Burning throat and esophagus thyroid

LPRSilentGerd

2020.08.25 20:47 ohnoitsapril88 LPRSilentGerd

Laryngopharyngeal reflux is a condition in which acid that is made in the stomach travels up the esophagus (swallowing tube) and gets to the throat. Symptoms include sore throat and an irritated larynx (voice box).
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2012.03.20 16:27 Tyrant2 Fan page of those that like Cascadian Black Metal.

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2024.06.05 11:43 Current_Bet_624 Trade

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2024.06.05 11:17 Signal-Hearing-3557 Help me anyone.

I had isotretinoin before but couldn’t finish my full course. This time I decided to finish it. But within 2 months I had gastric related side effects. like burping, bloating, Nausea, heartburn, gas stuck in throat feeling and burn feeling in belly. I researched a lot about it. Then I found some disclaimer on the pack of my accutane(isotretinoin). It said many have got IBD (Inflammatory bowel disease) after accutane. i dont know what happeing with me. My derm suggested me to lower dose. What should I do?
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2024.06.05 10:57 nicolejag Abdominal Myo Update

After all this group has supported me, had to circle back with surgery story in hopes it helps someone else.
Had an open myomectomy with a horizontal incision yesterday 6/4/24 and the surgery was a great success. We went in knowing there were 4 fibroids with the largest 4cm being in the uterine wall. This one was likely the source of the heavy bleeding that put me in a chronic anemic status. It’s the main reason I felt I had to act.
Pain: The doctor loaded me up on numbing and nerve blockers at incision site, so waking up my pain was maybe a 3 of 10. What I felt was mostly pressure in my pelvis like I wanted to poop but couldn’t. I’m on morphine and a Tylenol drip and my pain has pretty much stayed at a 3. The most painful part was the injections for anesthesia. It burned so badly. Also burns when any other pain medication such as morphine is being administered, but so far so good.
Post surgery self care: Was put on 12 hour bed rest, so no getting up. Catheter is taking care of urine and I bird bathed and brushed my teeth using containers/cups in bed. I used one cup for rinsing water and another for spitting. Was then able to moisturize, apply chapstick and use lozenges for throat which was slightly dry.
Clotting: They applied compression socks to me during prep. The also have these machines hooked up to my legs, as well as breathing exercises each hour to further avoid lung clots/pneumonia.
Diet: On clear liquids (water, juice and broth) for now, but not hungry at all.
Can’t think of anything else right now. Will circle back with updates.
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2024.06.05 10:54 Ok-Picture4903 Did I go overboard or over step in my roleplay?

In our first session we met up with other people. The only friend that I have was wizard. So here is the list of other pc:
Shiela (Elf, Wizard [Order of Scribes]) LN: - Follower of Mystra and try to investigate the forgotten spells og Netherill.
Me: Alexander (Aasimar, Cleric [Life Domain]) LG: - Follower of Lathander, I was a Deva that became mortal to prove evil can be redeemed.
Cesar (Haregeon, Rogue [Arcane Trickster]) TN: -A father on a quest to avenge his wife from being killed by Vecna but still has to support her daughter's education. Godless.
Zagerall (Half-Orc Barbarian [Path of Zealot]) CN: Suicidal. server of Talos
Sylstra (Yuan-Ti Bard [College of Eloquence]) NE: -She is basically the spawn if Meg and Jessica Rabbit and go in her villain arc. face of the party. Server of Graz'zt.
Leonidas (Black Dragonborn Paladin [Oath of Glory]): - One who is kind of a jerk but he can get the job done. Paladin of Cyric.
Here's what happened:
In our session starts with us in the road heading towards the hideout of our benefactor it was displayed that we are in a caravan and the six of us is heading on the way my character is busy organizing each berry he picked up in the forest while the Shiela is studying her magics, and Cesar, Zagerall, and Leonidas is polishing their weapons and Sylstra is taking a nap, here our benefactor explain what happened to the people before us and how close they are in killing Vecna. So to test our skills we are hired to kill the heretic bishop where from being a follower of Chauntea decided to became one of the cleric necromancers and serve Vecna.
It was at least a day trip here we roleplay on who we are without exposing too much secrets to each other. Here I do became friends with our rogue but the Bard and Paladin hate my guts (Since I am a follow Lathander). The Bard thinks of me as a mere prey that she can easily manipulate. I think. While the paladin treats me like I am a dirt that should be cleanse. here before I go to sleep I cast Augry to pray to my god Lathander and ask how he feels about our current mission. The DM looks to me think for a moment and says I can feel the heat radiating even the night is cold as the winter where in a point that the grass around starts to burn. Lathander is mad then he then shows me what type of bishop the heretic was and give me a woe omen that when the priest starts to chant it shows images of how horrible our fate was as we are being consumes in red blood and crucified in the symbol of Vecna. Shiela and Cesar immediately catches me before I fall and the rogue pour a water skin all over me and ask Shiela to help him get rid of my armor since the steam is becoming hotter as the time passes by and get me to the nearest lake. As I cool down I tell them what i see, Shiela believe in me but Cesar thinks it may or may not be true but it was nice that I tell him that information.
We try to get the rest to wake up but both Sylstra and Leo was out sleeping then as we go to Zagerall's tent here the DM makes him roll a wisdom saving throw as he rolled a total of 9 the DM says that Zagerall's body start to twitch and Cesar joked that Zagerall must be having a wet dream. When he twitches again so I say that I try to have my blanket cover Zag's body cause he might be cold. And with a snap The DM says to me to make a dexterity saving throw and the player of Shiela and Cesar groan as they remember that I have a dexterity score of 4. I rolled a natural 1 so my first PvP happened and the DM ask me to roll initiative. I got a total of 6 while Zag has 13 so surprise attack was an immediate rage and he rolled natural freaking 20 and it was the was worst the DM says that he will add the Savage attack with the divine fury. as Zag then bit me on my arm i loose but thankfully I am an aasimar and I am resistant to necrotic shit, a chunk of hit points was taken from me, The DM ask him to roll a grapple check. I loose the contested check since he is basically raging and had an advantage. So when it is was my turn I cast Enhance Ability on myself and barely manage to get out of the grapple. Then DM now ask me to make another Athletics check I rolled a natural 20 and here I throw him outside of the tent and as his head landed first into the ground the DM make him roll another wisdom saving throw as soon he rolls a 16. He wake up Cesar then wasted no time and tie Zag up. I heal myself for a bit and Shiela demanded to know what just happened. Here Zag tell us his backstory on why he wanted to die since he himself became a weapon of Talos since his clan did suffer from being though as the monster in every place they walk in. Then in his words describe that his clan has to be tough in order to live only the strong will thrive while the weak is serve as a dinner to all apparently cannibalism in dnd is a thing and as he pray to end the famine of his clan his first victim was his whole clan he still remember all the things he had done even the cries of the children he had to kill to appease Talos. Shiela and Cesar rolled an insight to see if his speaking the truth and after some check the DM confirm he is telling the truth. I then go near to him and began to untie him Cesar was about to yell at me and I look at him directly in the eyes. "Even he committed those crimes I don't think he wants to do it again. Also as far I know he carry our bags no questions ask when we are in the caravan his kind. He didn't have to but he did. He can just let us have our own campfire but he make it for us anyway. He may have a deity that wants to to go like a maniac but his not alone now he has us. And we can aid him to be in control." Cesar just sighs at me and say "This is gonna bite us in the ass. And if that happened I got dibs on saying I told you so" Shiela on the other hand just looks at me. "Are you sure about him tagging with us he may end one of us?" then Zag then agrees that he will be tied up next to us and to do not resist any spells that Shiela will use on him for safety.
As we take our long rest. I want to talk to Sylystra and Leo but they just walk away and when we get to the church Leo and Sylsytra then kidnapped some followers and have us extra disguises. As we get inside the chruch we then see the chapel has some people in it Sylsytra then became our negotiator with her being devious the plan was to get the bishop hand as the staff so we can do the ritual itself but as soon we got it we will bolt and run. Cesar cast Silent Image to have another figure of him and Shiela cast Invisibility on Cesar to make him stealth around the room. After a few banters Sylstra then failed by rolling a natural 1 in performance. And here Leonidas pushes me on the back to the door of the church and orders me to cast an immediate Bless on them. Then here the DM says as soon Leo does that he then start to say his sermon and all other cultist ready their weapons with 8 knights to 6 we are fucked and here Shiela ask if all of the knight can cast spells. The DM makes her roll an arcana she succeeds and the DM nods and with bullet of time we rolled for initiative. I rolled a nat 20 so that means I get to go first and as the priest continue his sermon as he was chanting the recollection of Augry just hits me and my mind starts to have these images and here I cast Silence center of the room where I can envelop all the knight and the priest. I can see that the DM, PC of Shiela, Cesar and even Sylstra had their eyes wide open. With this Cesar smiles and as he stealth with advantage he just slit the priest's throat and rolled a nat 20 so he can add his sneak attack and the DM says to Cesar he doesn't have to roll and he can just explain how he killed the priest. Shiela then cast Flaming Sphere and with in tag with Sylytra who runs and cast Heat Metal to the other knight. Leonidas, Cesar, and Zag do the up close combat. My character is having an existential crisis as he sees he may have stop the visions he had but the bath blood is high up in the church no less. So before anyone else see I immediate cast Thaumaturgy and have all the doors and windows closed and cast an immediate Spiritual Weapon which is a disc in a sun design and the ray of the sun are spinning and I say I want to help Cesar since one of the knights pin him on the wall. The DM ask me to make an attack roll, I rolled a total of 22. and as soon it hits the DM describes the arms being cut off with immense speed and Cesar is free from grapple which make it's turn and use steady aim and kill the knight in front of him.
Our DM is also rolling natural 20 in their box. I then stuck to healing after that when one of the up close fighter is knock down they will disengage and I will heal them with some spell in my arsenal I also have to keep tabs on the last knight since it just took Cesar and Zag now up close to Shiela and Sylstra. Our Paladin is isn't using his spells or even Lay on hands and just straight up walk to the large knight his attack barely hits and as soon the knights helmet was destroyed revealing an undead orc. Shiela and Sylstra uses their action to immediately disengage and run towards me. The paladin is on 2 hit points and now trap with the flaming sphere and the huge orc in front of him. So when it was my turn I use my channel divinity and give Cesar, Sylstra whose in 3 hit points left, and Zag to have at least have 5 hit points and I immediately run 30 feet towards it trying to get the orc's attention to give our paladin a chance to escape since I am still have half of my hit points. As soon Zag wakes up the DM made him roll a history check with advantage. As soon he succeeds the DM tells him that this is his brother who had a traits on being this huge of an orc still think to himself as a child whom he killed is now stitched up as a puppet for the necromancer's to control even the parts of him was not his anymore. The PC of Zag look at me and then say in character drop his rage and uses his action to make a persuasion check on me the to the rest of the people in the table "Please don't let him run again his not a monster, he doesn't even want to chase anyone away" but he rolled a 13. I sigh and gripped on my d20 die the paladin then makes another attack it was a natural 20 the PC had a slight smile on his face as he was about to use his last spell slot for a divine smite to deliver the final blow. Then Shiela then cast her last level slot to Silvery Barbs to made that attack with disadvantage and have Cesar an advantage to his next roll. So Ceasar get up use bunny hop then rolled and beat Leo's athletics check. Sylstra then just sighs and cast bane on both Leo and the orc. Shiela dropped her flaming sphere and make an investigation check and with mage hand all of the knights here are all undead orc, human, and half-orc. It was my turn I then sigh I should vanquish this undead being since it was I was trained to do. then with I then cast command and I look up to the orc whose been eating other undead to gain hit points. I spoke my words and I cast command I grab it's cold face Be "Sated" the DM smiles on their face they were about to roll a die for the orc's wisdom saving throw. I think then they just sits down in their sit and ask me. What does the orc and Zag sees as the undead Orc stops and kneel? I say that the new dawn rises and finally Zag's brother and other victims inside the church is now smiling upon Zag hoping he'll leave for them and for the future they might've been.
Then the DM describe a beautiful picture for the PC of Zag to imagine and here the orc with a cold smile on his face falls into the ground and the new dawn rises. The PC of Shiela then starts to clap slowly but the PC of Leonidas is mad where he describes that Leonidas will put his longsword in his back wipe the blood on his shield and walks out first in the church. The DM ask if we have any thing we want to do before they end the session I say I will try to make a proper funeral for Zag's brother who now name "Dud", Zag then carries the body Shiela and Ceasar helped me to dig on the ground near into a forest fields with lake in the side. Slystra then also walks out of the church and heads back to our caravan but doesn't talk to Leo. I used my last spell slot for a Ceremony and do a Funeral Rite we walk into the near inn and do our stuff. And here our session one ends. I try to talk to Leonidas' player but he just ignores me but stop and say to me and remember to not steal his kill next time. And I was pondering if I make a bad decision the Player of Shiela approaches me and tell me to just shrug it off if he wants to blame someone it should be her not me. Am I wrong to role play that way?
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2024.06.05 10:33 Indifference11 [L]Having severe dental pain, throat infection and people keep smoking cigarettes

im having a massive panic attack rn
i want a cleaner house
but im too depressed and weak to move forward
my throat is burning and im afraid its cuz i got the wrong inhaler
pls send me good thoughts i cant relax
im calling a hotline
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2024.06.05 10:12 willboss27 AtE: A Corrupted Eden - Chapter 3 "Crisis of Faith"

Another re-worked chapter. Far less Grand Mages to remember, just the key players this time. Worked to make their positions more clear though their dialogue and some negotiation tactics were on display here.
Zani's character is a lot less aggressive and angsty now! Not everyone got to speak, but that's ok, they were all necessary. All is good in the world.

Crisis of Faith

The seething crowd surged and bucked against the stone-faced City Guard standing at the base of the stairs of the High Sanctuary. Posters and signs waved around in the air, red and black words calling for Vesuvius Blotch to answer to imagined crimes. Forced to abandon their vehicles before arriving at the main bridge connecting Meritorious Square to the Circle, Zani, Tuck and the rest of the City Guard were struggling to make their way to the High Sanctuary itself. Cora and Sentrious enclosed the group in bubbles of air, protecting them from the onslaught of the angry crowd surrounding them. What the bubbles did not do, however, was shield them from the insults and angry voices.
“You’re liars!”
“Exile Blotch! Abolish the City Guard!”
“Burn the Vault down!”
“BipBap was killed to protect Blotch’s power!”
Zani gritted her teeth as she heard people crying for the redemption of BipBap DipDap. The man who had murdered Gravitas Flight. Argentum Chalice. Crescent Pain. A tremor ran up her body as she thought of Crescent, and her eyes fractured from tears. The man who had loved her and looked after her as his brother once had. Murdered during the siege of the High Sanctuary when Mr. Bones, the Arch-Canon of the Faceless Church, and BipBap, his accomplice, had broken in with an army of Hollow Men to steal the documents necessary for them to bring back their race of evil gods. They hadn’t succeeded, and after a long fight, Bones had fled and BipBap was dead. But it hadn’t brought back Crescent. Nothing could.
Doing her best to ignore them, she quickened her pace. Forced to make a quick detour to the Brute to swap their battle-worn attire for the more decorated version of the City Guard uniforms, they were running a few minutes late. After what seemed to have been an eternity, they made it through the crowd, making their way to the doors of the High Sanctuary, where Fenix and another group of Cleavers greeted them. Nodding their goodbyes, the rest of the City Guard detached from them and headed further into the High Sanctuary.
“Mr. Flak, anything you could provide us before going in?” Rylent asked, ever the professional, stepping to the side to allow their Cleavers through as their prisoners were escorted to the cells.
Fenix nodded, handing the commander a sheaf of papers. “The Grand Mages arrived roughly five minutes ago via motorcade. There’s five of them this time. Krytron Glass representing the English Sanctuary, Alfeim Dawn from the Italian Sanctuary, Willow Ardency from Istoria, a Mystical City, and Daemon Steel with his administrator, Aberration De Rais, both from the American Sanctuary.”
Rylent nodded, staring down at the papers. “I’ve met Krytron and Daemon. Both powerful, and they make sure you know about it when you enter a room.”
“But how they present that power differs,” Fenix added. “Krytron likes to lead the conversation, trying to learn from both sides. Daemon has a silver tongue, drawing people close to him before taking them down,” his eyes flickered over to Zani and Tuck. “Don’t underestimate him. He’s still the Grand Mage of America, and he’s known to be fiercely intelligent and ruthless.”
Zani nodded her understanding, carefully examining the administrator’s face as he spoke, trying to spot the tell-tale dark veins of possession. Even now, months after discovering the truth, Zani could hardly believe the man standing before her was a Remnant. Worse yet, the Supreme Mage, Vesuvius Blotch, was aware of it and had hidden it from everyone. Both Zani and Tuck had found it difficult to trust either of them since, and an air of nervousness and tension had developed between them.
“There are three others,” Rylent pointed out. “Aberration De Rais, Daemon’s administrator, whom we know nothing about. Willow Ardency is also an enigma to us.”
“A suitable representative of the Mystical Cities,” Fenix sighed. ‘She’s not the most forthcoming individual. From my understanding, she’s there to listen and determine the threat, and whether the Mystical Cities should get involved.”
Tuck shrugged modestly. “Zani and I have met Ms. Ardency before. She’s cool and is a reasonable woman. I can vouch for her.”
Zani grinned. “Tuck just wants to go back and learn about their sigil magic.” Tuck made a face at her.
“And then Alfeim,” Rylent’s lip curled as he brought the conversation back to the realm of relevancy. “An extremist who will honey his words with slow-acting poison. He hates mortals and anyone who opposes the idea of revealing ourselves.”
“He thinks sorcerers should run the world,” Zani guessed. “How did he become Grand Mage?”
“He was one of Erskine Ravel’s allies,” Fenix murmured, looking at his clipboard. “We weren’t able to deal with him thanks to the return of Abyssinia, the Unnamed and Mevolent. During that time, he took the opportunity to gain allies, and now he’s a weed that refuses to be pulled out.”
Rylent nodded slowly and turned to Zani and Tuck. “I want the pair of you at your best. Not only are these people important officials in our community, but I daresay they will be reporting back to other Grand Mages. We need them to see Ireland unified. Understood?”
They both nodded and Fenix beckoned them forward.
They started walking towards the Hall of Prisms. Leading them through the marble corridors, Zani followed Fenix through two doorways and into a room. Leaving the Cleavers at the doorway, Zani approached the large circular table in the centre of the room. Made of a warm oaken wood, it complemented the darker timber of the source pillars and carvings etched into the walls.
Sitting in the ornate wooden chairs on the right side of the table were most of the Grand Mages, all sitting apart, hoping to avoid appearing as a unified force. Vesuvius had opted for the opposite effect, having his Grand Mages, Maltese Farrell and Veritas Lamarian, sit beside him on the left side.
Out of all of the foreign Grand Mages, only Daemon Steel had bothered to sit near Ireland’s Supreme Mage, sitting on an angle with one arm draped across the back of the chair beside him. The caricature of peace and embodiment of calm. He was wearing a white suit, universally a statement of peace, complete with a crimson kerchief folded perfectly into his pocket over his heart, a stag stitched into it. His family crest.“Ahh, the Prime Detectives of the Irish Sanctuary,” Daemon announced with a grin full of teeth. “We were just being informed that you were on your way. Is Roarhaven giving you a struggle?”
“Not at all, Grand Mage Steel,” Tuck answered smoothly. “We were simply making sure we looked our best before being graced by your presence.”
The man beside Daemon scoffed. “Come now, Mr. Pock. Roarhaven is a magnificent place, filled with everything you could ever need in a city, magic or otherwise. And I must congratulate Ireland on being the first to take the initiative.” Dressed in a navy blue striped suit, his blonde hair combed to one side and deep green eyes, Zani surmised this was the mysterious Aberration De Rais, Daemon Steel’s administrator. She tried to hide the shiver she felt when he looked up at her, feeling those green eyes piercing through her.
“But putting all these sorcerers into one place,” Daemon continued, “can surely create issues,” he moved his index finger from side-to-side. “An elemental has an argument with an enhancer. A bone-breaker poked the wrong chest. A sensitive was caught peeking into someone’s mind. I wouldn’t blame you if you were perhaps a little under the pressure.”
“We’ve been able to handle all incidents so far, sir,” Zani said calmly, grateful to have an excuse to look anywhere but at Aberration. “But we thank you for your concern. It doesn’t go unnoticed.”
Daemon nodded, seemingly satisfied. As Zani, Tuck and Rylent took their seats, the man sitting opposite of Vesuvius rose. His immense shadow stretched across the room, the charcoal double-breasted suit and pants he’d decided to combine with a black pork-pie hat allowing him to blend into the sun as it pierced through the window behind him, blocking his face from them. A perfect style for a man in mourning, a man preparing for murder or for a man conducting serious business. Zani noted the white-grey gloves he had on, and decided upon the third option.
“Gentleman. Ladies,” the man in the charcoal suit inclined his head towards them all, and Zani saw a weathered face of hard lines, framed by flowing dark hair that curled at his shoulders. His eyes, a translucent blue, gave off the illusion that he was blind. She realised she was staring at Krytron Glass, head of the English Sanctuary.
“First, I believe a thanks is in order to Supreme Mage Blotch, for welcoming him into his city,” he nodded at Vesuvius. “Roarhaven truly has not received the justice it deserves from the tales I have heard about it. It is far more magnificent in person.”
Vesuvius nodded his acknowledgement, a professional smile set on his face.
“However, we have also been worried. Being the first sorcerer city, we can only imagine how hard it is to maintain. It’s hard enough dealing with sorcerers in the general public. But when they’re all in one place? A nightmare, I am sure.”
Zani had missed the last part of Krytron’s sentence. After hearing him describe Roarhaven as the ‘first’ sorcerer city, she couldn’t help but look at the only other woman in the room, Willow Ardency. She’d pursed her lips in disapproval, but hadn’t interrupted. She wasn’t one to rise to petty squabbles. Zani couldn’t help but admire the other woman. Her red hair, which was bunched up in a tight bun, paired with her sharp cheekbones and narrow glasses, gave her the appearance of a high school teacher ready to scold her students for messing about. Zani smiled. Though it had been many years since they’d last met, Willow hadn’t changed her style.
“Roarhaven has been standing for twenty-two years,” Vesuvius said calmly. “It has survived multiple onslaughts and battles, and has not been discovered by any mortal. We remain firm to this day.”
“Though you are not incorrect in saying these things, Vesuvius, the mere fact that these onslaughts occurred are worrisome.” A man in crimson robes spoke up. With bushy eyebrows, long grey hair and a goatee, Alfeim Dawn was one of the rare sorcerers that actually looked old. “Since Roarhaven became a city, it has been the breeding ground for every catastrophe in the past twenty-two years. Charivari laid siege upon its walls, Darquesse destroyed a considerable part of it, the Anti-Sanctuary set their plans in motion with the help of Irish Sanctuary staff, the daughter of the Unnamed attempted to reveal magic to the world and attacked this very building we stand in. An alternative Dimension’s Mevolent broke through into this Dimension and almost brought back the Dark Gods. Then, Damocles Creed, who was allowed to be the Supreme Mage of Roarhaven, tried bringing back the Dark Gods. Finally, the Unnamed of all people reappeared after centuries of activity, believed to be dead, and tried burning it to the ground. He killed countless individuals, surpassing Darquesse and including Skulduggery Pleasant, Valkyrie Cain and the remaining Dead Men,” Alfeim leaned forward in his seat, staring intently at Vesuvius. “It is by mere luck that the Unnamed and Mevolent ended their battle by simultaneously killing each other. Now we hear of a new threat attempting to do the same thing. Roarhaven has become the security risk that we all feared. I have no wish to fear-monger or stir trouble here. This is our reality, and something needs to be done.”
“Alfeim is right,” Krytron said, sounding as if he’d have rather said anything else but agree with his fellow Grand Mage. “Roarhaven City has become unstable and,” he bowed his head to Vesuvius, Veritas and Maltese, “with no disrespect to the residing Irish Council, I fear that the task has become a burden. As the leaders of the magical community, it is our responsibility that each and every Sanctuary does not collapse under pressure. We must help each other.”
“Your words sound kind,” Maltese said. “But they carry a similar sentiment that Bernard Sult, Quintin Strom and Illori Reticent all carried. They promised support, help, and a stabilising hand. That was not the case.”
Alfeim bristled. “Do not equate us to them. It was the understanding of the various Sanctuaries that the Supreme Council had been gathered to help. I am not a puppeteer and my beliefs did not align with their own. Many of us around the table still believe that the Supreme Council could be a hand of peace rather than a force of hostility.”
“The Supreme Council was disbanded.” Vesuvius pointed out.
“No, they weren’t,” Alfeim retorted. “They were murdered. Assassinated, under the orders of Erskine Ravel, the Irish Grand Mage at the time, after he killed his closest friends. Then, they were replaced by sympathizers of the Irish Sanctuary.”
“They were not Irish sympathisers,” Vesuvius said, anger biting into his tone. “Erskine Ravel was a terrorist who wanted the subjugation of mortals in the hopes of placing sorcerers in power. He had no help from the Irish Sanctuary, nor its populace.”
“You say this, but we are currently in a City built by an army of Irish individuals who believed in his vision,” Alfeim said with a smile, placing his palms on the table. “A city filled with many who desired his preferred outcome. Regardless of whether you, or your colleagues, had any part to play, what is true is that Erskine Ravel, an Irish Grand Mage, manipulated us into a war, committed an overtly hostile act upon numerous Grand Mages from various Sanctuaries, replaced them with his supporters and attempted to take control. Then, his successor, China Sorrows, replaced his supporters with her own, and threatened and blackmailed those that did not accept her tyranny. The Irish Council appears to be garnering a penchant for this kind of behaviour and it has driven a barrier between Ireland and the rest of the world.”
His words had the intended effect. Vesuvius’s eyes glittered with anger, and Veritas looked at the Italian Grand Mage, his jaw clenched. “You cannot speak as if other Sanctuaries have not used the past few years to their advantage, Alfeim Dawn,” he emphasised the Grand Mages name, drawing a sharp glare from him. “And you say that you were manipulated. I’d say you were given the excuse.”
“Gentlemen,” Willow said, an edge of warning in her tone. “We’re here to discuss our future and work together,” she leaned forward. “I am Willow Ardency, the representative High Mage of Istoria, one of the three great Mystical Cities. I realise I am new here, but having lived in Istoria all my life, I cannot express enough the importance of peace. Too many times throughout history, the Sanctuaries - or their sorcerers - have fought, and it has always led to ruin. It was a conflict between the German and the French sorcerers that created the Cazadores de Demonios. For a time, magic was truly discovered by a small group who proceeded to track down and murder any they believed to be wielding magic. It was the conflict between the Asian Emperors and the European Kings of the magical communities after the fall of the Unnamed that gave Mevolent time to rise up and gain the power he needed to challenge us. The War of the Sanctuaries allowed Erskine Ravel his chance at exposing magic to the world, and he very nearly succeeded.”
Krytron nodded. “Ms Ardency is correct. Vesuvius, please understand that we have no hostility towards you. From what we’ve heard, you’ve been an excellent Grand Mage, with a supportive Council to aid you. We do not believe that you are capable of these acts, but we are all concerned that you may be feeling a bit… stressed with everything happening with the Disciples, your rogue City Guard and the criminal element within the City. We want to help.”
“Krytron makes a good point, Vesuvius,” Daemon murmured, tilting his head towards the Irish Grand Mage. “We will all suffer if a Cradle of Magic falls. Especially if magic is revealed in the process.”
“It almost was,” Alfeim pointed out. “We all felt it, didn’t we? That rush of magic that went through us. The boost of power?”
Zani considered what Alfeim said. After the Battle of the Circle, scientists and the City Guard had analysed the Dark Cathedral, where the Disciples had made their final stand. There, they recovered the body of Valkyrie Cain, impaled by the thought-to-be-lost God-Killer Sword in order to combine the lingering magic of Gog Magog with Valkyrie’s inherited blood and energy from her ancestors, the Faceless Ones. The ancient magical energies combined, creating and feeding the portal that had opened beside her. It had been believed to have been a portal for the Faceless Ones to come through. Instead, it had merely been a tool to channel the magical energies into the Rifts surrounding their Dimension. The rush of magic had been so potent that it had shattered the High Sanctuary’s shield, only adding to the magical chaos.
“We’ve definitely seen its effects, haven't we?” Zani snapped back into focus as Alfeim continued to speak. “Statues once thought to have been carved from mortal hands have shed their stone skins and begun walking around after centuries. Elementals out of time and unknowing of our new customs and practices. People who weren’t aware of their abilities suddenly flying, throwing fire, turning invisible, breaking their friends bones at the slightest touch. Children with access to every magical discipline known and unknown who previously only had a small dose of each now have their magic amplified. Children,” Alfeim slapped his hand on the desk for emphasis. “This was done under Vesuvius’ watch. On Irish soil. Clearly, the Irish Sanctuary can’t be trusted to run itself. Maybe it requires an overseer.”
Daemon Steel tapped a finger on the desk. Zani watched him. As the American Grand Mage, he held a lot of power. A lot of influence. “I can’t say that I am a student of the arts. Certainly not history. But sorcerers have never been terribly fond of oversight. Re-establishing the Supreme Council appears to be a poor move. It would destroy any goodwill we’ve established over the past few years, and it only takes a few bad actors to drag it to its knees. The Sanctuaries remaining independent was done for a reason. To reduce the number of sorcerers in a single area and reduce the chance of us being spotted. Doing this would achieve the opposite. Surely there’s an easier path?”
“I agree,” Vesuvius said. “Oversight and bureaucracy leads to corruption, agendas and rivalry. We do not need to be governed, overseen or babied. We have dealt with every situation that has come our way, and we will continue to do so.”
Krytron held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Nothing has been decided yet, Vesuvius, but you must see our point. The Irish Sanctuary has been at the epicenter of almost every catastrophe in the last three decades. None of us are doubting your strength, your commitment or your ability to run the Sanctuary or to protect your subjects from mortals. But even the strongest pillar can weaken and crumble under pressure. We have to think about the implications beyond Ireland. What sort of ramifications that other Sanctuaries will suffer if you fail.”
“You speak of history,” Maltese spoke up. “But you seem to be content with ignoring ours. You have mentioned every battle and impossibility we’ve faced, but neglected to speak of our victories. Our Sanctuary has been tested and it succeeded. Over and over again,” he gestured to Alfeim. “I am in control of relations across other Sanctuaries. Economic and otherwise.”
“You must be good with PR, then.” Alfeim smirked. Maltese ignored the challenge.
“Many Sanctuaries have admitted to experiencing problems of their own. Wayward sorcerers and accidental reveals of magic to the public. Not only are we far from being the only ones that have suffered tribulations, but we’ve also overcome them.”
“You say this, but I’ve heard differently from your mages,” Alfeim pointed out. He turned to Daemon. “And yours. As well as others,” Alfeim’s voice took on a mocking tone. “There is unrest among the populaces. They haven’t forgotten the War of the Sanctuaries, or what occurred afterwards.”
Vesuvius shook his head. “You keep referring to the Supreme Council and the War of the Sanctuaries, but I believe I’ve made it clear that I do not need to be governed. I don’t need to be looked after. We have this handled and we have this settled. The Disciples are losing ground and their threat is diminished. Mr. Bones is on the run and his accomplices have been dealt with.”
“Dealt with?” Alfeim echoed, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Is that what you’d call it? How about I let people who are more knowledgeable than I talk about how well you ‘dealt’ with them.”
The Grand Mages in the room all turned as Fletcher and Skafflock walked into the room, ushered in by Fenix. Zani’s fist curled and she felt a snarl in her throat. Tuck reached over and grabbed her hand, his eyes burning with anger.
Daemon sighed. “Is this necessary, Alfeim? We all have political struggles back at home. This is stretching our jurisdiction, even if we did have a Supreme Council.”
“We were told that we were required to be here,” Fletcher said. His eyes swept the room and Zani watched as his mouth tightened as they landed on Vesuvius.
“We’d like for you both to tell us about the Disciples,” Alfeim’s eyes flickered to Skafflock. “Starting with you.”
Fenix started forward, but Vesuvius raised a hand, stopping him. Skafflock nodded. “I’m Skafflock and I worked for Mr. Bones.”
“Worked?” Alfeim said incredulously. “From what we’ve been told, you kidnapped a young teleporter, who would later be possessed by a remnant in the hopes that he opened up a portal for the Faceless Ones to come through, you were part of the attack on the Irish Sanctuary and you murdered a Grand Mage. Yet, you remain free, in the constant presence of Vesuvius,” the Italian Grand Mage turned to Blotch. “Your duty is to ensure the protection of your colleagues and subordinates. In order to fulfill your obligations as Head of this Sanctuary, you must seek necessary justice.”
“Vesuvius, I realise this is all personal,” Daemon said sympathetically, “but we’ve received reports that you, Ms. Skafflock, Mr. Flak and Mr. DipDap and Mr. Bones were all close in your childhood. Do you believe this has clouded your judgement?”
Vesuvius stiffened. “I believe not. And to clarify, Mr. Bones was never a friend of ours.”
“But BipBap was,” Krytron rumbled. “A man that fought for Mevolent. Developed technology for him. Your political opponent for many years. Do not think we missed the rioting and chanting outside. What they were saying. BipBap’s death has made him a martyr. He stoked the flames of discontent and if you are not careful, you will burn.”
“His death may not just be unfortunate, but the conclusion of a conspiracy engineered by Vesuvius Blotch to rid himself of any opponents,” Alfeim said, motioning at Vesuvius. “Not only this, but Horizon, the Necromancer’s High Priest, has left Roarhaven and Ash, an incredibly influential man within Roarhaven, was killed by the Arch-Canon. Over the course of two weeks, the individuals capable of keeping the Supreme Mage,” his lip curled as he used the exclusive title of the Irish Head of Council, “were killed or driven away. Is this not suspicious?”
“You believe I’m capable of doing such a thing,” Vesuvius growled, barely containing his rage. “I have done nothing to -”
“We don’t believe that you’d do something like that,” Krytron said, shooting Alfeim a glare. “But we can’t help but noticed that Ms. Skafflock is free, numerous individuals are dead and the main culprit is still loose. This doesn’t look good for the other Sanctuaries.”
Fletcher shook his head in disgust. “I was brought here under the belief that something was getting done. But another Supreme Council? It’s just another step backwards. My son needs me and I’m not spending another second in this woman’s presence.” With that, he teleported away, leaving an awkward silence in his wake.
“If I may,” Willow tapped on the table for attention. “From what I’ve heard about BipBap DipDap, he was a cunning individual capable of causing a lot of harm. I do remember him from the War, and it would appear he did not change. But you all neglect to name his other, and I dare say his primary characteristic. His intellect. Have you not considered the possibility that he was engineering things? Keeping his involvement hidden and at a minimum to fool the masses? By targeting the Vampires in the Fangs and the Necromancers in their Temple, BipBap drove two hated groups out of Roarhaven. In one fell swoop, he deprived Vesuvius of powerful allies and garnered favour in those that never wanted those groups in Roarhaven to begin with. See how easy it was for me to spin the story the other way with so little information? Yet, you wish to spin it another. You are taking the narrative for your own purposes and connecting dots that shouldn’t be connected.”
Alfeim bristled. “Do not presume to tell us what we are doing right and wrong, Ms. Ardency. You have lived in Istoria for a very long time. Of course, I will forgive you for not understanding our way of doing things, but with the Sanctuaries, when one fails, we all fall with it.”
Willow pursed her lips. “I’ll ignore your arrogance. You claim his death was Vesuvius’ fault, but the reports made it quite clear that it was his administrator, Mr. Flak, that dealt the mortal blow.”
Fenix rose from his chair. “It’s true. We were once friends. And it’s also true that I killed him. Vesuvius did not engineer anything, nor did he wish for his death. It was a necessary evil in the midst of combat as we fought the Disciples and prevented them from bringing back their Gods. We were successful and we forced them to run. We are capable of doing this ourselves.”
“Interesting,” Aberration said softly. “So you were the one who saved the day? Perhaps it is not the city but certain people that require a closer examination. In this case, perhaps this task is more suited for Vesuvius than a council. That way, the Supreme Mage can snuff out any,” he tilted his head to the side, “remnants of corruption and problematic situations without worrying about international law.”
Fenix stiffened in his chair and Zani narrowed her eyes. She looked at the man, his green eyes staring up at a shocked Fenix. There was silence around the table, until Alfeim made a noise of annoyance. “So what you’re saying is, we should let Vesuvius run his own internal investigation and come back to us later?”
“What he’s saying,” Daemon leant forward, breaking the levity, “is that it is not possible for us to blame Vesuvius for everything that has happened. Almost all the grievances you’ve raised at the table today occurred under the rule of other people. Erskine Ravel almost exposed magic to the mortals. China Sorrows was the tyrant. The Supreme Mage - and I agree that the title may be a tad on the nose - you’re going after has done none of these things, and in fact, has given autonomy back to the various Sanctuaries that Ms. Sorrows had under her thumb. In the past three years he has ruled, Vesuvius has done quite well. We have had no reason to be alarmed. It would be ludicrous of us to believe that one single event should be allowed to dictate a Grand Mage’s rule, particularly if that event was started by someone antagonistic to Vesuvius.”
There was silence now, and Zani noticed that the American Grand Mage had had an effect on the Grand Mages, many now looking at the Supreme Mage with a new understanding on their faces.
“Well,” Krytron said, “I didn’t realise the Americans and the Irish had such a good rapport. For now, this meeting will be adjourned. Yes, Grand Mage Alfeim,” Krytron said, cutting off the other man’s protests, “there will be no more talk of this until our next meeting. This meeting has gone on long enough.”
Zani stood up, watching the other Grand Mages shaking hands and leaving through the doorway with their security forces. Zani rubbed her eyes. So many weeks of planning so that these men and women could meet, all for this to end with no solutions being made. Just as he’d told her it would end.
“Zani, Tuck, a word,” Vesuvius said, beckoning the Prime Detectives over. “I know you have a lot on your plate. But -.”
“Aberration De Rais,” Tuck said. “You think he knows about Fenix? Sensed his Soul?”
“I can’t be sure, but what he said didn’t amuse me one bit,” Vesuvius muttered. “If he does know, that will cause trouble.”
“Can we just kill him?” Fenix asked, his eyes flinty and hardened.
“And risk the Americans' wrath when they appear to be on our side?” Vesuvius said. “No, we have to deal with this diplomatically.”
“Could we persuade him to keep it to himself?” Skafflock asked. “Or convince him that Fenix was just affected by the Boosting Event?”
Zani shook her head, her mind racing. “None of those will work, but there’s no reason to be alarmed. He has no evidence, and with such a giant claim, he’d need a lot of it to make it a convincing one. In a way, the political tensions amongst the Sanctuaries may work in your favour. People may just see it as an odd way of trying to turn people against you,” she looked out the window next to them, where she could see the protesters getting more violent and physical. “Well, more than they already are.”
“Thank you, Ms. Elandra. No need to extend your observations,” Vesuvius replied curtly, then sighed. “Excellent. Just another problem to deal with. But that’s for the near future. I’ll receive Rylent’s report and we’ll discuss our next steps regarding the Guardians of Supremacy. But even that pales in comparison to what this meeting revealed. I was drawing information out from the other Grand Mages during the meeting and…” Vesuvius hesitated. “It’s not good. Alfeim is seeking the resurrection of the Supreme Council in light of recent events. Krytron is contemplating whether it will serve the interests of other Sanctuaries.”
“What about Daemon Steel?” Maltese enquired and Vesuvius shook his head.
“I couldn’t get any sort of information from Daemon. His posture was open but conflicted. His words are supportive but without any incentive or benefit for him. I don’t know where he truly lies.”
“It’s possible he truly is on your side” Zani suggested. “Sir, if I may, the crowds are growing restless. May I…”
“Yes, yes,” Vesuvius said. “Go.”
Zani nodded her goodbyes and left, walking back outside to the roaring crowds, screaming and chanting their fury, wanting to be heard, teeth bared and gnashing. She saw her colleagues; Mercury, Clay, Roland and Whetstone all part of the line of City Guards and Cleavers keeping the protesters at bay. She watched as they were spat at, punched and screamed at. Her colleagues, who had worked so hard to keep the community safe. She watched as a man raised his hand and conjured a fireball. A woman’s hands started shimmering and another’s eyes started to glow. Her heart broke for the city she’d fallen in love with. A city that had given her a new start. A fresh purpose. Managing to evade the angry crowd through a side-door, Zani slipped further and deeper into the city, she cleared her mind, eradicating emotion and belief. An empty vessel. Just as he’d taught her. Reaching a warehouse, she stepped into the gloom and waited for her eyes to adjust. Standing in the middle of the warehouse, surrounded by training dummies, a boxing ring and various obstacle courses was a large man with his arms crossed.
“Zani,” Brichard said, his voice like thunder. “Are you ready?”
Zani looked at Brichard. Her instructor. Her mentor. “I am.”
submitted by willboss27 to After_the_end [link] [comments]

2024.06.05 09:58 Corvun_Chad_ Humans have their ships in the water ( chapter 2)

( chapter 2) begin:
It was Shalok of next year, the delegation was back at earth, September of 1916 as the locals said. They used the same approach they did the first time, however they were intercepted by many many more fighters this time. The sight one of the diplomats would later remark was “ like watching primitive hawks, all form as one. However that hawk could disassemble if it needs to into individual unit. A hive mind of individuality if you will.” The same diplomat also happened to be heading this mission. Within this he held many of his species top guards and delegates with them. In many ways, it was a symbolic show of the might of The Unified Systems of the Milky-way. However on this mission, the diplomats were primarily Hät’ock , a tall, lanky and weak species physically, but known for their political ability. The guards however were terrifying in comparison to their diplomatic counter part. They consisted entirely of portaue-infernu or what directly translates to “ Bringers of hell”. They had large hulking forms, about 12 feet in height and were proportional in width. Their humanoid body made them look like giant humans except for their rippling muscles.
As they touched down, the unpleasant reminder of the human worlds constant want to kill was over their heads. The gravity was about 4 times that of the portaue-infernu home world, wich was considered to be on the edge of livable. The diplomats struggled to even twitch a finger in their natural body and thus were wearing power armor to counter act the extreme gravity. As they disembarked, the oxygen in the air began to burn their throats, despite their respirators. Almost every species in the USM came from a sulfur breathing atmosphere, oxygen was seen as an archaic medium to breathe, only for primitive species. They came under their sun, a rather dark star, the world was considered to be dark by many species standards. It was theorized, correctly but unknown to them at the time, that humans had quasi night vision. Though that was seen as far fetched.
As the delegation stepped into a large building where they last met, they realized there had been so major changes on this world since they had last been there. Namely, the world while not United under one banner, would unite to fight global issue in the newly formed “ Foedus Nationum pro Humanitatibus Defensio”( Latin) as a reactionary measure. The room had 8 large flags, with many smaller ones next to it. The first was the flag of the United States of America. An pod flags even by galactic standards. Next to it was the flag of Italy, than Austria-Hungary, Russian empire, French, German than British flag. The diplomats of all nations in the league sat, looking down at the delegation with eyes of hate and condemnation. They had recently learned a rather frightening detail about humans that made this situation even more imposing. Humans where predators. The only sentient species of predators, despite many species looking as such, they where simply strong as a measure to run, in the same way a bison is.
In this moment the realized they where staring the eyes of a civilization of predators, most likely bred in the crucible of war and hardened they hammer of a death world, sharpened by the necessity to move forward. Many of the diplomats began to rethink their superiors orders, realizing that they may have caused a world of angry, scared predators to lash out.
“ greetings diplmoats of this world, we are here to discuss our ultimatum” a diplomat known simply as rochöp simply said while stepping forward.
“ ah yes, that horse shout ultimatum” the British diplomat simply said, eyes looking on with amusement
“Pardon, but we take this as a grave diplomatic insult” rochöp said simply in response, still waiting for a more formal response
“ We will give you an ultimatum ambassador, and it will be as simple as yours. Fuck off and do not disturb us till we reach the stars, or die” a man with deep, low voice. If all nations the US ambassador hated the ultimatum the most, seeing it in his history and that of many other nations. This he took it as a great insult to humanity.
Rochöp was beginning to fell passed as the locals would say. A torrent of insults would continue to come, with full support from their governments, each government humiliated the ambassador. Finally he snapped, looking up before roarinng the next most important words in galactic history “ THAN WAR IT IS YOU UGGLY FUCKING BASTARDS, YOU ARE ALL DISGRACEFUL TO THE MERE IDEA OF SENTIEN BEINGS”.
Everyone stood in silence for a moment. If nobody tried to de-escalate the situation, there would officially be war. However no one said a word. It was at this moment a cruel smile formed on the American ambassadors face. He than pulled out a old style slug thrower and aimed. The side of the gun had in small writing “ Colt M1911 45ACP”. Rochöp stood there, believing it could not break his power armor. “ 3….” The American diplomat said as he cocked back the pistol, the many human guards pointing a the the alien guards. “ 2….” He said his finger on taking the safety off. “1……” he said his finger now on the trigger. “ DO IT YOU COWA…” a roar came from the diplomat, however was suddenly cut off. A bullet passing right where his brain was, now visible was many pieces of his skull and brain on the floor, his forehead completely missing. He dropped to the floor like a rag doll. This would later be known as “ the shot heard round’ the galaxy” by humans, and for good reasons. In the following seconds the guards where shot and played with, like a child’s toy. Many of the guards began to chant “ dance motherfucker, dance” while shooting limbs and occasionally slugging them across their faces with the helmets of the couldn’t move. The cruel smiles of the human ambassador only got more noticeable, if they wanted savages they would get it. At the end of all of this, only one diplomat lived, he was told to send a herald to the galatic community.
The diplomat established a video meeting through the console on the ship. As this was happening explosives where being later on the ship. Once they where through the diplomat began speaking “ the humans have made their choice” he said, trying not to sound nervous “ They choose war” he said simply. In a very sudden moment, across galatic broadcasts the diplomats head war ripped off his head by a human. He then stepped into frame, showing a 6,7’ height and a tight now blood stained officers uniform. As he stood their he began to speak, the bleeding head of the diplomat still in his hand and in the other was the head of the lead guard. “ we as humanity have decided that act of subjugation is a humiliation, far beyond reason and do not want to suffer the injustices of those who see them selves as superior. To all those out there, who dare land troops on our beautiful land keep in mind one thing. We are gods chosen, the few under his grace, the few who holds his paradise up, the few who took to his teachings. We are the lords servants, if you dare disrupt his paradise, his warriors will assemble and ensure you pose no more threat. IN GOD WE TRUST”. He finished off at the end, he dropped the heads in his hands before walking off the ship. The broadcast still live, watched as the ship was blow to pieces as a sign of complete rejection anything alien. ( that was chapter 2, leave any criticism you have in the comments, and next chapter will focus more on the war to come instead of the setup)
submitted by Corvun_Chad_ to HFY [link] [comments]

2024.06.05 09:45 Square-Salamander591 Hito Hito No Mi, Mythical Model: Enma

Hito Hito No Mi, Mythical Model: Enma

Type: Mythical Zoan
Appearance: A blue icy coloured apple, the leafs appear wilted and fold over the upper half to create a skull like appearance.
Description: The Mythical Zoan allows the user to take on the perceived appearance of Enma, the Oni God of heavenly judgement. They are also able to use abilities related to this role.

Abilities:

Full Transformation: The user's body takes on an Oni like appearance, growing to a whopping 26ft, their skin takes on a red colouration, black curved horns grow out either side of their head. In this state they exhibit heightened senses and physical attributes.
Hybrid Transformation: The user's body grows two feet taller than their natural height, their skins takes on a red tinge though mostly remains their natural colour. Their horns extend out to half the size of their full transformation.
Hell Blaze: The user is able to draw power from the Heat/Fire of hell and use it in battle.
Hell Freeze: The user is draw on the essence of the coldest levels of hell to use in battle.
Hell Tempest: The user is able to draw on the strongest gales of hell to be used in battle.
Soul Judgment: By looking into someone's soul the user is able to learn which level of hell they will be in upon death.
Hells Torment: The user is able to draw on and radiate the power of hell. Causing others to hallucinate as if they were there.

Usage Examples:

Attacks based on the DF fruit abilities are pure psychological Torment. They do not cause physical harm to the body though it does feel as if they are actually affecting the body.
Final Judgement: Once Soul Judgement has been used, Hells Torment is then used to force the enemy to experience 100 years of hell in mere moments. Forcing mental and psychological trauma onto them.
Inferno Fist: By encompassing their arms in the ethereal flames of hell, their attacks cause "burn" damage onto their opponents. The more power they draw from hell the more intense the flame feels upon impact. The more power also creates more flame that rises up to their shoulders
Blazing Bellow: By channeling the fires of hell into their throat the user can exhale extrem heats and even fire from their mouth.
Frostbite Fist: By drawing power from the frozen levels of hell the user's attacks can leave an almost frostbite like effect on impact. The more power they draw from hell the colder the impact feels, it also causes ice to rise up to the shoulder.
Frostbitten Howl: By channeling the coldness of hell the user can exhale Freezing cold winds from their mouth.
Tempest Fist: By drawing on the storms of hell they can envelop their fists with the stabbing winds of hell. The impacts of these attacks create intense winds with needle like stab effects.
Tempest Roar: By channeling the winds of hell into their throat the user can exhale gale force winds.

Awakening:

By awakening their Devil Fruit the user is able to bring hell into the real world. Changing the terrain into one of the levels of hell. The fire/ice/winds become real and can cause physical damage when used in attacks.

Weaknessess:

Standard Weakness: This user suffers from the same weakness to Water and Seastone as every DF user does.
Strong Willed Opponents: Unless awakened, the fruits abilities are purely psychological. Meaning any opponent who is of stronger will or haki than the user will not suffer the torments of hell.
submitted by Square-Salamander591 to DevilFruitIdeas [link] [comments]

2024.06.05 09:32 This_is_karma_bitch I need motivation

I had been doing great for the last 1 month, had been diagnosed with gastritis, esophagitis and duodenitis back in april, mild and superficial with no erosions or ulcers.
My only symptoms are migraines, and acid reflux that burns my ears and throat, also occasional burping with water and food.
After treatment with 80mg of pentoprazole, i lowered it to 40mg and then 20mg in the morning and at night.
My diet has worsened since im about to graduate and ive been going out with friends alot. Last night i had steamed trout with steamed veggies and a side of french fries (my biggest mistake)
Went home and went to bed. There was a small incident where my roommate and i could not open the doorknob which got jammed, i realised that when i woke up to go pee (there was no one else in the house and no one had the keys to our apartment and it was 5 AM and no one could come to our rescue, and i had to pee) Aftwr a while (an hour which felt like eternity) of trying to open it with different tricks, finally got it open.
After going to the washroom i started feeling nauseous and chills, which made me vomit all the food i had in the stomach (this was 5hours after the meal). A bad migraine started and i went to sleep.
Now in the morning im having very bad reflux and im wondering f if vomiting has made me worse again, is it like im starting from scratch again? Should i double my dose if my symptoms dont subside? I have to go to the dr i know but ive spent all my money on outings and i canr afford to see a dr right now.
Was this vomiting caused by sudden panic and anxiety? Ive never experienced anxiety or depression before, im quite a relaxed stress free person. I guess gastritis has made me sensitive to little things
submitted by This_is_karma_bitch to Gastritis [link] [comments]

2024.06.05 07:14 Legal-Strawberry-380 Mini-theory: humanity/emergency services+, and equality theme in the current season?

Pretty much a random thought I've just had whilst home w/ a cold; so. We know that RTD is Welsh, and that politician Aneurin Bevan (interesting, actor playing Rodger ap Gwilliam's name is Aneurin Barnard, and we know RTD likes to get up to tricksy things) is basically the man responsible for the NHS.
*And additionally, that things created out of waspeed-up technology=not all bad. Flight, now one of our best, positive methods of travel, and experience. Travelling physically, and having things (eg. next of kin, health stuff, name, details, all the rest) organised before you go - in case there's some arse-hat in a Villengard ambulance denying you care or trying to off you because, I dunno, your personal preference is that you dislike coriander. *shrug* I think the "woke" bit of this season is trying to make the subject/fact of someone's race, class, status, sexuality, and gender all so commonly accepted as "right; this is cool - think and do what you like (the Doctor tells Lindy she and the other's may think whatever they like, if they let him save their lives). It isn't going to affect me, it's just not personally my deal, yet I acknowledge and see you equally." Same way we deal with those of us who don't like vs. do like coriander - that's perfectly fine and good, have at it, will make it for you as isn't poison, just yucky, just heck off trying to shove that down MY throat, yeah. :3
I'm completely unsure if this is meant to be a tiny, wee story-line amidst a larger one, yet classic RTD - it's a thinker. And for me, it made me think of a few phrases said in both UK and US English. High poss. this is also just my tired brain, yet it's a fun thought experiment. In "Boom" we see Mundy and Canto trying to arrange/shuffle something, and hear the statement "but I don't have the Divinity!" implying there needs to be some kind of payment/trade-off for whichever service/favouetc is granted - and that ends with Mundy promising to show Canto her tattoo (despite it being on another person). Given a traditional religious view and standpoint on genders and sex, this could be an allusion to that? As a form of some kind of "payment". In the UK, emergency and necessary services such as the abovementioned are generally free to the public, no matter class, status, etc. Doesn't matter who you are; if you walk into A&E, you may have to sit in casualty for 8+hrs with a bunch of drunks on a Friday night, yet you'll 100% still get treated, no charge, ask, shame, or worry.
Compare that to the US (brother in law works lives & works over there helping to sell/supply high quality medical equipment) where it can be up to 2.5K for a fire-ambulance call out, no matter the issue. It's a very tiered, Capitalist system (well, everything is, yet in this case - compared to the NHS), and more money can mean better treatment, care, and the difference between quality of life, and life and death. The first place the Doctor took Ruby in the TARDIS was Wyoming, and mentioned he had forgotten to switch off the "butterfly compensation" switch; which he then does, and proceeds to heal and release the Monarch butterfly Ruby accidentally stepped on. Accident or not in the US, you end up paying; I broke my arm on a childhood trip there once, and even with our travel+ insurance, my parents still had to fork over a few thousand dollars. My Dad joked it would have been cheaper to splint my arm, pay the cost of changing our flights, and heading back home to the UK.
Essentially, my conclusion felt that with the world, UNIT, the Vlinx, TRIAD, and a world that is becoming more and more dependent on super-computing and AI to deal with all-too-human issues; I cannot conceive of a way to see how a fair, ethical, impartial general AI would be able to exist under any Capitalist/classist paradigm. I think it's going to be interesting to see the regency/Bridgerton episode this week, in which Indira Varma's character is seem emphatically and enthusiastically announcing what's better than a wedding; and we know Susan Twist is appearing as a portrait, presumably of/implying someone of status.
LAST THOUGHT: Donna won the triple-rollover lottery, yet gave it all away - except for purchasing the house and the shed. She was also fired from her job for spilling coffee* onto a computer, fitting with the theme that tech is slowly surpassing human importance. Then, when in the TARDIS with the Doctor at the end of "Star Beast", she spills her coffee on/into the console - which leads them to 1666 London, Isaac Newton. 1666 in London, we know was the time of the Great Fire of London, as well as there being a huge outbreak of plague; thus, fits in with said above, sort of? Those who survived those events tended to be (obviously) the wealthier ones. Houses with people infected by plague during that time, were boarded up, padlocked, and the people left to either recover, or die; the money for said boards and padlocks was charged to/paid by the Church. So, my thought kind of was - we know these things, and addit. at the time, not everyone was like Newton and could afford or have access to an education. Around those times, Latin was considered the uppe"Kingly" language, whereas English was essentially your working-class variant - people would also write down words more on how they SOUNDED phonetically, and what they were linked with, or to. So, I guess a bit of a joke could be made when considering the phrase "cough up"= implication, to pay for something, or else receive nothing (addt. UK slang, "c**k up" = an accident, an unfortunate mistake), vs. "tee up"= very UK slang, essentially meaning, right; okay, let's get ready to sort this out. So; were Donna's accidental actions a "coff up" that has rippled through time and space, causing changes, and inviting chaos we have yet to see the full extent of? [MY THANKS & CONGRATULATIONS TO ANYONE WHO ACTUALLY TOOK THE TIME TO READ THIS FULL WALL OF TEXT BRAIN-FART - go have a cuppa tea, you absolute champion. <3 ]
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2024.06.05 07:09 Edwardthecrazyman [Hiraeth or Where the Children Play] Chapter 1

The earth opened and the monsters came, and it was the end of the world. But it didn’t feel like it because we were still here.
There was never a time I can remember where the creatures did not lurk in the shadows, kidnapping stray helpless children or hapless adults; sometimes it would be that someone of Golgotha would go missing and whispers over breakfast would be the consequences of it. Funerals were frivolous, even if there were sometimes candles lit in the absence of the missing. Generally, it would be the elders that would sit around wooden tables, hum old hymns and maybe they would whisper a few kind words to Elohim or Allah or perhaps a more pagan variety; I came from a fully loaded Christian household where the paganistic murmurs were often seen as little better than the monsters that came from the earth.
Whatever the case may be, it was simple mourning, simple human mourning and it was sad and miserable and more numbing every time I’d see it happen. Sometimes it would be Lady (she was an old shamanistic-style woman with tattered robes and graying hair, even some whiskers on her chin too) that would culminate a hymn in the streets with her incense or more for the missing, but it was Christian and good in that way. Always about Jesus, always good clean words and simple gospels that were quiet and weak.
It was a young woman that’d gone missing sometime the previous night; there’d been a patrol sent out among the old ruins too because the missing girl was the daughter of a Boss. The Bosses were distinguished leaders in Golgotha, due to their tendency for extreme and untempered cruelty and whenever someone crossed a Boss or whenever a Boss lost something precious, everyone took notice, because the Bosses controlled the functions of Golgotha. It just so happened the Boss whose daughter went missing was also the fellow that controlled the water supply. His name was Harold and that wily sonofagun shut off the pumps that moved ground water into our homes. He was the only one with the key and said he’d not divulge it to a soul if the girl wasn’t returned.
Some of the boys on the compound cultivated a posse with impassioned cries of mutual aid and such, but Boss Harold, no matter how much they threatened or how many of his fingers they snapped in their desperate grasp for humanity, would not comply. Most of the boys surmised it was likely the girl was dead and her remains would be impossible to find due to the way monsters tended to grind bones into powder and dry swallow even the gristle of our fragile bodies; there’d be nothing left—or if there was anything left of her it wouldn’t be her any longer (assuredly she’d be a husk or unworthy of saving). When hard torture failed, the boys cried for more reason, and yet Boss Harold would not budge. The old Boss said, “I’ll stop the motor of the world until she’s found!”
A group of rabblerousing youths had absconded with his daughter or so he said; the reality was much more likely that she had run from home of her own free will either by wanderlust or ignorance. When all was said and done, the families came to me and said, “Hey, Harlan, buddy, pal, you’ve lost weight. You’re looking good, Mister Harlan, did you get a haircut?”
I’d heard about the girl. I’d heard about the posse sent out to Boss Harold’s abode—the compound ain’t that big—and knew they’d be coming for me because I was a scavver, a person that wades through the old ruins either for illusory history pages or weapons or even (and this one was a rare treat) lost people. I knew they’d come for my services and had already put together my pack for travels with rations and light tools—no gun; drawing attention in the old ruins was a dumb thing because sound could travel forever.
“I’m going,” I told the group that’d been sent for me, “I don’t reckon any of you’d like to come with me?” I looked over the dirty faces, the faces of men, women, children that could scarcely be called grown, and none stood out because they were all tired and dirty and I imagined I looked much the same.
Then a girl’s voice broke out from the crowd, and she stumbled forward from the line of strangers that’d come to see me at my door. “I’ll go!” she said, “I want to go with you, Mister Harlan.”
It was unsurprising. Youngsters always thought the old ruins were like a field trip, like maybe they’d find a souvenir for their sweetie and come home with a good story. Most didn’t come back, and those that did usually came back with scars beneath the skin from what they’d seen in the out there. It was like a game for them and when they saw what the world outside the walls held, they would retreat into themselves for fear. It wasn’t just the monsters. It was the ruins themselves, the overwhelming demolition of us; we were gone and yet we were here. It’s a hard thing to cope. I looked over the skinny girl with a grimy face; she couldn’t have been older than sixteen. Her hair was cropped very short, and I could see no immediate deformities that might slow my travels, so I asked, “What’d your parents say?”
Without flinching, the girl shouldered her pack straps with her thumbs and almost cheerily answered, “They’re dead, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir.” I stepped nearer her, looked over her face and saw perhaps a will I’d not seen in some time. Maybe she would be more of a help than a hinderance. “Do you have everything you need?”
“Yes.”
“Then we leave immediately.” I shouldered my own pack and followed up with, “Do not bring any fucking guns.”
“Got it! No fuckinguns.” Her tone was sarcastic, but not unserious. It was the best I could hope for, and besides it was always better whenever I travelled with someone else.
We took off from my small hidey-hole and moved through the narrow stretches of street, tall metal and concrete stood on either of our sides, mostly housing and hydroponics, with a few spots with stools where a person could stop in for a drink of cool water. Although a few of the Bosses had toyed with the idea of expanding the hydroponics so that we might produce corn whiskey in bulk, this was scrapped when the math was done; the space was insufficient for such luxuries, but this did not stop some from fermenting small berries in batches when no one else was paying attention. Wine was incredibly rare, had a moldy taste to it, but was sweet and a further reminder of maybe why we held on. I liked wine pretty good, but sometimes I’d find an old bottle in the ruins or get a jug of liquor from one of the far settlements and that’s what I really cherished.
“You ever been out of town?” I asked her.
“No.”
“Don’t act a hero, don’t be funny out there, don’t make noise, don’t get in my way. If I tell you something, you do it without questions.”
First, I heard her footsteps fall slowly, then more quickly before she answered me as though she had to stop and think about what she was going to do next; perhaps she was having second thoughts? “Don’t try to scare me from the ruins,” she said, “I’ve wanted to go out there for years now and everyone always says there’s old stuff. Our old stuff. Stuff that used to belong to us.”
“Used to belong to us? What do you mean?”
“Humans or whatever. It used to be ours.”
“It hasn’t been ours within my lifetime. Leave it to them, because it’s theirs now. If you find some small thing out there that you like, then take it, but otherwise, it ain’t home no more.” There was no need for me to elaborate on who I meant whenever I said them, because anyone knew exactly who they were: the creatures from beneath the earth, the demons, the monsters.
We came to the outer sections of town near the gate and the walls stood high over our heads while morning breeze kicked up spirals of sand wisps across the ground. The walls were probably fifty or sixty feet tall, and several yards thick with titanium and concrete and rebar; along the parapets of our fortifications were patrolmen that watched the horizon and fired at anything that moved with fifty-caliber bullets. The men up there, and they were mostly men (the show-off types), wore ballistic weaves, bent and tarnished war helmets of the past, and carried mottled fatigue colors on their bodies like for-real militiamen. There hadn’t been an attempt on Golgotha from the monsters in days; it was a quiet week.
The nearest dirt street spilled into an open square with sandbag barricades overlooking the gate from atop a small hill. I waved down Maron. Boss Maron wore boots and an old-school cowboy hat with an aluminum star pinned on its forehead center; he swaggered over, “Going out, Mister Harlan?” His mustache caterpillar wiggled, nearly obscuring a toothy grin.
I nodded.
“It’s ‘cause Harold ain’t it?”
I nodded.
“You know that crazy bastard had some of my guards lock up the boys that stormed his home? If you ask me, he deserved whatever pain those fellas brought to him for shutting the pumps off.”
I idly studied the sidearm holstered on his hip then looked at the nearby guards by the gate, each with automatic weapons slung across their chests. “You still locked them up, didn’t you?”
Boss Maron spat in the dirt by his feet and laughed a little dry. “Sure did. Harold’s got the key to the water, and I won’t be crossing him. Don’t want the riffraff questioning Bosses.” He flapped his hand at the notion then swaggered away and waved at his guards to open the gate. The one nearest a breaker box on the righthand side of the gate opened the electrical panel, flipped a switch then the hydraulics on the gate began to decompress as it unlocked and rusty gears began to rock across one another to slide the great, tall metal door open.
“Try not to lose any fingers or toes while you’re out there. Oh!” he seemed to take notice of the young girl following me, “Got a new companion? Does she know what’s happened to the last few that’s traversed those desperate lands with you?”
“Hm?” asked the girl.
“Oh? Harlan?” Boss Maron smiled so hard I’d think his mustache might fall of his face from the sheer tension of the skin beneath it, “He’s a real globetrotter, quite a dealmaker, but just don’t be surprised if he leaves you behind.” This was followed by a sick chuckle.
I refused to respond and merely watched the clockwork gate come to a full open while the guards on either side prepared to angle their guns at the opening like they half-expected something to come barreling towards them. The doorway was empty and through the haze of the wasteland I could scarcely make out the familiar angles of the old ruins far out.
The girl didn’t engage either, for which I was thankful.
Boss Maron wide-stepped closer then patted my shoulder and whispered in my ear, “Don’t forget the shiny flag.” He tucked a foil sheet into my front shirt pocket, “His daughter was due west supposedly. Good luck.” Then he clapped me on the back before returning to his post by the sandbags where a small table displayed his game of solitaire.
We moved through the gate, and I could sense the uneasy rhythm of the young girl’s movement just over my shoulder. As the gate closed behind us with a large and final shudder, I heard her breath become more erratic.
“The air feels thicker out here,” she said.
“It is sometimes,” I tried talking the nerves out of her, “It’s hot and cold all at the same time, ain’t it? Know what I mean? It’s hot devil air, but also you feel chills all over, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” Her pace quickened so that we walked alongside one another.
“It’s just the nerves. You get used to it. Or. Well.”
“Or?”
“Or you don’t get enough time to.”
“What did ol’ Maron mean about other people dying with you?”
“Not many people venture outside the compound and even fewer go into the ruins. It’s all very dangerous. Most don’t make it back. That’s all he meant.”
“But you do. Make it back, I mean.”
I sighed. “I do, yeah.”
“My name’s Aggie, by the way. Sorry I didn’t say that before, Mister Harlan.”
“What’d your parents do when they were still around?”
“Dad was a farmer that worked with the hydroponics and Mom was a general fixer. She liked making clothes when we had the material.”
“Good people, it sounds like.”
“Sometimes,” said Aggie, “Hey, please don’t let me die, alright?” The words weren’t constructed so much as blurted; they came as a joke but did not seem like one.
“Okay.”
For a mile out in a measured circle, there was open sandy, flat ground stretching from around the perimeter walls of Golgotha; all the clutter, junk, and buildings had been disposed of years prior to grant the compound’s snipers comfortable sights in all directions. The openness went out for a mile and in every direction, one could see the ruins, the crumpled dead vehicles, half-snapped spires that lie in angles, and the gloom-red tint in the air that seemed to emanate from the ground like heat waves off fire. It was scarred air, where the creatures had unearthed some great anomaly from beneath the dirt. In honesty, it was like passing through the foul stench of death and painted everything in a blood hue. It stank and it was hot and it was cold.
We moved in relative silence; only the sounds of our boots across granular dirt or the clink of zippers whenever either Aggie or I was to readjust the packs on our shoulders. As we came upon the edges of the ruins, where we entered the red mist, and the air was alien. Finally, Aggie cleared her throat and mentioned through mildly exerted breathing, “Think we’ll find her?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “Keep quiet and whisper. We can talk but keep it low.” We began to enter the thick of the ruins where ancient structures crept up on either side of us. “What made you come with me?” It was a question I’d wondered the whole time and figured her reasoning was weak.
“There’s not much home. I’d like to see some of the world before I go. Seems like things get worse and worse and for when I do leave this world, I want to see something other than the walls of home.”
“Fair answer.” Her reasoning was weak. “What if you’ve bit off more than you can chew?”
“Maybe.” She followed this up with another question of her own,” What made you start venturing out?”
“I wanted to see something other than the walls of home.” I felt a smile creep around the corners of my mouth, but quickly tempered myself. “Whenever people go out on their own without a guide, they die. I doubt we’ll find Harold’s daughter.” I left a pause. “You’re nearly her age, ain’t you? Did you ever know her?”
“You speak like she’s dead for sure.”
“Most likely, she is. Did you know her?”
“No, but I guess I’m an optometrist.”
“Optimist,” I corrected.
“Whatever. She’s a piece of home. I feel like I’m old enough to take care of myself and I want to help people. Not everyone thinks that way, but we’re all one big family, aren’t we?”
“While I appreciate your thoughts on it, I doubt the daughter of a Boss would feel the same about you.”
“The Bosses protect us.”
The ruins began to swallow us whole as we ventured through the ancient pathways, broken asphalt and wreckage littered the wide-open street. A nearby, worn post named the path: Fif Aven. I’d gone there before and left most things untouched. Although there were a few open holes in the structures on either side—places where large entryways might’ve gone hundreds of years ago—they were mostly empty, black with shadow, and picked clean long long ago. Non ideal for an alcove of respite from the open air. We shifted down the street, my eyes darting from old signs and vehicles bent and rusted and abandoned. I motioned for Aggie to come closer as I sneaked through the rubble towards a wall where there were no entryways into the monolithic structures. We hugged the wall and moved with trepidation, sometimes climbing across overturned wreckage tiptoeing in our boots to muffle all sound. Every footfall felt like a scream.
“We should go on for another mile or so before we find a place to rest. I know one up the way.”
“Rest? Are you tired already? That’d burn what daylight we have,” said Aggie.
I shook my head, “The last thing you want is to be without your wits in a place like this. If you’re too tired to run, you’re too tired to live.”
“Aren’t they fast? If they catch you in the open, they’ll get you, won’t they?”
I thought of a lie then thought better, “Yes.”
“Oh.”
“If you see one. Don’t scream. Don’t even breathe. If they haven’t seen you, you still have a chance.”
The air grew wet and smelled of chlorine, and I snatched Aggie’s sweating hand in my own before grappling her into my arms; she was small and fought noiselessly for only a second before going still. I shifted us into a concrete doorway with a half-destroyed awning and whispered a quick hush as I glided us near a piece of wreckage.
I felt her tenseness leave and let go of her before she crouched alongside me in the shadowed cover of an old van that had, ages before, slammed into a nearby wall. The door of the vehicle had been removed and we angled in slowly, silently, crawling towards the rear of its cabin to peer from the broken windows, all the while hoping its old axles would not creak. Feeling her hand on my shoulder, I twisted round to look Aggie in the eye; terror erupted from her face in tremors while she mouthed the words: what’s that?
Simply, I put a finger to my lips and took a peek at the thing moving down Fif Aven. The creature was on the smaller side, closer to the size of a run-of-the-mill human, but twitched its muscles in a fashion that contested humanity. The thing walked upright on two feet, but sometimes used its hands to move like an animal. The most intricate and disturbing of its features, however, was its head. With vibrant green skin, with speckles of yellowed globules across the surface of its body (likely filled with creamy pus), with a mishappen balloon head that first opened in half with a mouth folded as an anus, dispersed a corrosive gas into the air while it deflated, then reinflated and quivered—the creature’s head moved as a sack filled with misty gas, wobbly and rubbery. It had no eyes, no other features besides that awful head.
We watched it go, stop, disperse its toxic mist into the air, then leave. I kept my eyes on it, nose and mouth tucked beneath the collar of my shirt, and glanced at Aggie to see she’d followed suit. The smell could choke.
Once I was certain the thing had decided to move well outside of earshot (not that it had ears) I motioned for Aggie to follow me out of the van, down the sidewalk, through an intersection of roads, and into a small opening in one of the smaller structures. Our feet were swift, and I was grateful she was graceful. We moved through the darkness of the structure, and I led with intimate knowledge of the place. There was a safe spot near the rear of the building. I reached out in the dark, felt a handle and pushed into a small closet and pulled Aggie through.
My lantern came alive and bathed us in a warm glow. Shelves across the small room were lined with various supplies I’d left. A few boxes of matches, oil for lanterns, a bedroll, blankets, and other miscellaneous baubles.
Aggie inhaled sharply, “I’ve never seen anything like that! It was. I don’t know. It was weird and gross. Little scary. Is that what they look like?”
I shifted around onto the floor and opened my pack while placing the lantern between my legs. “You’ve been up on the compound’s walls before, ain’t you?”
“Once.”
“Well, sometimes those things get closer to home. I don’t know what you’d call them. Some of the wall guys call them fart heads because when you shoot one in the head with a rifle it goes pfffft. Lotta’ that chlorine shit comes out of them too.”
“Do bullets kill them?” She asked while removing her own pack and fixing her legs alongside mine in the closet; it was a snug fit, but we managed. “Like really kill them or does it just empty those heads?” I could feel her shaking still.
“If you use enough, sure. Durable, but manageable if you have enough firepower. Those are small fries. Normally they wouldn’t sneak up on me though. Normally I’d smell them from far off before they ever get close.”
“Did I distract you?”
“Maybe.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“It was bound to happen, I reckon.” I plunged my hand into my pack and removed a water gourd, taking a deep swallow from it.
She started, “Have,” she stopped then started again, “I wish,” another stop came then she gave up on whatever she was going to say and laid her pack across her lap, seemingly searching for something within.
“We should rest up here for a while. At least until you’ve calmed yourself. Then we’ll set out. Maron said the girl went west. You should have that detail in case this trip happens to be my last. I figured we’d search the northern area first then make our way south, but—I hope she ain’t south.” I exposed the face of my compass.
A thought seemed to occur to Aggie while she removed her own water gourd and took a healthy swig. Sweat glistened off her brow in the dancing light of the lantern, its fire caught in her pupils while she thought. “You don’t actually think you’ll find her, do you?”
I grinned, surprised. “Why do you say that?”
“You think she’s dead already, so why do it?”
“Because they’ll believe me when I come back. I suppose we’ll return in two days, maybe three, then tell them we found her corpse.”
“Well why don’t we just stay here for the remainder?”
“We’ll look for her,” I said.
“But why?”
“It’s the right thing to do, I suppose. Maybe your optometristism is rubbing off on me.”
“Don’t make fun of me,” said Aggie, but I could see her sheepish grin. She held out a hand flat across her eyes and watched the nervous tremors in her fingers.
“Just nerves,” I told her.
“It’s a little exciting.”
“Now that’s a dangerous thought,” I took another swig from my water gourd before returning it to my pack. “Do you know where your parents hailed from?”
“Somewhere up north. Cold lands, but it was hard not to freeze in the winter up that way. Said they came down here years before I was born, hoping they could find a place to settle, but it was all the same. That’s what they said.”
“Never been further north than Golgotha, if I’m being honest. I’m from a place that once was called Georgia, but I’ve not been there in years.”
“Is it true what they told me, Mister Harlan?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is it the same everywhere? Is there no place around that’s not got those awful things?”
“If there’s a place like that, I haven’t seen it yet.”
“Mom used to read to me when I was a little kid,” she said, “I never could pick up reading, but she loved old books that were written before bad times and in those books, people talked about things like green fields that stretched on forever, and places where water streams were clear enough to drink from. Do you remember anything like that?”
I chuckled while continuing to rummage through my pack, “Geez, how old do you think I am? All that was a long time ago.”
“Yeah. You think it’ll ever be like that again?”
I shook my head. “Wishful thinking.” Then I found what I’d been searching for and removed it from my pack. A small tin of tobacco; I sat to rolling a makeshift cigarette then lit it off the lamp.
“That smells funny.”
“Yeah.”
We shared the cigarette in the dark closet, passing it back and forth; her lungs, not being used to the smoke, forced from Aggie a few whimpering coughs that she tried to hide in the hem of her shirt.
I ducked the tobacco out beneath my heel and began reorganizing my pack so that it was less lumpy. “I hope you’re ready for it again. Like I said, that one you saw was a small fry. There’s bigger things out there. Worse things.”
“Should I go, or should I just stay here?” She hadn’t reorganized herself at all and remained seated while I shouldered my pack and peered through a crack in the door.
“Of course, you should come with me. I know it, you’re scared.”
“What if I make it worse and I attract one of those things right to you?” She asked.
I reached down and she took my hand; I lifted her to her feet and we met eyes, “Aggie, you’re coming with me. You’ll do fine. I promise.” It was not often that I’d try and charm someone, but I put forth a smile.
She smiled back and I shut off my lantern before leading her gently through the dark, into the open street where midday sun caught the ruins shadows long and deep. West was where the girl had gone and I intended to follow. Though I’d seen no signs of survivors, I was certain that if they’d braved the previous night, they were likely about in the daytime. Certainly, things would be made easier if I could cup hands around my mouth and echo my voice through the dead city like a game of Marco-Polo. Aggie maintained both energy and quiet alongside me as we moved through the rubble, vaulting over wide-open holes in the street where I could spy the arteries of the dead beast (the old sewer network).
We conversed frankly and in whispers when we came upon a place in the road that was impassible on foot due to a collapsed structure and we stalked more like wounded deer in a forest than humans in a city; our shoulders remained slouched, our bodies were huddled near to each other, and we delved into the dark recesses of another building—possibly a market from old days when patrons congregated for frozen fish sticks. There were massive steel shelves and we took their avenues till we came upon an aperture on the far side of the dark building. We shifted over the broken glass of an old torn out window and landed firmly on an open street.
Then came a sound like firecrackers and I felt cold and Aggies eyes went wide in the dull evening glow of the sun.
“Someone’s brought a gun,” I said.
Before she could say anything, I hugged the wall on our side of the street and moved down the sidewalk, following the sound of those gunshots.
“Maybe it’s someone that could help us?” she tried.
I shook my head.
“What do you mean?” she whispered a bit louder.
“It’s bad news,” I said, then came to a full stop at a corner while another hail of bullets spat from some unseen weapon and echoed all around; we were getting much closer. “Have you ever seen a dead body?” I asked Aggie.
She shook her head, but then stopped. “I was the one that found my mom. She was stiff and cold.”
“She went peacefully?”
Aggie shook her head, “Flu.”
“Any blood?”
“No.”
“If you’re not ready for blood, you might not want to look.”
We rounded the corner to find a small blockade of burnt-out vehicles creating a barrier between us and the action.
Two men with assault rifles fired at a creature towering over them. The creature in question stood thirty feet tall on spindly legs like a spider, but each of its legs were tumorous and its muscles were strangely uneven and mushy; although an arachnid may have eight legs, this one moved sluggishly along on no less than twenty shambling stilts so that the rounded body where the legs met looked more akin to a sea urchin. Several of its long legs stood out on its sides to angle its body through the narrow corridor of the street, its whiskery feet pushing along the walls of buildings overhead. Its whole body stank of wet dog and brimstone.
The men—they looked like young militiamen of Golgotha—staggered in awe of the thing and attempted to walk backwards while reloading. Another spray of bullets erupted from their rifles, and they were empty and the men screamed and one of them tripped across some unseen thing on the ground.
Quick as a fly, one of the massive creature’s legs sprang onto the prone man’s abdomen. Their was a brief cry of pain and then—I felt Aggie pinch onto my shoulder with her thumb and forefinger and I glanced at her to see she’d chewed into the corner of her bottom lip for purchase in response to such a fantastical display of awfulness—the man had no skin, no clothes, he’d been stripped to runny red fibrous tissue with strips of white muscle that twitched in the presence of the air.
“Oh god please god!” screamed the other man while watching his comrade writhe in pain beneath the stalky foot of the skin-taker.
I shuffled lower among the arrangement of vehicles we’d taken refuge behind and me and Aggie breathed softly, glancing eye contact while sitting in the dirt. There wasn’t anything to say.
The sound of the spider creature removing the second man’s skin was slower, torturous, seemingly enjoyed; his screams did not end for too long. I fisted my hands into my jacket pockets then stared at the ground between my knees. I felt Aggie’s thin fingers reach into my pocket and it took me flinching to realize she intended to hold my hand. She was shaking and I was shaking, but she was good and did not scream. And we held hands while we listened to the thick trunks of the spider creature shift on away. And we didn’t move. And we were statues frozen like we belonged among the dead ruins. And we didn’t move. And then Aggie shifted to look before I’d gathered my feelings and motioned me on.
“What’s that?” she asked as simply as she’d asked the color of the sky.
“Bad.” I shook my head and looked for an opening in the blockade of vehicles.
Two meaty blood ponds marked where the men were and on approach, I covered my face in the collar of my shirt; Aggie lifted her forearm to her nose. The stench of the beast and of the viscera was strong in the air.
I examined the ground then found one of their rifles. Standard M16. The strap on the rifle was frayed to ribbons and the barrel of the gun appeared to be slightly bent, but salvageable. I handed the rifle to Aggie and she took it.
“What about no guns?” she asked.
“There’s no bullets left. Besides, it’ll be good to bring it back.” Examining what was left of the bodies, my eyes went away and into my mind where all things become ethereal and difficult to grasp; I looked without seeing and imagined a place where green grass was, a place like in the books Aggie’s mother read. No grass here. Just misery.
“Who were they?” she asked.
“The men?”
“Yeah.”
“They sent out a patrol looking for Boss Harold’s daughter. Looks like we’ve found it. Never should’ve sent them.”
“I want to go home,” said Aggie.
“Me too.” I blinked and shifted around to look at her through the red hue that’d gathered between us. Try as I might, the smile on my face almost hurt. “If you stick with me, you’ll be safe.”
We took up in one of the safehouses I’d developed over the past several years, a room hidden up two flights of stairs and large enough to host a party. In the lantern glow we heated rations—eggs and hearty bread with water-thinned weak tomato paste—then ate in relative quiet so that the only thing heard were our jaws over the food that tasted bitter; food always felt slimy and bitter in the ruins where the demons reigned supreme. Their stink was on us. Like sulfur, like rot, like sorrow.
I rolled us each a cigarette and we smoked while looking out through a brackish window that overlooked the black street. No lights in the darkness save blinking yellow eyes caught for moments in dull moonlight whose owners quickly skittered towards an alley.
“How don’t you get lost?” asked Aggie.
“I do sometimes.”
“You could’ve fooled me.”
“I mean, I know the ruins fine enough, I reckon, but then I feel like I’m drowning in it every time I come here.” I took a long draw from my cigarette, finished it, then planted it beneath my boot.
“Did you have parents?” she asked.
“Everyone has parents.”
“What were they like?” Aggie held her cigarette out from her like she didn’t actually want it, but just as I looked over at her, pulling my eyes from the window, she jammed it into her lips.
“They were fine. Just fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Yeah.”
“I wish it was better,” said Aggie.
“Don’t imagine there’s ever been a point in history where we didn’t want it to be better.”
“Maybe.” She coughed through smoke.
I moved to dim the lamp and sat atop my bedroll. “You should sleep.”
“Don’t think I could sleep. I’ll have nightmares.” She pitched the remainder of her cigarette.
“Can’t be worse than the real deal.”I shut off the lamp and we laid in pitch black.
“How do you do it?” she asked.
“Most of the time, it feels like I’m not.” I stared at the ceiling I couldn’t see. “Go to sleep.”
At daybreak, we ate bread and water then gathered our things before setting into that awful wasteland. Sand gathered around our legs in wisps as we trundled tiredly onto the street of the ruins and Aggie said nothing. There wasn’t a thought in my mind as my joints protested at us climbing over the wreckage of an overturned semi-truck; first I went, then I hoisted Aggie up by her lanky arms then we jumped onto the other side, moving less like scouts and more like hungover comer-downers.
Passing through the ruins, each step feeling more like a glide and less creaky, Aggie spoke from over my shoulder as I kept my eyes sharp on the buildings’ shadows, “I doubt we’ll find her,” she said.
“What happened to the optimism?” I shifted to catch her face; she seemed dejected, tired, perhaps disillusioned by the previous day’s happenings.
“I didn’t know there were things like that in this world. Like that spider thing. Those men didn’t stand a chance.”
I shook my head, and we continued moving. “There are worse things still over the horizon. Most assuredly there is. Now you asked me before why I come out here in these ruins, why I’ve trekked the wasteland, and I’ll give you the opportunity to ask it again—maybe I’ll have something different to say.”
“Okay. Why then?”
“Because,” I kicked at a half eroded aluminum can left on the ground, “Places like Golgotha, or even where I’ve come from, there’s nothing like the red sky or the open road. There are no ties, no people. There’s only the next step.”
She took up directly beside me as we turned onto a street corner where the sidewalk mostly remained intact. “Sounds stupid to me.”
“There it is then.”
“Sorry,” she muttered, then she spoke even more clearly, “I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t get it.”
“It’s because I’m a dealmaker,” I said.
“That’s what Maron called you before, wasn’t it?” Aggie absently stared at the sky, at the edges of the high spires overhead that seemed to swallow us whenever clouds passed over the sun. “What’s that mean?”
“It means it’s harder for me to die.”
“Just luck, if you ask me.”
I clenched my jaw. “Probably, it is. Yeah.”
Then, with time, we came to the garden. A place in the ruins where greenery existed—even if the plants that grew from the soil were otherworldly and aggressive. There was the solitary sound of dirt catching crags in the structures as hard wind pushed silt through the narrow streets of the ruins, then there was also the sound of a flute, a flute made of bone and skin. The sound was sickly sweet, illusive, something no human could play even if they listened carefully and practiced for hundreds of years. There was the flute, the greenery, the clacking of hooves against old stone that’d risen from the earth much the same as the demons.
Aggie whispered, “What’s that music?”
I reached out my hand so that she would hold it and I tried to smile. “There are worse things still over the horizon.”
Her delicate scrawny fingers wrapped around my own and though I felt her trembling, she trusted me (I hoped she really did). I led her towards the garden, through a walkway with tall obelisks of flame on either side. “What is this place?” whimpered Aggie.
“If you are asked your name, tell it plainly without hesitation,” I said, “Do not leave my side. Do not run.”
“Where are we going?” her eyes scanned the garden, the flames dancing in the midday reddish light, the trees bent at impossible angles, the glorious green grass that looked cool and soft. I’d been in awe the first time I’d seen it.
I smiled, “Just like your mom’s old books. Green grass.”
The flute grew louder as we came closer and the hoof beats on stone shifted with enthusiasm.
There in the center of the garden stood Baphomet, ten feet tall, feminine midsection with goatish head and legs. It pranced with the flute to its mouth, and the tune resounded playfully all around. The creature danced across an area of stones in the center of the garden, a place where there were rock tables and chairs and sigils upon the ground—amid the open furniture, there stood a throne of human bones and near where Baphomet played its wily tune, there was a covered well, rope tautly hanging from its crank as if there was something heavy on the other end.
I smelled you coming, said Baphomet. Even as it spoke, it continued to play its flute without pause. Its muscular shoulders glistening with reddish sweat, its horns gloriously pointed and reveled in its merriment.
“Let us convene,” I said, mouth dry and feeling heady.
Convene?
“I’m here for the girl.”
I felt Aggie shift uncomfortably beside me, but I kept my eyes locked on Baphomet.
It seems you have one already.
“She came west, towards here two days ago. She was a runaway. You have her.”
Come, Harlan, come and dance with me. Baphomet did not stop its flute or its dancing.
I sighed. “I’m here to make a deal.”
Baphomet froze, allowing the boney flute to drop from its goatish lips. Its animal eyes casually switched between me then Aggie, before it turned to face us completely. A deal?
“Y-yes,” I nearly choked.
You’ve brought so little to bargain with. Baphomet shifted and walked to its throne to sit, clacking its long nails against the armrest. Unless. The creature allowed the word to hang against my brain like a splinter.
I lifted the hand holding Aggie’s. “A deal,” I tried.
Quick as a flash, Baphomet disappeared in a haze of black smoke then reappeared over Aggie’s shoulder. I dropped her hand and stepped away while the creature exhausted dew from its nose before sniffing Aggie’s ear.
Aggie swallowed hard, “Harlan?” she asked, “What’s it doing?”
“I’m sorry, Aggie.”
Baphomet took its hands through her short hair and inhaled sharply. A long tongue fell from its mouth and saliva oozed before it snapped its snout shut. The pleasure will be all mine.
“Harlan, let’s go—I want to go home.” Aggie’s tears rolled down her face in full while the large hand of Baphomet lightly squeezed her cheeks into a pucker.
You are home.
Baphomet took Aggie and moved her casually; her legs moved feebly, knees shaking.
Sit darling. Said Baphomet, motioning to its throne. Aggie took the chair and the creature snorted approval.
The demon moved jauntily to the well, where its strong arms began to roll the crank; with each rotation, the sound of cries grew closer. Until finally, all limbs pulled backwards in bondage, there dangled Boss Harold’s daughter; deep cuts and blood painted her mangled, distorted body. She’d been pushed into the well belly first, suspended by her wrists and ankles. I bit my tongue.
“Oh god,” I heard Aggie say. It sounded like a far-off girl from an unknown planet.
Baphomet lifted the girl from her bondage then sliced the rope with a razor-sharp fingernail. I hesitantly moved closer to the scene and removed my jacket.
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2024.06.05 05:45 adorabletapeworm Orion Pest Control: Crows With Strange Shadows

Previous case
Victor hadn't been kidding when he'd said that the mechanic was going to become more aggressive. The only reason why this week wasn't my last was because I'd had Orion behind me as well as a plethora of precautions in place.
(If you're not familiar with what Orion Pest Control's services are, it may help to start here.)
For example, at Orion, all employees are advised to get lockboxes for their mail rather than regular mailboxes. It would be far too easy for a Neighbor to follow one of us home and fish out a piece of mail to find our names. This is only recommended for people who've had frequent or unpleasant interactions with the Neighbors.
You could also ward off your mailbox with iron. Salt, as always, would work as well, but I'm sure your mailman wouldn't appreciate getting seasoned every time he simply tries to give you your junk mail.
When it comes to monetary transactions, cash or pre-loaded debit cards are the safest, unless you can be certain beyond a reasonable doubt that the person ringing you out is human.
Another precaution that I've taken when it comes to the mechanic is that I've bought a cast iron fire poker from an antique store. Iron is one of the most effective weapons against the Neighbors, though it's best to think of it as an allergy rather than a perfect repellant. Some Neighbors will crumple instantly if they're within a few feet of it while others need direct contact in order to cause anything worse than hive-covered burns.
Given that the mechanic must have frequent exposure to iron during his daytime profession, I have to wonder how effective it is against him. I do see him wearing gloves from time to time, so it must do something, even if it's a minor skin irritation. Either it's a pride thing or he's just that committed to the ‘mechanic’ bit.
I've been keeping the poker in the company truck. Even if it's not lethal to him, I’m sure that getting smacked over the head with it probably wouldn't feel too good. Along with that, I've restocked my salt shells. If the mechanic decides to try anything, he'll have an arsenal waiting for him.
I don't have any delusions about being able to kill him. I think that's something only a true hero could accomplish. I'm talking about legendary individuals like Cú Chullainn, Beowulf, or Māui. People whose deeds are so great that their stories live on to this day. Find someone like that in the modern age. (Though, I would argue that Marc-André Fluery comes close. Flyers fans, don't interact.)
Reyna suggested bathing the hagstone in saltwater to amplify its deterring effects. She also wrapped red thread along the outside of the ring, explaining that it should help enhance its protective properties.
It's a good thing, too. Since my last interaction with the mechanic, promptly at dusk, I would hear the beating of wings outside, and always from the west. I risked a glance out the window one night to find a murder of crows. Ever since I saw that the birds’ shadows move independently of their owners, I don't look at them. I ignore their calls. I know who they serve.
After Reyna's additions, the hagstone vibrates against my chest whenever they're near.
However, in my case, these were only temporary solutions, unless I wanted to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life and fearing death even more than I did before. But in the meantime… raccoons.
A client called about hearing scratching and chattering in her attic. Her uninvited guest also put a hole in her siding. In other words, it was enough of a mess to momentarily distract me from my own problems.
Raccoons are incredibly destructive, chewing up anything that they can get their little hands on. From the client's description, it sounded like we could be dealing with a nest. Mother raccoons can be especially feisty when it comes to protecting their young, so I had Reyna join me in case there were any kits.
At Orion, we are licensed to use humane trapping methods on smaller wildlife, so don't worry, no garbage kitties are being harmed. Though I want yinz to know that raccoons are not to be underestimated. They may not try to take your soul, like some pests out there will, but they can spread a variety of diseases, including rabies and roundworm among others. They also present a major fire hazard when they claw their way into a home since they can chew through wiring like nothing.
The first thing we had to do was identify the garbage kitties’ entry point. Reyna opted to go on the roof while I investigated the attic.
The first thing I noticed was the telltale stench of dried urine. Yup, those were droppings over there in the corner. Delightful. Looking around, I found that the raccoons had torn out a few chunks of the insulation, but nothing that wouldn't be too difficult or expensive to replace. All in all, it seemed like it'd be an easy call.
Then I felt the hagstone begin to tremble. Not long after, Reyna screamed.
I rushed out, my heart surging with panic as I was greeted with the frenzied calls of crows. Shit! They followed me.
She was on the ground, swinging her silver-tipped knife clumsily against the swarm of black feathers swirling around her. I heard her cry out again as I got closer to her, then suddenly, the cloud of feathers dispersed, twisting towards the sky with a cacophony of angered caws. Reyna had managed to get some salt on them before they could gouge her eyes out.
My hand was coated with blood as I guided Reyna towards the house. She'd managed to keep her eyes, but they’d shredded her with their beaks and talons. I could feel her shaking as we retreated from the horde. Reyna tried to hide it, but she was crying, the tears mingling with the blood covering her nose and cheeks like a bandit's mask.
The whole time, the hagstone didn't stop vibrating. I think that was the only thing keeping the horde from coming after us. Their calls were piercing as we took cover in the house.
The client was alarmed when she saw the state Reyna was in, “What psycho ass raccoons do I have?!”
I promised I'd explain later (I honestly don't remember what bullshit story I gave her) then asked her to watch over Reyna as I went out to get the emergency first aid kit we keep in the truck.
Reyna held me in a grip so tight that it left bruises, pleading, “Don't go out there! Please!”
Now that we weren't on the run, I could see the injuries on her face more clearly. The deepest one went through her right eyebrow towards the bridge of her nose. The rest were shallow, painful-looking cuts that criss crossed over her skin.
“They can't come near me. And I’ve got something in the truck that’ll make them think twice.” I assured her.
She didn't let go. I couldn't find it in me to pry her fingers off, so instead, I put my hand over hers, hoping that it was comforting.
The client gently pressed a paper towel to the side of Reyna’s face, her voice heart-achingly motherly as she uttered, “It's okay, honey. Everything's going to be alright.”
I'm not sure if it was from pain or something else, but Reyna noticeably stiffened when the client spoke to her in that maternal tone, closing her eyes as if to keep more tears from falling. Her clutch loosened until my wrist was freed, her hand dropping limply to her side.
The fucking birds sounded like they were laughing when I marched out to the truck. The sound grated on me as I snatched the fire poker and the first aid kit.
“Laugh at this!” I snapped as I swung the poker at the nearest crow.
It let out a squeal as the poker grazed its wing, hopping as far out of reach as it could afterwards. They didn't cackle after that.
After we cleaned Reyna's injuries up, they didn't look quite as terrible, but just to be safe, I dragged her to the hospital. Thankfully, the client was an absolute angel about the whole thing and understood that one of our employees being injured was going to be a setback. I called up Victor to inform him of the situation as well as the entry points that we’d found; he took over where Reyna and I left off.
On the way to the hospital, Reyna muttered, “So… does my little Alfred Hitchcock moment initiate me as an official Orion employee?”
Wearily, I gave her a small chuckle, “Yeah, you're one of us, now. Lucky you!”
“Hey, I’ll take the murder birds over Psycho Mantis.” She replied with a small smile.
Her nickname for the mechanic. I think it's from a video game. I don't know. Never quite got into them.
It was quiet for a moment. The smile faded away as she distantly said, “I think that's how they do it. They take your eyes, they take you, you know?”
I nodded, feeling a lump in the back of my throat, thinking about how the mechanic can control someone just by meeting their gaze. “I think you might be right about that.”
I couldn't help but wonder if the Hunt had attacked her simply because she's an Orion employee or if they were drawn to her because of something else. Was she grieving over something? I didn't know her well enough at that point to be able to tell. They hadn't hesitated to go for her eyes. If that was the case, that'd make her the most vulnerable of the three of us.
Another thing I want yinz to know when it comes to dealing with the atypical: if you or a loved one has been harmed, one of the best things you can do is to support the victim. And if you need support yourself, ignore that stupid little voice in your head that tells you not to bother anyone and reach out. Isolation will destroy you in more ways than one.
After I got Reyna settled at the hospital, I made a beeline to the river to find another hagstone. Clearly, Reyna was going to need one, too.
Naturally, the stupid birds followed me, causing my hagstone to quiver nonstop. I went into the woods armed with my toolbelt and the iron poker. I opted out of taking the shotgun simply because I was going to need a free hand to look for another hagstone. There was a part of me that hoped that one of them would try something so that I'd have the opportunity to smack the shit out of them.
While I was searching, among the crows’ calls, I heard whispers. They sounded close, like they came from behind some brush about twenty feet away, but I believed the False Egg when it said that the whispering thing likes to confuse its victims. Without listening to what they were saying, I glanced around as the river's cold water rushed around my boots, trying to figure out what was stalking me.
The whispers pretended to move further away. But still, I couldn't see the thing causing them. I clutched the poker tighter. The crows had stopped their chattering. They heard the voices, too. Hold on. What were they all looking at?
Gingerly, I pulled out the hagstone and held it to my eye in the direction of the crows' gazes. At first, it looked like one of the trees, until I was able to make out a triangular head with eyes the size of basketballs. It held up two massive, folded appendages that were lined with sharp spines. It looked to be as tall as a draft horse, yet it was so still that I couldn't even tell if this huge animal was breathing. The whispers were quieter than they'd ever been before.
Those huge eyes were fixed on me. I didn’t dare move.
One of the ‘crows’ glided to the ground near to the whispering thing, passing in front of my field of view. I stifled a shudder when I saw the state of its frail, humanoid body. Its skin clung like molten wax to its ribs and spine. Tattered wings extended from the sides of its torso, the feathers looking as if they were ripped from numerous other avians and fused to the miserable animal's stretched, contorted arms to make it fly. Where the eyes should have been were empty sockets. A curved beak had been forced onto the creature as well, driven into the skull hard enough to leave ridged, fleshy lumps.
Now that I've seen it, I think the crows were human, once. Transformed and disfigured to serve the Wild Hunt.
The crow shuffled a little too close to the whispering thing. Quicker than a blink, the whispering thing's folded appendage shot forward, curving around the crow's midsection, spikes driving into the crow's torso. My mind could barely keep up as the whispering thing then bit the crow's head clean off with a terrible crunch.
The other crows began to frenzy, shrieking as they dove towards the whispering thing. Without having to take a step, it snatched another crow out of the air. Flesh ripped with a wet tearing sound.
Since the animals were all focused on each other, I took the opportunity to dig frantically around for a hagstone, holding my own against my eye in the hopes it would lead me to another one.
There was a low hum that I felt more than heard. Deep within my chest, as if I was standing next to an amp at a concert. This was followed by an enraged screech from one of the crows. Still, I kept looking.
There had to be one. There just had to be!
One circular, black rock stood out among the rest, the water seeming to outline it from the view of my hagstone. There! I plucked it out of the water, looking over my shoulder to see if either the crows or the whispering thing were paying attention to me. They were too engrossed with trying to tear each other apart.
I shoved the black hagstone into my pocket and made a break for it, poker at the ready. One of the crows noticed and let out an ear-splitting cry to alert the others.
As I ran, I checked back to see that three of the crows split off to pursue me. I wasn't worried about them catching me. The whispering thing was another matter. This was only my second time encountering it and I hadn't had enough information to identify it, so I didn't want to find out the hard way if the defenses I had on me would be enough to stop it from tearing me apart like it did the crows.
There was another low hum that rumbled against my ribs as the whispering thing used one of its forelegs to swipe a crow out of its way. It had lost interest in them, its huge amber eyes focused on me once again. I prayed that the crows swarming around it would be enough to slow it down.
As I raced through the trees back to where the company truck waited, the whispers started anew. They became louder and clearer the faster I went, interrupted by the shrill cries of the crows tailing me. I did my best not to listen to any of them. The last thing I needed was to get led astray by any of my pursuers.
A crow swooped close enough for me to smack it with the poker. The sound the bird made when the iron scalded its skin made my teeth clench. The others joined it, bringing me to my knees, my ears ringing. High pitched, grating, like broken glass against a chalkboard. Disoriented, I swung desperately with the iron poker again, not hitting anything.
And among all that, the whispers hadn't stopped. My head rang, ears going numb. I swung again. One of the shrieks stopped as the poker found its mark. Even as the auditory assault continued, I got to my feet, grabbing the trees closest to me to keep myself going. The whispers became even more frantic as its prey got further and further away. The truck was right there.
The two crows tailing me had finally stopped their dreadful screaming and simmered down to furious clicking sounds with their beaks, as if they could think of nothing but stripping the flesh from my bones.
When one tested the limits of the hagstone as I got close to the truck, I swatted at it with the poker, the tip colliding with the creature's skull. The crow’s body crashed against an oak’s trunk, then went still.
As soon as I cleared the treeline, the whispering stopped. I looked over my shoulder. The whispering thing was retreating, only visible for a brief moment before blending in among the trees.
It couldn't leave the forest. That was good to know.
I closed myself into the truck, leaving the furious crows outside. They glared at me from the branches of a nearby oak. After taking a moment to collect myself, I drove back to the hospital, wanting to hand the black hagstone off to Reyna before anything else.
At a stop sign, I got a text from Victor: he had finished setting traps for the client's raccoon infestation and was going to meet me at the hospital.
Reyna was chilling in her hospital bed, face bandaged, wearing a hideous blue hospital gown decorated with faded green and pink squares.
“Guess who got her rabies shots!” She announced with a sleepy grin, holding her hand up in a shaka.
Someone was clearly given the good painkillers.
Victor arrived a few minutes later, wearing a black mask that covered his mouth and nose, smelling strongly of lavender. It made my nose itch.
“Why do you smell like an old lady?” I complained.
The mask intensified his withering stare, voice muffled by the mask, “Lotta blood around here. Probably wouldn't be too good if I smelled it.”
Reyna chimed in, slurring slightly, “If you're gonna eat anyone, go for the receptionist. He was reading Anne Rice, so he'd probably be into it.”
It was Reyna's turn to get The Glare. He said flatly, “You're high as a kite, aren't you?”
Reyna flashed a peace sign.
To summarize Reyna's condition, she's as okay as she can be. They had to close up her eyebrow and cheek, and they gave her a plethora of shots to make sure that she didn't catch any diseases from the crows. The hospital doctor wanted to keep her overnight to make sure that she didn't have an infection, then afterwards, she was going to take some time off of work to recover.
Also, I slipped the black hagstone into her purse so that it wouldn't be misplaced.
After we discussed Reyna's injuries, I decided to address the elephant in the room, “So… what can we do about the mechanic?”
Reyna shrugged, “Grovel and plead for our lives?”
Victor rubbed his eyes. “We might be a bit past that point.”
I asked Victor about the specifics of his deal with the mechanic. I knew that there had to be some sort of condition that had to be fulfilled before the mechanic could take someone, otherwise I probably wouldn't be alive to type this right now. Reyna was equally curious.
The boss seemed reluctant to speak on this matter, at first. I told Victor that he didn't have to share anything if there was any possibility of retaliation. The last thing I wanted was for him to be punished in some horrific manner for trying to help me.
He eventually shrugged a shoulder in resignation, “Whatever happens, I can handle it. It didn't take him long to figure out that I was the one that helped you find the hagstone. That wasn't pleasant, but…” He went quiet for a second, his eyes glazing in a way that reminded me of when I first came home from active duty. He then shrugged again, “I'm willing to risk it if that means getting a chance to hurt him back someday. Lord knows it's been a long time coming.”
He didn't tell us what the consequences had been for assisting me, and neither Reyna nor I pressed the issue. Some mysteries are best left unsolved.
Even though I was nervous to hear the answer, I didn't pull any punches and straight up asked, “Why hasn't the mechanic sent you after me yet?”
Victor considered for a moment, then explained, “I'm not sure on the specifics, since the mechanic doesn’t tell me anything other than what I need to know to get the job done. But from what I can tell, he takes those who are dead, dying, or… ‘dead inside,’ I guess is the best way to put it. Some souls appear to be harder for him to take than others. The hard ones need to be… broken down first. As of right now, he says you're not ready.”
Reyna numbly asked, “So if the birds tried to nab me, does that mean that I am ‘ready’? That they could take me at any moment?”
Victor hesitated before replying, “We won't let that happen. Alright?”
Reyna nodded, eyes low.
I wanted to ask her what was going on. Figure out why she was suffering in a way that made her fair game to the crows. But she'd been through enough for one day. That discussion could wait for another time.
My next question was another one that I dreaded the answer to, “And where do you come into all of this, Vic?”
Regretfully, Victor admitted, “I bring him the ones that are ready if he can't get to them himself.”
He glanced at Reyna, “As of right now, keep that hagstone on at all times. Even wear it when you're sleeping. The mechanic didn't know who you were initially, but I guarantee the fucking Lessers tipped him off. I think he’s more focused on Nessa, at the moment, but if I get sent after you, hit me with iron, salt me, do whatever and don't feel bad about it. Same goes for you, Nessa.”
I hated this. I hated that he was being used like this. I hated that he spoke about someday being sent to drag one of us to meet our fate at the hands of the Wild Hunt as if it was unavoidable.
The air suddenly felt like it was much thinner in the room. Somehow, I got enough oxygen to ask, “What if I learned the mechanic's true name? Would that end this?”
Victor let out a soft scoff, rubbing the bridge of his nose over his mask, “Probably, but good luck with that.”
I had already figured that the mechanic wouldn't dance around a fire singing his true name all willy nilly like Rumpelstiltskin. But I couldn't accept that all of us were screwed. There had to be a way. I had to believe that there was a way.
I announced that I'd be back in the morning. Reyna looked as concerned as her painkillers would allow, while Victor jumped out of his seat.
“What are you going to do?” He demanded.
“I'm going to talk to him.” I replied. “One of us is in the hospital and another one of us is undead-”
“I know it's looking bad right now, but they can easily get worse if whatever you're thinking of doing goes south.” He cautioned.
“I'm just going to see if there's some way I can… I don't know, talk him down? I haven't gotten that far yet, but something needs to be done.”
He didn't look convinced, and with how terrible my argument was, I don't blame him. “I'll go with you.”
I motioned towards Reyna. “And leave her alone?”
Reyna, looking like she was fighting sleep, groggily said, “I got the adder stone and I'm in public. I'll be fine. If you're going to confront Psycho Mantis, you're going to need Vic around more than I will.”
Victor agreed, “Like it or not, you're not handling this alone. Remember what I told you when you got hired in?”
We're not heroes, we're pest control specialists.
You know that thing I said about not isolating yourself? I can be bad about not following my own advice sometimes, especially that one.
Going forward, I do want to note that the decisions that were made on that night were extremely risky and I don't recommend for anyone to repeat them. Believe it or not, we are professionals.
On our way to our destination, we stopped by the 24-hr convenience store. Victor was about to question me until he saw me go for the whipped cream. I also got s'mores supplies, thinking that maybe some bribery would make the mechanic more amiable. I figured that if he rejected them then, hey, I like s'mores, too.
Afterwards, we followed the path to the skull trees.
During our hike, Victor whispered, “That fucker is hubris incarnate, but he's not stupid. If he offers you a deal, know that it's not going to be in your favor. And be careful with the way that he twists words.”
Something noteworthy is that the hagstone doesn't react to Victor. I think it's because he doesn't have the same malicious intentions as his captors. He may have changed after his murder (hell, anyone would) but at his heart, he was still Victor. Meanwhile, as we got closer to the skull tree clearing, I felt the stone gradually begin to quake.
Up ahead, orange light flickered. The mechanic had a small fire going. He lay on a blanket next to it, that cursed banjo on the ground beside him, one arm folded under his head, legs crossed at the ankle. His eyes were closed.
He didn't open them as he greeted us, “I was wondering when you two would show up.”
Keeping my nerves buried beneath the surface, I held up the bag of sugary goodness. “I'm here to negotiate.”
He laughed, still not looking at me. “Are you, now? And what exactly do you think a little thing of cream will get ya?”
“Not much, I imagine.” I said evenly. “But I thought it'd be a good jumping off point.”
Even though I’d originally protested Victor coming with me, I was glad that he was there. I don't think I would've been able to be so level-headed if I'd met with the mechanic alone. It would probably be interpreted as a sign of weakness, but I was counting on that.
As soon as I saw the mechanic begin to crane his neck towards us, I slammed my eyelids shut. He knew way more about me than I'd ever wanted him to know already, and I was afraid of giving him more.
Again, another potential sign of weakness. When it came to trying to get him to back off of Orion a bit, I figured it'd be best if he underestimated me.
I didn't have to see the mechanic to know that he had that wicked grin on his face, “Alrighty. Let's see what you've got.”
A hand that was as cold as the grave gently removed the bag of goodies from my grasp. Victor. Wordlessly, he brought the cavity-inducing offering over to the mechanic. I never realized how quiet his footsteps were until then. He moved like a shadow. He could've been five feet away or five hundred, for all I knew.
There was the rustling of plastic, followed by the trademark sound of whipped cream being sprayed from the nozzle. Sounding slightly less prick-ish, the mechanic told me I had his attention.
I had been trying to find the magic words that would make this whole situation blow over. Nothing that I came up with in my head fit that description.
So I decided to be straight forward, then go from there. “What will it take to de-escalate things between you and Orion?”
The whipped cream wailed once again. A moment later, the mechanic replied, “Why are you asking a question that you already know the answer to?”
“Other than my soul.”
He chuckled softly, the sound too casual and charming for this sinister discussion.
“You know, I’m curious, puppydog,” Fabric rustled. Without looking, I assumed he'd sat up, “Which o’ your parents are you most like?”
Here we fucking go.
I tried to redirect him, “With all due respect, that isn't relevant.”
“Oh, but it is.” His tone of voice brought chills to the back of my neck. “You see, I'd be willing to take a trade. Find a soul as mouth-waterin’ as yours, and all this goes away. Hell, I might even let you rest in peace! You know what choice your father would pick.”
I was hoping that the firelight wouldn't be enough for him to see my face flush and my jaw stiffen. That had touched a nerve, just as he knew it would.
That was also a horrible deal. One that I wouldn't even consider. There was no way that I could condemn someone else to an afterlife of torment. I wouldn't wish that on anyone, not even that weasel-faced client that I rescued the False Egg from. Not even my father.
Swallowing back the plethora of terrible emotions threatening to bubble up, I suddenly felt Victor subtly squeeze my shoulder supportively. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't hesitate to give anyone who insulted his employees a piece of his mind, but the mechanic was the last Neighbor to mouth off to. That was the best he could do for me, in the moment.
When I informed the mechanic that I wouldn't sacrifice someone else to save my own skin, he laughed again, “If only you knew how many times I heard those exact words! Thing is, I ain't even got started on you, pup. Given enough time, you might find you're more like your old man than you thought.”
I took a deep breath to keep the mixture of dread and anger confined to my chest, then calmly replied, “Sounds like you know exactly how everything will play out. Isn't that boring for you?”
The tension that filled the air after those words left my mouth made my chest feel tight.
The whipped cream can wheezed thoughtfully before the mechanic mildly admitted, “A bit, yeah.”
There it is.
“You already have all of the advantages,” I started, “It’s not much of a hunt if your prey can't even run, is it? There's no challenge in killing something that's already baited and trapped.”
“So, what do you suggest?”
Oh boy. I was about to do one of many things I warned yinz not to do: “The only way I can bring you the excitement you're craving is if I have a fighting chance. And a good one. I'll be searching for your name, but I need to know where to look first.”
His laughter made me suppress a shudder. I remember thinking that I should've known that he'd see through my words like he saw through everything else.
The mechanic then said, “I know what you're trying to do, pup. But the problem is, you're right! It's too easy anymore, especially since y'alls names are just available on the internet for anyone to find. I've been getting kind of soft lately.”
This was his soft side?
The mechanic continued, “You really think you can pull this off, pup? I know you're a fighter and all, but you're not a warrior, not really. Being a soldier ain't the same thing.”
“I may not be Cú Chullainn, but I'm as close as you're going to get in Mercer County. We've got a bit of a warrior shortage around here.”
He snorted, “You seem awfully sure of yourself for someone who can't even look at me.”
“I'm not sure about anything. That's why I'm here, isn't it?”
It was quiet for a moment with only the frogs chirping in the forest able to find their voices. Not even the whipped cream broke up the silence this time. I was tempted to risk peeking through my eyelashes, but managed to resist.
Just as my nerves started getting to me, the mechanic said, “So, you want me to give you a hint. That's a lot to ask, but you knew that already.”
“You want something in return.”
“Hagstone. Smash it.”
No way. It was too valuable. If I gave that up, I was dead. I promptly shook my head.
He sounded amused. “Shoulda known you wouldn't fall for that.”
Looking back, I wondered how many he'd tricked like that. Giving up some form of protection after being misled into thinking the mechanic was going to let them go, only to regret it seconds later. Probably far too many.
He continued, “Alright then, we'll talk for real. I'll give you that hint, but I got some conditions. You get three chances to guess correctly. Each time you guess wrong, you have to give me one of your names starting with your first, middle, then last name. Don't try fucking with me by trying to pass your middle name off as your first.”
That made my throat tighten even more. If I agreed to that, failure wouldn't just spell disaster for me, but for everyone I knew as well. I'd be dragging my mom and anyone else associated down with me. I'd essentially be doing what he already requested: sacrificing others to save my own skin.
I heard Victor faintly, from my right, “Don't!”
The mechanic wasn't pleased, “This ain't about you, blue eyes. This is between me and her.”
The stakes were getting way too high. I couldn't do this. But then what? The Hunt wasn't going to wait around for me to find another way, assuming that there even was one. Victor clearly thought it was a terrible idea. For the record, I did, too. I could feel the boss' eyes on me, willing me not to forget what he'd said earlier about dangerous heroics.
Maybe there was another way and I just couldn't see it. But desperation has a way of messing with your head.
“If I agreed to this,” I started, knowing that I was probably digging my grave even deeper. “And I haven't agreed to anything. just to be clear. If I did this, I'd need the assurance that you won't send your crows or hounds or any others that serve the Wild Hunt after those that I care about. That includes my colleagues and me, for that matter. Like you said, this is between us two.”
The mechanic chuckled and I heard him shift again. “You're feeling awfully bold tonight, aren't you?”
I reminded him, “You want this to be interesting, don't you?”
He considered, then with a click of his tongue replied, “You hear that, blue eyes? Means you, as well. On both sides, mind you. Same with that witch doctor. Yeah, I know about her. I keep mine out of it, if you keep yours out. All's fair, right?”
I didn't feel right with any of this, but the alternative was for things to continue as they were. If that happened, we were all screwed anyway.
“And if I agreed, the hint that you provide will have to be both true and helpful. And it'll also be given in easily understandable American English, no riddles or puzzles or any other forms of confusing phrasing. You’d also have to give it to me tonight. The whole thing would begin after that.”
Once again, he laughed, “Shit, you're not messin' around!”
I know how the Neighbors do deals. If I hadn't mentioned it, he probably would've given me the hint in the form of a riddle spoken in backwards Gaelic.
“Alright, pup, I get the picture. You know what you're dealing with. I’ll play nice.”
His voice had a subtle sardonic edge. Nothing about this was going to be nice, if I chose to go this route, but that wasn't news.
“Oh, and one more thing!” The mechanic added a little too cheerfully. “You have until Samhain. I’m sure you know why.”
It's June already; still a good while away from October, but this year feels like it’s flying by fast, like every other year following 2020. He didn't have to explain why: the Wild Hunt are at their most powerful during Samhain, which for those who don't know, was a Celtic holiday that eventually gave birth to Halloween. It's when the veil between the atypical world and ours is thinnest.
In short, it's a busy day for Orion. Looks like it’s going to be even worse this year.
Victor spoke again, “Can I talk to her for a moment?”
“Nope. You don't get a say. Either she takes it or leaves it.” The mechanic answered curtly.
As I deliberated, there were subtle taps on a tree nearby. Hold on. Morse code. M-I-S-S-I-N-G. What was I missing? Maybe it was because I hadn't clearly spelled out what I wanted to happen if I correctly guessed the mechanic's identity.
“If I accept this bet, then if I find your name, you’ll relinquish your claim on my soul, as well as all other Orion employees, whether they're living, dead, or undead. Have I made that clear?”
After a moment, the mechanic answered, the smirk blatant in his voice, “You have now.”
Of course. It was so simple. If I had gone through with the deal without being specific about the outcome, the mechanic wouldn't have been obliged to release any of us. I would've done all the work to identify him for nothing. Tricky bastard.
Thanks, Victor.
With a heavy sigh, I politely asked the mechanic to repeat everything that we'd just discussed to make sure that he wasn't going to conveniently forget something. To my surprise, he did it without comment, though he sounded like he thought the whole thing was funny. He left nothing out.
When I say that agreeing to this deal was one of the hardest things I've ever done, I mean it.
I instantly had second thoughts the moment I heard the mechanic stand up and cheerfully say, “Well, you ready for that hint? You’re gonna wanna open your eyes for this. I can show you better than I can tell you.”
Oh God, I made a mistake! No. I could do this. I had to.
Black cherries. He was in front of me. Steeling myself, I opened my eyes. The mechanic stood as close as the hagstone would allow, a dark silhouette in front of the crackling flames.
“Blue eyes, would you mind holding puppydog’s hagstone for her? Wouldn't want that gettin’ lost, now, would we?”
What?!
“Don’t get all frantic, I can’t do shit to you until you get your hint, per our agreement,” The mechanic said dismissively as Victor approached me. “You’ll get it back after.”
Victor looked apologetic as he gently removed the most powerful defense I had. He had an odd glint in his eye. Was that defiance?
I’ll get you out of this, Vic. I promise.
The very moment that he was able to, the mechanic grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes.
A church surrounded by black water… A great feast of viscera and wildflowers… Black thorns drinking the blood of the unworthy… The great antlered headdress of the White Son of Mist… Pricking his finger on those horns… He signed in blood…
Victor pulled me back, not giving the mechanic even a picosecond to take full advantage of being outside of the hagstone’s influence. If he hadn't been holding me up, I would've been on the ground, still recovering from what I'd just seen.
“You find that ledger, you find me.” The mechanic said coolly.
That church. It reminded me of something. In the morning, I’m going to check our records. For now, I just want to crash. I'll keep yinz updated.
On the bright side, there weren't any crows waiting for me when I got home.
(Here's an index of all the cases I've discussed so far.)
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2024.06.05 05:35 Mysterious_Cat_1706 Gribble 2 - Chapter 2

[Backstory][Arc 1][[[Next>]]()
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Chapter 2: The Egg of Shadows
Gribble towered at the kingdom's entrance, robes lashing in the wind. Red eyes blazed with dark power, remnants of the Shadow Trent's powers surging through him. Necromantic energy crackled around his form. Gribble sneered, surveying the ranks of reanimated dwarven skeletons - his Dark Legion, raised from those slain by his own hand. Pride and cruel anticipation swelled in his chest as he beheld his gruesome handiwork, the once fierce dwarven warriors reduced to mindless thralls under his absolute dominion. Clawed fingers flexed with eagerness, dark forces gathering as Gribble prepared to unleash his vile horde upon the unsuspecting world beyond these mountainous confines.
Bony digits slashed the air. At Gribble's command, the Dark Legion surged forward, an avalanche of rattling bones and rusted armor, skeletal feet clattering against weathered stone. The discordant march reverberated through the cavernous depths of the desecrated dwarven stronghold, a macabre rhythm heralding the nightmares to come. Raw exultation pulsed through Gribble's veins as he bent the undead to his indomitable will, relishing the cold precision of their unholy unison, every jerking step propelling them toward the warm lands ripe for his bloody harvest. Shambling bones clacked and scraped, ancient weapons gripped in fleshless hands, as the abominations that once defended these halls now paraded from their defiled resting place at their master's behest, hungering to visit oblivion upon all who dared oppose his twisted desires.
As the final skeletal warrior lurched through the archway, movement flickered in the periphery. Gribble tensed, then relaxed as his loyal Grey Fur Beast emerged from the gloom to pad silently to his side. Otherworldly silver pelt shimmered in the faint light, belying its unnatural origins. Eyes smoldering with feral intelligence met Gribble's own, a profound understanding passing between master and monstrosity. Savage pride tugged Gribble's thin lips, gnarled hand coming to rest upon the beast's back, tracing the scars of their shared victories etched into ashen hide. Claws absently caressed rough fur, eliciting a rumbling purr that promised unflinching obedience and remorseless savagery. His most prized possession, birthed from the bloodshed of his greatest conquest. With the Dark Legion and his Grey Fur Beast heeling to his every whim, Gribble's legend would echo through eternity.
Memories stirred, cold mist and jagged stone. Gribble recalled that fateful day in the mountains, where destiny fell into his clutches. Exhaustion weighed upon his wiry frame, each step an agony, crimson rivulets painting his green flesh. But beneath the pain, triumph blazed, his greatest foe vanquished, the Shadow Trent's essence Even now, he could feel the monster's power thrumming through his body, every cell alight with stolen vitality. And there, nestled against an onyx boulder, his final prize awaited - an egg, large as a human skull, its shell shimmering with bewitching iridescence. Bands of silver undulated across its indigo surface like captured moonlight, ancient runes etched in the ever-shifting patterns. It called to him, a siren song tangling the threads of fate, beguiling him closer with unspoken promises of unfathomable might.
Claws scraped stone as Gribble knelt, scooping the egg into greedy palms. An icy tingle crept through his fingers, eldritch energies swirling within the calicified prison, as if tasting the blood and darkness permeating his aura. The shell pulsed against his flesh, strangely warm and vital, like a second heartbeat, sending a shudder down his twisted spine. Transfixed, Gribble studied the mesmerizing whorls, each elegant curve hinting at grandiose cosmic secrets. With every breath, the egg seemed to synchronize with his own, a tangible declaration that their destinies were now inextricably entwined. Here, cradled in his battered hands, lay the key to his deepest aspirations, a weapon to bring kingdoms to their knees, to carve his name into the weeping flesh of history.
Gribble's tongue flicked over jagged fangs, goblin instinct screaming to sate his hunger, to devour this treasure and gorge upon its power. Claws dug into the silver-veined shell, hairline fissures spidering across its surface. One squeeze, one brief exertion of his rage-fueled might, and it would shatter, warm ambrosia for his ascension spilling into his eager gullet. Sinew coiled beneath leprous skin, violence trembling through Gribble's gaunt frame, the egg's outraged resonance humming up his arms. Just one bite, and its secrets would slither down his throat, burning through his being until godhood churned in his belly. But Gribble denied his instincts, a deeper impulse staying his hand, whispering seductively in his mind's shadows. No, this prize was meant for greater things than a moment's indulgence. This egg would be his sacrament, the altar upon which worlds would burn.
Realization struck, a twist behind his ribs. This creature, this nascent god confined within its calcified womb, could be so much more than a mere feast. An image unfurled in Gribble's mind - a mighty beast, rippling with otherworldly menace, an extension of his own unholy will. Yes, this egg deserved his devotion, to be nurtured to terrifying fruition beneath his meticulous attention. Joyous shivers raced down his limbs at the thought, a perverse ecstasy at odds with his malignant soul. To shape such a being, to bind it to his very essence, awakened an emotion he had never before experienced - a yearning to create, to leave an indelible mark on existence. This creature would be his legacy, the womb that would birth a new age of uncompromising malevolence. In that moment, clutching his squirming prize to his bony chest, Gribble felt the mantle of destiny drape across his shoulders, heavy with the weight of prophecy fulfilled.
Gnarled digits curled protectively around the egg, the shell's nascent warmth bleeding into his calloused flesh. With every shuddering beat emanating from within, something unfamiliar stirred behind Gribble's jaundiced eyes - a flicker of compassion, an ember of empathy, fragile as a moth's wing. He, who had only known hatred and callous self-interest, suddenly found himself awash in an alien tenderness, a primal need to shelter the fragile life pulsing against his palm. It was as though a missing piece of his fractured psyche had clicked into alignment, a long-forgotten warmth rekindling in the wasteland of his soul. In this egg, he sensed a kindred spirit, a being as raw and hungry for purpose as himself. No longer merely a means to power, this egg represented a new beginning, a chance to carve out an identity beyond the caustic bile of bitterness and rage. Perhaps, in rearing this monstrosity, he might resurrect some vestige of his own stillborn humanity.
The Shadow Trent loomed large in Gribble's mind, a behemoth of writhing shadow and unfettered malevolence. It had been a horror beyond imagining, the mountain's black heart, spawned from the fevered nightmares of a sadistic god. He should have fled, cringed before its primordial might, yet the egg's siren call had spurred him onward, drawing his battered body inexorably to the beast's lair. The Ancient Tree towered over their battleground, its trunk wider than a giant's girth, scabrous bark drinking in the viscera misting the air. They had clashed beneath those twisting boughs, a frenzied ballet of fang and claw, each blow shaking the earth, dark magics screaming from rent flesh. Gribble had never known such agony, nor such vicious glee, than in those blood-soaked hours, his body a conduit for unimaginable energies, pain and power blurring into a rapturous whole. And when the abomination finally lay twitching at his feet, its shadowy form corroding, Gribble had torn into it with ravenous abandon, black ichor slopping down his chin as he glutted on its fading essence.
The moment the Shadow Trent's heart slid down his gullet, Gribble's world shattered in a paroxysm of infinite darkness. It was as though he had swallowed a dying star, stolen fire searing through his veins, rewriting his genetic tapestry. Charcoal sludge coursed through his twitching limbs, reshaping muscle and bone into an avatar of purest corruption. Images flooded his fracturing consciousness, the death agonies of civilizations, the visceral snap of a soul's moorings shredded by depraved sorceries. And through the tumult, one glorious realization crystalized - the Shadow Trent's necromantic essence now pulsed within his own blasphemous marrow. Death itself would bend to his desires, shackled to the obscene hungers of his unquiet mind. With a thought, he could beckon the grave to vomit forth its mouldering charges, the unquiet dead his eternal chattel. In that singular, glorious moment, as the last tatters of his mortality sloughed away, Gribble was reborn in an afterbirth of oozing shadows, a god of death swaddled in tattered flesh.
But even this apotheosis paled before the glories sleeping within the egg. Like a doting parent, Gribble ferried his precious cargo back to the twisting warrens of his subterranean demesnes. With his own gnarled hands, he excavated a chamber nestled deep within the mountain's rotting bowels, the earth parting before his crackling fingertips like diseased flesh. Into this pocket of gravid darkness, he sequestered the egg, a profane creche for his squirming godling. Chitterring incantations spewed from his cracked lips, guttural utterances thrumming with the agonized frequencies of shattered souls. Wards of rancid power encased the chamber, an umbilical tether of blistered energy pulsing between Gribble's shrivelled heart and the curled abomination within its confining shell. By day, he would squat before his charge in reverent silence, nostrils flaring as he suckled the foetid air for subtle changes in the egg's vital rhythms, each tick of progress sending dark ecstasy shivering through his emaciated frame.
Now, as Gribble stood at the precipice of his grand design, his gaze lingered on the Grey Fur Beast crouched at his side, the end result of his tender madness. Primordial energies crackled through its ashen pelt, lambent eyes swirling with the promise of cataclysm unbound. No longer a mere beast, but an extension of Gribble's own unholy essence, a living testament to his unfettered will. The beast shifted its hulking frame, muscles rippling like serpents writhing beneath its hide, a low growl building in its barrel chest. Fangs gleamed in the guttering light, each ivory shard honed to eviscerate, to rend the offal from those who would dare stand against its master's grand aspirations. As if sensing Gribble's building bloodlust, the Grey Fur Beast's growl hitched into a eager whine, claws gouging furrows into the unyielding stone, its haunches tensing in anticipation of the oncoming slaughter. Gribble's lips peeled back in a rictus grin, a nightmare union of pride and sadistic glee, as he savored the intoxicating thrill of the hunt churning in his gut.
With an imperious sweep of his emaciated arm, Gribble urged his Dark Legion onward, the Grey Fur Beast falling into step at his side with predatory grace. Beyond the crumbling gates of the fallen dwarven kingdom, a world ripe for conquest beckoned, populated by the weak and ignorant, lambs bleating for the butcher's knife. The earth trembled beneath the relentless march of Gribble's unliving horde, each step an inexorable drumbeat of damnation. Soon, the fields would run red with the blood of the innocent, the skies aboil with the agonized screams of the dying. Gribble's name would become a curse upon the lips of the vanquished, a synonym for despair and unending torment. And from the ashes of this world, he would raise a new order, where hope withered and nightmares roamed unshackled. The Goblin King, scourge of the living, had begun his grim ascendancy, the Grey Fur Beast forever at his side, and woe betide any foolish enough to stand in their dread path. In the rotting bowels of Gribble's heart, a terrible joy unfurled, glutted on visions of the beautiful depredations to come. The world, in all its ripe fecundity, awaited his despoiling touch with bated breath, and he would gladly oblige its morbid desires.
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2024.06.05 05:26 nevdull01 No one knows what is happening to me.

40m and last Aug I had my gallbladder removed. September I had both wizdom teeth removed and put on 500mg amoxicillin. Everything has been going great with all the healing.
In November I remember getting sick and was given a zpack. This cleared up all my symptoms except my sore throat and diarrhea never went away. Sore throat will go away for a week then come back, go away for a week then come back again. Now it happens several times during the day 1 minute it feels fine The next minute it hurts.
During all of this I started developing mouth ulcers (canker sores) that I never had before. I will get a new one before the last one even finish healing. Even to this day.
January I started getting sick off and on with a fever. Went to the ER and I had the flu. Type A nothing they can do.
In February the skin on my arms and legs started tingling\burning
My PCP did the basic CBC blood count and everything was normal, he also did inflammatory markers in those were normal.
My PCP basically Given up but my skin burning feeling is getting worse and now I'm starting to feel it in my face.
Is it possible that I still have some type of infection and the zpack was not strong enough?
I have gone to the ER a few weeks ago but I was told this is not what the ER is for. I'm afraid I'm still dealing with an infection.
PCP not very helpful or interested in solving the issue. Will not refer me because my markers are normal.
submitted by nevdull01 to AskDocs [link] [comments]

2024.06.05 05:21 Srdire Vagus Nerve damage from whiplash - where do I start?

I gave myself whiplash a week ago and since have had terrible sore, swollen feeling throat pain and a feeling of a lump towards the lower right side of my throat. My tongue and face will burn lightly. I have some trouble swallowing and tested my gag reflex - it’s present on the left but totally gone in the right. And even then it’s just barely there. I’ve had some digestive issues as well and it’s like my emotions keep going numb. I feel like I breathe weird. I can only assume I either pinched or damaged the vagus nerve in my neck? Or possibly in the brain stem itself? I feel like my life is truly ending.
So what do I do? Is this type of capable of healing or being decompressed? Or once the gag reflex is gone is that it?
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2024.06.05 05:00 Plenty_Airline8903 Breathing issues when falling asleep

I have a large goiter that until recently hasn’t caused me any issues with breathing. In the last couple months when I start to fall asleep my body will jolt me awake and I’ll be gasping for air or coughing to scratch my throat. During the day I’m perfectly fine and will even stay asleep through the night, it’s just the initial state of falling into sleep is where something feels wrong. Not sure if this is related to my thyroid at all. Does anyone experience this? I already met with a couple surgeons to talk about taking it out. One says it definitely needs to come out. The other says I should go a less aggressive route like ablation. Also what does a normal tsh and low t4 indicate?
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2024.06.05 04:42 Karnakite Parents who don’t teach their kids to cover their mouth and face when they sneeze or cough.

I’d hate to be one of those “back in my day” old farts, before I’m even 40, but I remember this being a massive deal when I was a kid. I was covering my mouth automatically by kindergarten because my mother was adamant I do so every single time I felt a cough tickling my throat or a sneeze burning in my nose. And the other kids at school had moms and teachers who did the same thing - “COVER YOUR NOSE WHEN YOU SNEEZE!” if they ever spotted their kids sneezing without doing so.
I can’t remember the last time I heard a parent say that to their kid. And I also can’t remember the last time I saw a kid cover their face while sneezing/coughing. Almost every time I go shopping, some kid is just loudly spitting out crumbly mucus bits all over the vegetables or the towel section or the video games, or stopping in the aisle to release a sneeze into the open air, before skipping off behind their parents, who could not give less of a shit. It’s the same story if I’m in a doctor’s waiting room, eating out, standing in line, going to a street festival, etc.
Did we not just have a massive pandemic? And even if we didn’t, why do these people think people are okay with getting whatever their kids have? Isn’t it just common fucking courtesy?
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2024.06.05 04:21 I_Murder_Pizza Does this look like a thyroid lump?

Does this look like a thyroid lump?
I have had a sore throat for over two months now. I went to the doctor and they said everything was fine, but I was feeling around my throat and felt what feels like a lump. Does this look like a thyroid lump?
submitted by I_Murder_Pizza to thyroidhealth [link] [comments]

2024.06.05 04:19 Additional-Diamond28 Hungry all the time !!!

Can you help me ? GERD attack ... ?
I think I have GERD but I'm not sure because my symptoms seem slightly different from what I read on the internet. I'd like to know if this has happened to you too. I've had gastric problems for 4 years but this week has been one of the worst of my life. I had dark thought ... If you know What i mean i was in so much pain.
I have no acid reflux. I can sleep after eating and nothing goes back up my throat or esophagus. My valve is well closed. Only tasting acid once in while.
On the other hand, my stomach hurts. A terrible hunger! I'm hungry all the time !!!! A Painful hunger. I'm never full, but I'm so nauseous I can't eat. I just can't. I can't put any food in my mouth. Salty or sweet. And when I manage to eat a little, my stomach digests it in 1 hour and the feeling of hunger returns. My blood pressure drops. Palpitations. OMG the Anxiety! Totally dehydrated because even drinking is complicated. My stools are orange and very slimy. I really thought I was going to die yesterday... I was at work. I'm a night nurse. No treatment helped me (anti-vomiting, anxiolytics (high-dose Xanax)). I have emethophobia so the nausea is horrible.
When I got home yesterday I took 20mg of omeprazole at bedtime and 20mg when I woke up. It was complicated during the first 2 hours of work, but all of a sudden, I felt like myself! I was normally hungry. I devoured two plates of food and now I'm doing very well. No nausea. Full of energy .
Do you think I should continue with the omeprazole ? Do you think i have GERD ?
I don't understand what's been happening to me for 4 years. I'm 28, I have a very healthy life style. 4 years ago i stop drinking, party, junk food for my health and a few months later ... BAM ! Everything started ... I want to be free from taking pills but i think i can't do that ... I dont understand why my body is producing so much acid ( i have a good diet, no alcohool, no drugs, no junk food, water everyday, magnésium, Iron etc are ok, no vitamine déficiency, very healthy organ on the last abdominal ultrasond i took. Only hyperthyroism without médication because only my TSH is low)
Thank you for you help ❤️‍🩹 even a kind word is good to me ... I feel so lost
submitted by Additional-Diamond28 to GerdFriendlyFood [link] [comments]

2024.06.05 03:56 smudge_elaine Burning Mouth/Tongue/Sinuses

Hi, friends. 21F, taking Augmentin (amox-clav) for a potential dental infection. 5/20 doses in, and when I woke up from a nap earlier, my sinuses, mouth, throat, chest and stomach burned. I chalked(chocked?) it up to acid reflux. The stomach/chest/throat pain went away, but it’s been six-ish hours and my mouth still feels like I ate something spicy (spoiler alert: I did NOT).
I am making this post because I checked the side effects wiki and did not see this listed, unless I missed it in my anxious search. I have taken this medication in the past with no issues, but it’s been three years.
I am discontinuing the medication because the need for it was ruled out. Still, I’m a bit worried. I took a Benadryl about an hour ago, no dice.
Anybody experience this? Either on Augmentin or another antibiotic? Any responses are much appreciated. Thank you!
submitted by smudge_elaine to Antibiotics [link] [comments]

2024.06.05 03:26 EasyPeasey1221 Looking for someone else with this constipation problem and whether anyone has any words of wisdom.

Hello all. This is a rather long tale and I guess I am looking for someone who can say, "OMG, that's me, and here's what I was diagnosed with and how it was fixed..."
My (56F) entire life I have been constipated. Common to go a week or two without pooping and then having my lower bowel squirm and be stuck on the toilet for 30 minutes, sweating as my body just took over and I wouldn't even have to strain. This lasted through my early 40s but then it somewhat resolved and I've not had a problem until this past December. I had a ten day bout of constipation, and when I finally went, it took at least 30 minutes and was very painful - the stool was hard and 2.5-3" in diameter. I could actually feel myself tear but there wasn't a very large amount of blood.
Since that time, everything about pooping has been awry. My rectum doesn't seem to have much sensation and the normal urge I have always had to go is gone. My body doesn't seem to want to do it's own thing and when I do try and push the muscles feel as if they are not working right. Since the end of Jan. my status quo is pooping out three walnut sized or smaller lumps on a couple of days, then nothing for 2-3 more days and then back with the walnuts. This goes on for four weeks until I chug one of those 10 oz. bottles of mag citrate and get nauseous and feel like vomiting and then partially evac. but nowhere near as much as I have squirreled away. I have constant feeling of fullness and an occasional lump in my throat as if I've eaten wayyyy too much.
Went to the doc, who referred me to a GI doc and scheduled for colon- and endo- oscopy with weeks between each visit, and procedure. I failed my prep the first go-round so they only did the endo at that time, put me on an extended prep and that worked for the colonoscopy. Both ends, I have perfectly pink and pretty innards. They took samples of my esophagus, and stomach, and of two tiny polyps in the colon. Everything came back normal, no nothing (thank GOD).
I don't take opiates, only med is Prozac and some vitamins (A,B,C,D,E). My only food allergy is to the protein Casein so since birth I have not been able to drink cow's milk but have always tolerated goat and sheep milks. I have gained 50 pounds in the past two years after I got COVID and had undiagnosed sleep apnea for almost a year following that. My sleep apnea is resolved with CPAP, I have started exercising and getting back to my active self. Except for this stupid constipation. I also do not have any pain with this constipation - I mean, is that even normal? I should be happy about that I suppose, but I am a couple of weeks away from showing up in the ER and claiming severe stomach pain so they give me a CT or MRI.
I do have a follow-up appt with the GI next week - is there anything I should ask/request/demand for tests? Do I need to phrase my issue a certain way? I have no complaints about the care I've been receiving and I am incredibly fortunate to have good health insurance. I just want a diagnosis or a plan. I am a take charge person and will do whatever I need to resolve this but feel like I am adrift in an ocean with no idea of what the hell is going on. I've never had any health issues in my life and I am at a total loss.
Thanks to everyone who has made it this far and doubly so to those who leave some advice,
submitted by EasyPeasey1221 to Constipation [link] [comments]

2024.06.05 03:01 dlschindler Ketchup On Satan's Burger

"Cancer, as known to the State of California, is this bag of roasted peanuts." Is what she said.
I wasn't paying attention anymore. I was staring instead at the goat.
I think that goat was actually Fred, and we just didn't know it yet.
We were still on our little detour when it started getting dark across the desert, rather quickly.
"I don't want to drive back in the dark. Let's stay in San Piana." Gloria had said.
That's when what appeared to be the same goat crossed our path.
I had to slam on the brakes, a cloud of road dust flowing over our vehicle and hovering over the road before us.
"I think that's the same goat." I said. I looked and saw it was atop someone's roof, staring down on us with red glowing eyes. I felt nervous while it looked at us, it's blackening silhouette against the evening sky looked sinister.
"Ew, I hate goats." Gloria got out her phone. "We have no reception out here."
I checked my phone - she was right.
"Let's find a place to stay for the night, then." I told her. We left our car parked in the middle of the dirt road leading into the village and took our bags to the nearest shack.
I banged on the door. A little old lady opened the door, with half her face looking like it would just fall off her skull at any moment. "Excuse me. We are travelling on our way to my sister's wedding, and we decided to drive this rental car. Now we are stuck here for the night, because the road back to civilization from this little detour is too dark and treacherous to drive back at night. So, we need to stay here tonight."
She said nothing, but reluctantly shuffled out of our way as we brought in our bags and made ourselves at home. I looked around at the little hovel, and despite looking like a primitive shack from the outside it was rather clean and tidy inside. "Not too bad. I thought it would be filthy in here."
"No vacancy." The old woman grumbled.
"Yes, of course. We have this little bed and breakfast exclusive to ourselves." I smiled, sat back in her rocking chair and put my dusty boots on the coffee table. The little old lady remained stoic, but I could tell she wasn't used to civilized folk. We took over the bedroom and left her on the couch, whining rather unprofessionally about her arthritis.
In the morning the lazy stiff had gone cold, forcing us to make our own breakfast. While we were eating, the village's chief showed up. He was wearing a brown button up shirt with a logo on it that vaguely looked like a county sheriff at a glance.
"Mrs. Summers has expired?" He noted the little old lady was still wrapped in an Afghan on her couch.
"Yeah, could you help me with that? She smells gross." I went to one end of the couch and indicated that I needed his help. He reluctantly assisted me while we took her and the whole couch outside and left her on the porch.
"Now I'll have to wait here with her until they can come get her. We have wild animals around here." Thoman sat, looking sad.
"Why the long face?" I asked.
"I just, it's sad she's gone. I've known Mrs. Summers since I was little. How'd she die?" He wondered.
I shrugged. "She was old?"
My wife brought out our bags, glaring at me for not helping.
"Well, we'll leave a nice review." I patted his shoulder and then left him there.
We tried to drive out of San Piana, but as we turned around, we couldn't quite find the road that led back the way we had come. We circled around for awhile while the villagers came out to see what we were doing. We waved as we drove past them and finally I stopped and asked how to get out of town.
They all pointed in eerie unison, with weird blank looks on their faces. I was feeling a little bit creeped out by them.
I was about to roll up my window, but never did.
As we were about to go, the goat came running at me from nowhere and ran its horns into the driver's tire. I never would have believed a goat could puncture rubber with its horns and tear it open like that. The whole car was being lifted on the impale, the goat bleating angrily.
When it was done it trotted away like nothing had just happened. Suddenly the airbags deployed.
"Help!" We were shouting for help. The villagers just stood there, staring at us.
"You are chosen by Azazel. You shall carry our sins, and the rotten soul of Mrs. Summers with you, out into the desert." Thoman was suddenly at my driver's side window like a jump scare. I was so surprised I gave him a high-pitched bark and almost slapped him. After the goat attack my nerves were shot.
"Your goat did that! You'll pay for the damage!" I proclaimed.
"All in good time." Thoman said with certainty.
I got out of the car, my knees wobbling from the scares. "What sort of place you running here? I want to see the manager!" I shoved Thoman and yelled.
"You will see Him." Thoman's eye's looked like goats' eyes when he said: 'Him'. I felt a chill, despite the warm desert sun.
I got back into the car and said to Gloria. "There's something wrong with this place."
She said nothing and I looked to her seat, empty. "Gloria?"
I got back out and looked around for her, seeing that the streets were now empty. Everyone had gone back inside their shacks. Gloria was nowhere in sight. I began walking around, banging on doors, looking in windows and searching for her, demanding to be told where she was. The villagers all played dumb, shrugging and acting like they didn't know any English.
As the minutes began to add up and I couldn't find her, a cold sweaty panic burst out of me. For about an hour I just ran around the place, looking desperately for her. When it got hot out and I was exhausted, I found myself sitting on the front porch of Mrs. Summers.
Thoman came walking up. "There you are. I had to come find you, see if I can help."
"Where's Gloria?" I asked, exhausted.
"I'm sure she's around somewhere." Thoman lit a smoke and looked at the empty couch. "Looks like Mrs. Summers has gone missing."
I looked and saw her corpse was removed, leaving only her shroud and some suspicious pawprints, like a team of oversized coyotes had dragged her away when nobody was looking. I shrugged.
"Gloria is missing." I pointed out. Thoman nodded as he realized I couldn't care less about the local wildlife problems.
"People go missing sometimes. They always get found sooner or later." Thoman said, somehow mirroring my attitude about the missing old woman, but regarding Gloria. I started feeling hostile towards him.
"Do you know where she is?" I stood up, trembling and sweating.
"Of course, but it won't do you no good. She can't be found if she doesn't want it." Thoman blew smoke at me, dropped his smoke and crushed it underfoot until it was a mess of tobacco, ashes, paper and the filter. "Still there."
He dusted his hands off on his jeans and walked away, leaving me there looking at the whisp of smoke hovering ephemerally over the ruined cigarette. I heard coyotes howling in the distant hills in the middle of the day, I heard wind chimes making discordant sounds, I heard the bleating of the goat sound like laughter and then the cackling of the old woman who I knew was dead.
I sat, and from my feet a numbness of fear began to climb up my legs like tarantulas. My skin was like braille, and my sweat ran in rivulets into stains darkening on my clothes. My eyes stared, listening to the desert while it spoke the name of its lord. I was afraid, I knew I was against something that wanted to eat me, somehow.
"Where are you?" I asked Gloria, my voice a dry cracking sound. I went into the old woman's shack and poured some of the iced tea she had made at some point before she died. It tasted like tomatoes with a hint of almonds and made me feel sleepy. While I walked to the couch, I dropped the glass and fell over.
Darkness made me blink, my eyes darting around for any source of light. All around me, in the midnight desert, candles stood upon cooled-melted stands made of old wax - atop human skulls. I was tied naked to a cactus, my body seemed to be covered in writing done in ketchup.
There was a humming sound of many human voices, not an unpleasant sound, except in the circumstances it frightened me to know I was surrounded by people humming in unison. Gloria was standing at one end of the triangle, holding a Nosegay Bouquet like it was some kind of offering towards the darkness. She wore nothing but an open hooded robe of shimmering crimson and scarlet.
I always find my wife exciting, so despite her betrayal, I still think she looked hot as a Satanic priestess. I'm pretty lucky.
The third corner of the triangle was an old woman wearing the skin of an oversized coyote, and also slippers made of coyote feet. She howled dramatically and her voice was answered by a disembodied growling from all around us.
I peed myself in terror, glad I wore nothing to absorb it. Instead, it just ran down my leg and collected under my left foot. I wanted to scream, but I felt weak and frightened, unable to do more than whimper pathetically in mortal dread. Gloria looked at my mess and smiled weirdly at me.
"Azazel, take from our community our sins, take our sins to the desert. Leave us another six years of peace. We offer you the slaughter of the scapegoat. Lord of the wilderness, accept our humble sacrifice." The gathered creeps were saying their prayer slowly in unison. They repeated it word-for-word again and again, long into the night.
Something was coming closer, something was coming. All around us desert creatures hopped and leapt and swooped, chittering, yipping, barking and hooting. Thousands of beetles, centipedes, tarantulas, snakes, scorpions, mice and crickets swarmed everywhere except the hot wax and flames of the candles. I cried and shivered, moaning in horror as the creatures crawled all over me.
The glowing eyes, a shade of golden brown, loomed from the darkness. As the shape of the entity formed in my mind around the darkness it was cloaked in, sleep overwhelmed me. I straight up fainted at the sight of Azazel.
The early dawn found me in the back of our rental car, driving on a spare. Gloria was driving, getting us to her sister's wedding on-time. "Why?" I choked out a word.
"I wouldn't bother, but his business is in jeopardy. When we cross the border into that state, we are in the territory of one of the most corrupt governments on the planet. Technically, California is part of the United States in name only. Everyone knows their government is run entirely by criminals. The new laws will eliminate her new husband's franchises. They'll lose everything and have to live with us. I hate my sister, you know that." Gloria enlightened me to her insane political opinion and family drama, without answering my question.
"You're telling me all that was about burgers and ketchup?" I wheezed, needing a drink.
"With this -" Gloria held up the bridal bouquet "My lord will bless their union. She cannot be made poor by the dealings of other devils. They are all on the same team, you know."
"Team McDonald?" I asked.
"Team Humanity. They just want what's best for us." Gloria explained.
"Demons want what's best for us?" I tried not to sound too incredulous.
"No. You are missing the point. Humans make the sins, they just feed. They are fair, if you ask them for a favor. They'll take care of you."
"Like getting someone elected?" I guessed.
"Yes. Exactly." Gloria agreed. I stared out at the scenery of Angel's Crest National Monument as we drove.
We arrived at the wedding and I kept thinking about how good Gloria looked as some kind of Satanist last night. I requested we spend some married couple time together and she considered it, but said we had no time for such things. She promised we'd spend some quality time together after the wedding, provided I play for her team.
"I can't promise anything." I said honestly to her. For whatever faults I have, I do insist on being honest with my spouse.
We parked in the alley and got ourselves ready to go into the wedding, still looking like we were out all night, despite twenty minutes of details.
"We need to get going." Gloria urged me. I was still fiddling with my tie in the passenger's mirror, since the driver's side one had a crack in it already. I kept reminding myself how this car was a rental, as the thought was easily slipping my mind under the stress I was feeling.
I hate weddings.
We went in and the place was simultaneously too loud with all the murmuring and too quiet with all the whispering. I kept hearing words of profanity and would look up to see if any of the holy statues were reacting. No weeping or bleeding.
It really freaks me out when statues cry and bleed and have flesh underneath when they get damaged. I'm pretty sure there are actual religious orders where they entomb their saints alive, after eating a diet of herbs meant to sedate and preserve the corpse sealed inside. Not too freaky, but I am just one person being judgmental, aren't I? I realize I am sorta disrespecting their whole culture in a way, and that's not how I mean for it to sound. It's just not for me - I get scared - that's all you need to know.
The blurry way the statues looked had me standing in front of the bride's aisle while everyone was wondering what I was looking at with that look on my face. I'd provided the distraction Gloria needed to ensure absolutely nobody except her saw her make the switch of the bouquets. She had an exact copy of her sister's bouquet, unironically.
Out behind the church we met and she had started a small fire in a coffee tin with holes around the bottom rim. She closed the knife she'd used and used the longneck lighter to get a couple candles going on the side.
"Hurry, someone might see us." I said as loudly as I dared, half hoping someone would hear me and look around the corner. I couldn't help it, part of me was against whatever we were doing. I still felt nervous, nervous we'd get caught or that we'd get away with it. My anxiety had me holding my hands like I was warming them to the fire.
"And white goes softly into flames, and black comes the smoke, pure and thick." Gloria dropped the blessed flowers into the flames.
"Uh, amen." I coughed.
"Let's go watch her get married." Gloria growled.
We went in and there was a wedding that happened while we were in our seats.
While most people were on their phones, texting or whatever they were doing, others actually watched the wedding.
I looked around and saw how some people were observing the ceremony. I too was looking at it, but trying not to. I knew I was seeing something there that they weren't, and it was pretty scary because I knew it was real. Therefore, it was invisible to all of them except me.
I leaned over to my wife and asked her: "Who is the goat up there with them?"
"That's Fred, she's like a bridesmaid." Gloria whispered back.
"Fred is a girl goat?" I asked.
"I can arrange for you to have visits from Fred, Sweetea, if that's something you're into." Gloria teased me weirdly, but I didn't really find it that amusing, just creepy. The last thing I wanted was to be haunted by an invisible goat-demon.
"Ew, no thanks." I said.
When the bouquet was tossed, Gloria caught it. She'd run in, shoving all the maidens like a quarterback. Some of them had fallen and gotten serious scrapes and bruises. Her sister yelled at her, but Gloria just looked at me and we took off around the corner and went for our car.
"Why aren't we leaving?" I asked.
"This has to be under her bed on her wedding night. My sister is a virgin, she has to be given to her new husband first." Gloria waved the bouquet in front of me, gripping it the same way she had gripped her foldable dagger earlier when she'd cut the coffee can.
"I have a feeling you mean Azazel." I gulped, realizing I couldn't go that far with her. I had to find a way to stop this.
"What's that?" Gloria asked me sharply.
"I'd best dealing be with Azazel?" I tried to change what I'd said, botching it horribly.
"No, you said something else." My wife said firmly, and frowning. I had a feeling my bed had just gone cold, and it scared me as much as the devils, because as I mentioned, Gloria is what's best in my life.
"I don't like this." I admitted. I also mentioned I really don't lie to her.
"She won't know the difference." Gloria smiled a little bit, a kind of evil villain-styled smile. I found it too sexy.
"Either way, it's wrong. I'm not sure exactly how, but it seems super perverted and evil and I won't allow it." I proclaimed.
Gloria slammed on the breaks and flicked out her knife and held it to my throat. "Get out."
I was left standing by the side of the road with my bags as she sped away, driving to some unknown honeymoon destination to put some cursed flowers under her sister's bed to summon some kind of husband demon for her wedding night. I'm pretty sure I had to stop this from happening.
"You still fighting the good fight?" Ronald McDonald stepped out from where he was waiting to catch a bus.
"I love my wife to death, but she is trying too hard to ruin her sister's wedding." I sat on my bags, feeling tired and my eyes watering.
"Don't cry." Ronald McDonald told me. "You got to man up right now. This is your chance to set things right."
I sniffled and tried to smile for Ronald McDonald. He smiled back and we shared a moment on that desolate highway.
"I've got something for you." He told me. He handed me a toy from a happy meal I'd gotten as a kid, the Muppet Baby Fozzie. I assembled his armor and put him on horseback. When I looked up, Ronald McDonald had caught the bus and was waving goodbye to me.
That's when the tears started. I knew I had to step up and stop her. I wiped 'em on my handkerchief and got my phone out of my pocket. I used the app we had to find where she was, after figuring out how to use the darn thing.
Then I used another app to summon a professional getaway driver named Breeze. She arrived in less than four minutes, the sound of her engine in earshot for the whole last minute as she took the three miles of road between us with fury. We said nothing to each other. I showed her the destination and the review I'd already written and nine one-hundred-dollar bills and she gave me a hand signal I guess meant we were in business. We caught up to Gloria and then I found the only likely honeymoon spot, a desert view bed and breakfast, of course.
We got ahead of Gloria and Breeze accepted her payment and vanished into thin air, leaving only burning tire tracks in her wake. I reached into the newlyweds open car and released the parking brake. With a muscle-pulling, ankle-twisting, hernia-inducing, disk-slipping effort I got the darn car moving, with the toy in my pocket making me pretend I could do this. I got their vehicle into the ditch, out of sight.
I went into the bed and breakfast and checked the guest registry. I was sweating and my suit was coming loose all over. I was limping and groaning, although I wasn't feeling what I'd done to myself yet. I looked at the names. They were here.
With the page torn out I started a new entry for the weekend and made up a couple fake names before the owner found me there.
"Uh, sorry." I said. I set the toy on the counter and fled.
I watched from the bushes while Gloria went in. See, I find simple plans without a lot of moving parts work best in any situation. Gloria found no evidence she'd come to the right place. The owner was already freaking out and gave her a stern goodbye.
Gloria tried to call her sister but got nothing. As she drove away my terrified state began to subside. I collapsed in the bushes, sleeping with a butterfly on my eyelash keeping me company.
"You did this." Gloria was saying. I was in the back seat of the rental again. She was smoking, and she'd smoked enough that the little strip had turned yellow, indicating we would be charged a cleaning fee for the damages. There was no ashtray, so she was just putting them out on the dashboard, leaving little burns and ash everywhere.
Her phone chimed and I saw she was chatting with one of her old boyfriends. She made sure I saw this. I rolled my eyes. It's not like we'd spent twenty years married. Her interrogation techniques needed improvement, especially since she would know - I don't lie to her. I'd never seen her smoke, not that I could remember, not for a long time.
I was under a lot of stress, but as I thought about it, she was smoking the whole trip.
My mind played a weird montage of all her light-ups. I felt like it needed a theme, so I hummed the theme to that show we were just watching. Then I looked at her and stopped humming, humming that cue for the other person who hums to hum along, you know what I mean. There should be a word for that kind of cue, probably is, but I'm not fluent in music vocabulary.
She didn't get it, but instead got mean and lifted her hand like she wanted me to stop humming because it was annoying or something. I stopped.
"You're not even Gloria." I complained.
"Took you long enough." The creature grinned.
My mind went wild with terror, as I realized she was some kind of horrible demon disguised as Gloria. She handed me the toy from McDonald's and it started to melt, becoming warped and evil looking. Her laugh sounded like a stretched audio recording of a laugh, all distorted and demonic, exactly like the best horror movie foley artists make it sound, and making me pee from my frozen spine bone and dry eye sockets staring till my eyes hurt.
Demonic laughter is unforgettable, a kind of maddening sensation, like something is being ripped out of you suddenly, a painful disorientation that you never quite stop feeling dizzy from. Its an ache, an unhealing wound of the psyche, always oozing and causing me some kind of misery. It lives there, like a tiny flea, too small to squish or catch, in its hole, in my mind.
Weirdly enough, the horrible little toy it gave me contains it, and that is why it must never be touched, for although it is a burnt figurine, it imprisons a part of the wilderness of souls.
I held it there, and looked up at the not Gloria. She looked just as relieved and bewildered as I felt. She was Gloria again, I could tell it was her.
"Where is it?" She asked me.
I held up the toy, having already dropped it into the burnt coffee tin to contain the prison for the sound that the demon had become when I'd listened to it, pretending to be my wife, therefore listening to my wife also.
"How's that work?" Gloria asked me, sobbing. She wanted reassurance it wasn't going to take control of her ever again.
"Well, we are in this together for better or worse." I figured I'd say.
"We weren't helping it. It already got me, using my hate for her against me. Remember when we got the wedding invite?"
"I thought it was weird there was a goat with glowing red eyes drawn on that." I pointed out.
"I never really wanted to hurt her." Gloria felt awful. I hugged her close and kissed her forehead.
"I'm the one who got hurt." I reminded her.
We went over all the things like cactus and such that I'd suffered, dehydration, scares, murder and mayhem, dagger stabbings, cannibalism, arson and demons. It was agreed I was the hero in all this, and I finally got some ketchup on Satan's burger.
It was delicious.
submitted by dlschindler to HorrorCringe [link] [comments]

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