In a time unknown, alien beings from other universe stepped foot into this one. They wandered, explored, and exploited us. They enslaved us to do their bidding. They made us breed with one another to create more manpower for hundreds of years with their better technology and ‘sophisticated’ practices. Until… a savior arose.
His name was Favier. His name since has been ‘The Revolutionary’. He recited a rebellion large enough to overpower the technology the outsiders had. He saved us all from a life of enslavement. He is a God to some. A hero to all.
When the outsiders were thrown out the rebellion took and studied the equipment. Most wanted to throw it off a cliff. Favier thought it would be useful, and everyone listened to their hero. He was correct to do so.
We are at the height of power. World hunger was just about eradicated recently. There are only a few people living on the streets, and we have access to the universe traveling technology likely similar to that of the outsider’s technology.
We now know of our parallel selves. We know of other universes separate from our own. We can communicate, trade, anything! It is amazing.
But it can also be risky.
On the 15th of June, I received a letter from myself. I have no memory of writing it. It was likely a letter from a parallel self. It read:
‘Dear [Redacted], I am from Uni-13B, and I am requesting help in my countries’s war efforts. The Fatherland has been attacked by savages. They carry weapons they should not have access to. Send help. I and the army have been trying to push them back. We will not survive without your help. Please send support.’
After all, you could be dragged into a war on another world.
~Excerpt from ‘The Multi-galactic War’
The uneven terrain made climbing the mountain difficult. It was not anything like the trees I would climb at home, but at least it wasn’t as confusing as the forest. Any outsider that came into the forest would get lost and pass away. It was our only defense against the armies that wished to burn everything. It was a blessing from the Mother Goddess.
I’ve heard many epics that made the Mother Goddess a villain in the outsider’s stories. I slit their throats at night. It was a fitting end for a heretic.
The forest replaced mountains. Home is near.
I used to work in a tavern. It was in the middle of nowhere and sat on a lake that glistened all throughout the year. It was beautiful, and the staff were very nice. They would always help me clean the tables and stuff. Honestly, the worst part about staying at the tavern was the customers.
Since the tavern was in the middle of nowhere, customers would only come here because they were adventuring and they stumbled upon us, or the customer is hiding from a scandal or assassin. It sounds sort of comedic, but it’s really not. These people have suffered. Some of them are complete idiots, usually nobles, that should be hanged for what they’ve done, but many of them are facing undeserved punishments.
There was this lake goblin I met some years ago. His name was Ftirjan. Being a rare goblin made him special and more powerful than the average goblin. He found this out very early. Got a big head because of it. His clan taught and cared for him when he was just a goblinoid. He bullied a lot of his less special brethren. When he finally became old enough to be considered a goblin and finally start on his more magical training, he and some of his magical brethren got captured by slavers. Their clan was destroyed. Ftirjan’s ego was basically destroyed after that. He was used as cheap labor by a farm. It was a bad place. Very bad. Abuse, starvation, too little cold in the warmer cycles, and too little heat in the colder cycles. When he got his chance, he killed the family that owned the farm and started a small revolt. He was able to steal some money for a cheap trip on a carriage. It was enough to escape. Some knights tried to kill him, so he ran some more. He ended up at the tavern, and stayed here for a couple of days. And then he left. Hope he’s doing well.
Another slave, this time a orc, was freed from slavery and escaped here. I forgot her name as it was quite some centuries ago, but I haven’t forgotten her story. She was born into slavery. Every since she was a child she worked on a dock building boats. She was lucky that her slavers didn’t pay attention to her and that she was the only orc. She knew what happened to the more unfortunate females. It was horrifying, and I full heartedly agreed. The orc girl didn’t actually escape. She was freed. A very pompous noble bought her, and then she was put into a random forest. The noble, the idiot that he was, forgot that orcs can’t just survive in the wild. The noble assumed that she could survive simply because she was an orc. She was extremely lucky to survive, but she lost some fingers and a tusk in the process. And she only survived her head injury because she stumbled upon the tavern I was formerly working at.
My last story is that of a lich named Zarius Fourfoot, aka, me. I am a centaur that grew up lavishly. I was the son of a merchant named Zaroni Fourfoot. My father made a lot of money on nice horseshoes and other pieces of jewelry. Even elves and humans came to buy from him. He had the money of a rich baron. My sister, being a few years older than me, was groomed to be the heiress of the business. She was going to inherit the shop, but bandits attacked. They killed everyone. I died of a knife wound, but not before taking a pendant that my father cherished. It saved me, but only just barely. When I woke up I was only bones. It was some thousand cycles later. I wandered around and then came upon the tavern. I started working there as I knew liches were not welcome in the world. I worked there for a long time. When I left, I at least had the ability to protect myself from priests and the like. Now though, I basically have my own kingdom. Liches are quite powerful, especially with the right resources.
“I need you to listen to me very carefully. You don’t know me, but I know you.”
The fuck.
“Uuuuh, okay. Bye.”
“Wait! Wait. I just need you to listen to my story. I promise you, this is worth your time!”
The person calling me sounds androgynous. Almost weirdly so, like the perfect mix between masculine and feminine. I know I’m putting a lot of emphasis on this when literally the first words this rando said on the phone was pretty stalkery, but it sounds kind of alien.
“Prove it.”
“Your name is Whuddya Mean, your father likes pickles, your mother always rode on that incredibly ugly green bike to work, in 7th grade you had a crush on-“
“Okay, okay! I’m calling the police! Also, my mom’s bike didn’t look that bad!”
“Once again, please wait! I have some very important instructions! Just go down into the cellar at 11:30 pm. It will protect you. From everything.”
“Fuck off, dude! I’m dialing 911. I’m putting your creepy ass into-“
*click
The weirdo hung up. Rude.
I called the police, they showed up at my house, broke apart my phone for a reason or another, and said they got all the information you needed. They suggested a patrol near my house, but I said no. People just loitering by my house creeps me out.
I didn’t sleep well that night. Other than the stalker the message kept with me. That last part they said was particularly serious and ominous. It was close to 11:30. Might as well look at the cellar.
I went down and inspected everything. Nothing was out of place or abnormal. I was going to go back up when a boom sounded out.
I quickly went upstairs to inspect everything. Some of my miscellaneous items were on the floor. That’s fine. Nothing breakable. I went outside.
The sky was green, and there was no one around. It wasn’t even night anymore. Also, shouldn’t there be people? That was a big sound. I debated going to look, but nope. I’m not that type. I’m going to stay in my house till morning.
I turned around and a thousand floating, bloodshot eyes stared at me.
“Ah, sorry. I meant the attic. Not the cellar. Next time I guess,” the inhuman God said from another realm.
Then it left, and I was alone with the staring eyes.
“A few years ago, I lost my brother to war. He was fighting in Vietnam, and he died when he was parachuting down. It was the worst day of my life when those two soldiers came to my doorstep. I cried for hours. My father and I talked for hours. It was probably the most I ever talked to him in my life. Even after mom died we only said what was socially acceptable. It was nice.
But anyways, going off topic. Today, I got a phone call from my formerly dead brother. Today started out normal enough. I woke up at 8 AM sharp, went to the grocery store, supported a local bakery, and then went home. Maybe I would go on a walk later. Well, definitely not now because at 3:27 PM my younger brother called. My brother. The one that was shot. Yeah, that one.
Well, he called and said all this shit about not being able to call. As if making excuses about missing for nearly four years was going to make up for all the grief and lost time. I, naturally, had a small breakdown. I cried and screamed at him about what was happening. Was he okay? Was I hallucinating? Did I suddenly have die?
I didn’t die nor was I hallucinating. He was okay-ish. Some new scars and new trauma, but overall he was doing fine enough. He then said that he was sorry but that I’m going to have to join him.
As it turns out, he was part of a CIA project. He was a sort of super soldier, and he joined the project because he wanted to save the world. Since, you know, aliens are attacking us. Everyone is going to be forced to fight. Even the women and children.
So, here I am. Of course, there were a few things that happened between then and now, but that’s a whole other story. So, what did you think?”
“Mandy, girl, that was something.” A soldier wearing a cybernetic eye replied.
“Wow. I mean, I was just recruited. I never got a dramatic phone call from my dead brother.” The teen with dyed hair and a missing finger said.
“Yup. Hell, I’m just glad it didn’t involve shooting a man.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me. Okay people, we’re just about on our drop off point. You ready to kill some fucking aliens!?”
A chorus of screams of anger, bloodlust, and excitement reverberated through the hull of the ship to their captains statement.
“Then let’s fucking go!”
And everyone jumped to fight and die on the moon.
She stared out the 8 foot window. The sun was just rising and already people were milling about. They went about their day, filing in and out of their shops and homes. Children played in the mud with each other, waving sticks covered in moss and bugs at their mothers.
It was a beautiful day, overall.
“Mildred, please tell my husband that I shall be going to the gardens.”
“Of course, my lady. Do you require an escort?”
“No need. I shall be going alone.”
Mildred nodded and went to tell the king, and the roses on her body grew tighter.
Aurora walked through the barren halls. There was occasionally a servant or knight passing through. They all bowed and said the same plain sentences they always do: “Hello, your highness”, “Do you need anything, your highness”, and so on.
Aurora walked into the garden and a wave of relief washed over her. Some freedom at last.
Many trees grew in the garden, along with many native flowers. Almost similar to the forest she grew up in, though the garden was fare more controlled and had many more animals.
Aurora sat on the bench. There was a slight breeze that tossed her hair. It was refreshing. Nothing unnatural here. Only the forest that she grew up in.
Foot steps sounds out on the cobble stone walkway, interrupting everything.
Mildred appeared.
“His highness the king has decided to join you.”
The roses started to draw blood.
