parallax effects, and interactive features like clickable hotspots or scroll-triggered animations can transform viewers into active participants. Websites like Awwwards showcase excellent examples of interactive elements that enhance user engagement and provide a unique browsing experience.
Minimalism and Simplified Design: As you all know, Google’s homepage is a classic example of minimalist design—simple, effective, and user-friendly. Brands like Apple and Tesla also use minimalist motion design in their product videos.
Futuristic and Sci-Fi Inspired Visuals: Elements like holographic displays, glitch effects, and digital distortions create a forward-thinking aesthetic. This trend is popular in tech and innovation-driven content.
I was wondering your opinions about this in 2024. Many articles are out there about trends, but what do you think is rising at the moment? You can check out the more detailed version here, and I'd like to hear your opinion.
2024.05.17 09:46 yagmurozdemr Motion Design Trends in 2024
I’ve put together a list of the top motion design trends you should try to keep your work fresh. These trends are reshaping the field and helping designers create more dynamic, interactive, and visually stunning content.
Dynamic Animations and Expressive Typography: Dynamic animations and kinetic typography are transforming how we engage with text. By adding movement to words, designers can create engaging and memorable stories. This technique is especially effective in advertising, educational content, and social media. Brands like Apple and Nike use kinetic typography in their ads too.
Immersive Experiences and Interactive Elements: Incorporating 3D elements, parallax effects, and interactive features like clickable hotspots or scroll-triggered animations can transform viewers into active participants. Websites like Awwwards showcase excellent examples of interactive elements that enhance user engagement and provide a unique browsing experience.
Minimalism and Simplified Design: As you all know, Google’s homepage is a classic example of minimalist design—simple, effective, and user-friendly. Brands like Apple and Tesla also use minimalist motion design in their product videos.
Futuristic and Sci-Fi Inspired Visuals: Elements like holographic displays, glitch effects, and digital distortions create a forward-thinking aesthetic. This trend is popular in tech and innovation-driven content.
I was wondering your opinions about this in 2024. Many articles are out there about trends, but what do you think is rising at the moment? You can check out the more detailed version here, and I'd like to hear your opinion.
submitted by yagmurozdemr to graphic_design [link] [comments]
Dynamic Animations and Expressive Typography: Dynamic animations and kinetic typography are transforming how we engage with text. By adding movement to words, designers can create engaging and memorable stories. This technique is especially effective in advertising, educational content, and social media. Brands like Apple and Nike use kinetic typography in their ads too.
Immersive Experiences and Interactive Elements: Incorporating 3D elements, parallax effects, and interactive features like clickable hotspots or scroll-triggered animations can transform viewers into active participants. Websites like Awwwards showcase excellent examples of interactive elements that enhance user engagement and provide a unique browsing experience.
Minimalism and Simplified Design: As you all know, Google’s homepage is a classic example of minimalist design—simple, effective, and user-friendly. Brands like Apple and Tesla also use minimalist motion design in their product videos.
Futuristic and Sci-Fi Inspired Visuals: Elements like holographic displays, glitch effects, and digital distortions create a forward-thinking aesthetic. This trend is popular in tech and innovation-driven content.
I was wondering your opinions about this in 2024. Many articles are out there about trends, but what do you think is rising at the moment? You can check out the more detailed version here, and I'd like to hear your opinion.
2024.05.17 09:46 yagmurozdemr Motion Design Trends in 2024
I’ve put together a list of the top motion design trends you should try to keep your work fresh. These trends are reshaping the field and helping designers create more dynamic, interactive, and visually stunning content.
Dynamic Animations and Expressive Typography: Dynamic animations and kinetic typography are transforming how we engage with text. By adding movement to words, designers can create engaging and memorable stories. This technique is especially effective in advertising, educational content, and social media. Brands like Apple and Nike use kinetic typography in their ads too.
Immersive Experiences and Interactive Elements: Incorporating 3D elements, parallax effects, and interactive features like clickable hotspots or scroll-triggered animations can transform viewers into active participants. Websites like Awwwards showcase excellent examples of interactive elements that enhance user engagement and provide a unique browsing experience.
Minimalism and Simplified Design: As you all know, Google’s homepage is a classic example of minimalist design—simple, effective, and user-friendly. Brands like Apple and Tesla also use minimalist motion design in their product videos.
Futuristic and Sci-Fi Inspired Visuals: Elements like holographic displays, glitch effects, and digital distortions create a forward-thinking aesthetic. This trend is popular in tech and innovation-driven content.
I was wondering your opinions about this in 2024. Many articles are out there about trends, but what do you think is rising at the moment? You can check out the more detailed version here, and I'd like to hear your opinion.
submitted by yagmurozdemr to MotionDesign [link] [comments]
Dynamic Animations and Expressive Typography: Dynamic animations and kinetic typography are transforming how we engage with text. By adding movement to words, designers can create engaging and memorable stories. This technique is especially effective in advertising, educational content, and social media. Brands like Apple and Nike use kinetic typography in their ads too.
Immersive Experiences and Interactive Elements: Incorporating 3D elements, parallax effects, and interactive features like clickable hotspots or scroll-triggered animations can transform viewers into active participants. Websites like Awwwards showcase excellent examples of interactive elements that enhance user engagement and provide a unique browsing experience.
Minimalism and Simplified Design: As you all know, Google’s homepage is a classic example of minimalist design—simple, effective, and user-friendly. Brands like Apple and Tesla also use minimalist motion design in their product videos.
Futuristic and Sci-Fi Inspired Visuals: Elements like holographic displays, glitch effects, and digital distortions create a forward-thinking aesthetic. This trend is popular in tech and innovation-driven content.
I was wondering your opinions about this in 2024. Many articles are out there about trends, but what do you think is rising at the moment? You can check out the more detailed version here, and I'd like to hear your opinion.