《the collection》 the fly The fly A dozen kids, some running, some sleeping in bags. They are having a school sleepover. Some people are reading, and others playing card games. There is laughter. I think. I am a fly. The children seem happy. Someone is crying. I leave the perch of the wooden Mauri statue to go to the child. Tears are very tasty and good. I am a fly. I do not think. No need to think. The kid is making a noise at me. There is a fly. ¡°Hello Mr. fly.,¡± I whisper. The fly travels to my tears on the ground and begins to eat the feast before it. ¡°At least something benefits from my life., I comment, the fly ignores me, as flies are wont to do. Mr Fly is hungry, like me. The people look tasty, their flesh looks juicy. Mr Fly is the nicest one here. I shall clear the ruckus. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°What the hell!?,¡± I scream, as the kid in the corner smiles. It would be fine if the smile stopped where it should have. If the smile didn¡¯t spread like a ring around his face, which promptly flopped off like an unneeded flesh mask. It hit the floor with a meaty squelch. There are so many teeth there. When did the room turn red? Why can¡¯t I move? ¡°Hush, child.¡± Comes a raspy voice from right behind me. The corner kid has left my vision. I am no child¡­ I scream a silent scream of pain as the teeth sink into every part of me. I am a fly. I do not care that the child became a thing that the Demogorgon would fear. These tears are delicious. The blaring of sirens can be heard. When did I start being able to hear rather than feel noise? Oh well. The Mauri Hall is covered in blood and organs. Organs are delicious. Blood is delicious. I am hungry again. The food needs to be quiet. These police are rather chewy. I Am A Fly¡­ Or at least I was. Flies do not have teeth. They do not rip metal apart to get to the juicy blood of people. the Lake The Lake Josh had run ahead. The others simply let him. He would rejoin soon enough. Josh soon found a lake. So many fish! Thought Josh, the 16 year old teenager who liked talking to fish. ¡°How are you today, Mr. Fish?¡± Josh asked the fish. The fish, of course, didn¡¯t respond. But they did run away. Josh was curious, so he looked out to the rest of the lake. There was a massive shadow in the middle! Josh left his things, bar his clothes, on the shore, and leapt into the lake. Josh swam forward to the shadow, not noticing that it seemed to do the same when not in line of sight. Very soon, Josh was above the shadow. It was the size of a Whale Shark! But whale¡¯s don¡¯t live in lakes, they live in oceans! Josh blinked. Then there was a mighty statue of a massive whale in front of him. There was no splashes. It just appeared. It had so many teeth. Teeth that seemed to shine unnaturally. Josh started to backpedal but didn¡¯t get far before blinking. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. Then there stopped being a Josh. Now there was only blood in the water. Not even bones. Back at the edge of the village, Barbara waited for her brother to come home. It had been 2 days since he was last seen. ¡°Where are you Josh?¡± she asked to nobody. ¡°In the woods, sis.¡± Came that damned voice from the woods. It was like somebody had taken Josh, and then dragged his voice through the most rough gravel ever. ¡°Well, FINE! I will come out there and knock some sense into you for tricking me for so long!¡± she screamed. ¡°Just meet me by the lake!¡± yelled the fading voice. ¡°Fine.¡± Barbara mumbled. A few days later there were sightings of statues that looked like the many search parties sent to the lake, down to the smallest detail, if you ignore the inhuman amount of teeth. If you looked closely, you might even see the Lake in their eyes and Rocks in their teeth. A mile or so away, there was a cliff, one that people like using as a track for dirtbikes and such. But one young man felt pulled towards he edge. Jared was interested. Jared fell. There is no more Jared. Just the statue. This cliff was named, by the locals, ¡®Bloodrock¡¯. It was their last attempt at stopping people from going to see it. To see the pure white rocks, that had been stained a crimson red at the base by the many corpses. Or the statues. Other at the lake, people started to call it ¡®Stained Lake¡¯, as every morning, after the search parties or someone went missing, it looked to be more made of crimson ruby than a lake. Some just call it ¡®Blood in the water¡¯. But they are statues now. Much better. They don¡¯t need to worry about anything other than bringing others into the lake, and then it does the rest. At first there was a small group of statues. Now there is an army of hundreds. But you shouldn¡¯t know that. Join us¡­ Join us in the water. I promise that its warm. The red is just a trick of the light. the brain The brain Chris was always referred to as being the ¡®dullest tool in the shed.¡¯ Chris did not understand much, but he did not need to. Chris had his Brain. Brain was kind, Brain kept him from going off track. Sometimes Brain would seem angry, like when he had to do that x-ray. Brain cared for Chris, ensuring that Chris was always fed and happy. Sometimes that meant taking control of Chris¡¯s body, but that was fine. Brain was nice. I stare at the boy on stage for the talent show. Chris. The kid had no upper head. Everything above his middle forehead was a pulsing brain. He seemed nice though until the brain grew legs. The brain scuttled forward on its six spiked appendages. Its legs only had sharp angles and no smooth curves. Then it reached the crowd, who until now thought it was a projection or robot. They were oh so wrong. The ¡®brain¡¯ grew from only coming up to their ankles to being up to their waist in a matter of seconds. Then it opened its frontal lobe, and it had so many teeth. Too many teeth, more than any creature should be able to have, especially in that space Ms. Froid was dead, her now mangled corpse half sticking out of the beast¡¯s maw. Nobody even managed to see it bite, and she did not get time to scream. Nobody did. Not even Michael. Brain was hungry Chris knew. Brain wanted Chris to let him out, so the child obliged. The only sad part is that Chris had to go to sleep whenever the brain left. But this time he was not asleep. He was awake. This is bad. Brain did not like it when people watched things like this. Chris got up; he had fallen over onto his rear. Chris smiled. Smiles like his are only seen on apex predators, and rarely at that. Chris wanted to join the hunt. Brain had made his teeth sharper, his muscles stronger and his reflexes godlike. All at the minor cost of being a form of transport. His favorite part was the bones crunching into dust beneath the might of his jaw, and the feeling of his teeth ripping through flesh like it was butter. A few days later, there was a sighting. People wanted it to be fake. The sighting was of hundreds of many-legged variants of these brains. No single one even got close to the kid in the middle of the horde. None except the one within. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. The surrounding towns died extremely fast. Nobody lived. Nobody but Chris, that is. Chris was at this point more monster than anything else. He looked like a living, writhing mass of solid shadows. But at least Chris was not the dullest tool in the shed anymore. After all¡­ You cannot be the dullest in the shed if you light the world on fire. Because then there is not anything else to compare it to. Those few people who had helped him joined in on the slaughter, they too lose their form. Some became more for the army, and others were specialized. Like Daniel. Daniel had become a Reaper. A silent assassin in all corners of the world at once. Briana became an Ascended. A being one step closer to being the true apex predator, but still far below Chris. Then there was the pyromaniac, George. Nobody remembers what gender George is, but they sure do love setting things on fire, including themselves. George might be insane. But that does not matter, Brain does the thinking. Carlson, the shadow. Feared everywhere because he was not limited to this single world. Then we return to Chris, whom you may not understand the true scope of. Chris, the man who ended the world. Chris is the man who travels through all planes of existence to spread the ¡®cure¡¯ as the brains knew it. Can¡¯t be sick if you died last year, can you? Chris is the one who only gives what he receives. There was one other survivor, Rose. Chris protected rose. Rose came from a terrible home and had a new family. suicide in australia As an Australian or Dutch citizen, you have around a 35% chance of getting depression in your lifetime. According to the 2021 census, 8.8% of people had depression. Seventy-five percent of suicides are male, and the most common causes are stress, trauma, and mental illness. 0.00086% of Adelaide¡¯s homed/not homeless population commits suicide every day. This translates to 6.45 males committing suicide every day, and 2.15 females committing suicide per day. This is a very minor decrease from 2021¡¯s 9 suicides per day. The issue is that it costs around $100 per hour for a professional therapist, and the only other option is to call on your phone or check a chat website, neither of which you would be considering if you can afford therapy or are at the edge of a cliff, building roof or bleeding out from your wrists. If you can afford a phone, laptop or some other device and internet/can get to internet, then the chances that you can also afford professional help are decent. But that doesn¡¯t help the homeless, who have a 4.9 times higher suicide rate. The ratio of homeless suicide to non-homeless suicide is (non-homeless: homeless) 1:4.9. which means that for every time that you see someone commit suicide in their home, five homeless have done the same. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. What can the government change? Pay the fees. Just pay the fees for people who are unable to do it themselves. After they don¡¯t have to pay something they can¡¯t, the suicidal population will most likely start to decrease to a ratio closer to (not suicide deaths to suicide deaths) 1:1, instead of 1:8. Yes, the government may end up paying for people who aren¡¯t actually suicidal, but consider this, would you rather pay for 9 suicidal peoples treatment and 1 liar, or let those 9 people die. Thank you for your time, and do not kill yourself. the test The test Shawn was in a room. The room was filled with so many people. Shawn does not like this many people. But Shawn is not the monster this time. No, Shawn is the survivor. This test was vital to the rest of their lives. In a more literal way than they realized. Chloe was the power-hungry one. Chloe questioned the teacher, trying to get some answers, or to cheat. Chloe was reduced to a bloodstain before anyone could even blink, and by the next second the mess was gone. Not even the desk remained. Silence reigned control, like a blanket of death. Even the desk was gone. Someone dropped their pencil, and then their head dropped. Then they were gone too. This was truly a test for their lifeline. Shawn got back to work. If Shawn did not manage to finish the test on time, then it was clear what would happen. Nothing good. Something red infiltrated the side of his vision, like water, but warm and on his eyeball. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. Shawn knew that was someone¡¯s blood, and just hoped it was not his. Ten minutes left Shawn had witnessed numbers of other students dwindle to a mere fifty. Only twenty could get into the school, and Shawn thought he knew what happened to the rest. They died. Faster than light travelled. Five minutes left Shawn mentally sighed in relief as he finally put his pencil down, having finished the test a mere 5 minutes before the end. The teacher was right in front of him and looked strange, but everything was a bit blurry from the stress. He should stay seated and have a rest. https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fhubertspala.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F177070019721%2Fmonstermonth-no9-humanoid-cafzyel-the&psig=AOvVaw11rm3ftM-NrgqdvRqNIypM&ust=1679540969311000&source=images&cd=vfe&ved=0CBAQjhxqFwoTCJj3hunH7v0CFQAAAAAdAAAAABAy spoiler box ^ Only the most successful and dedicated could enter the school. Even the janitor was dedicated. https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Chwidencha Because it loved the meat that it got as a good reward. And the students love meeting new people https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.pinterest.com%2Fpin%2F548665167091001137%2F&psig=AOvVaw3iw8jBCf2Yoa1SBt9dewod&ust=1679541614828000&source=images&cd=vfe&ved=0CBAQjhxqFwoTCJD_75zK7v0CFQAAAAAdAAAAABAR spoiler box ^ the trail Jack always wished for adventure, for the thrill of the supernatural. If only he knew how much power words had. Jack had lost his mom. Jack was speed walking away from the tree, and towards the parents, hopefully. The tree creaked under the intense weight of the thing. Jack started to run. The blue lined humanoid skeletal being was faster, bigger and soon reduced him to a red stain underfoot that the trees eagerly ate up, glowing with faint hues of red. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. The trail covered itself up, and people could move again, freed from time like someone pressing play on a video. Three weeks have passed, and there have been search parties looking for Jack nearly constantly. They only found a flattened area of the trail, where rocks had been ground to dust and trees reduced to splinters. Weeks later, Jack¡¯s funeral was held, and the 12-year-old boy was given up on by the searches. Sometimes, people say they saw Jack but never return to the trail for some reason, and suffer insomnia forever after, and refuse to go anywhere near "that damned forest". Be careful what you wish for. It. Just. Might. Be. Possible. the blood The blood When your blood turns on you, what will you do? When you burn from your insides, what will you do? George wish he had his affairs in order. Working at a call centre was so frustrating that he always got nightmares, always the same. His blood would crystallize and burst from his veins, killing him slowly, as if in slow motion, in an impossible state of being. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Two weeks went by and the nightmares hadn¡¯t stopped, so George was concerned. He went to the doctors, who put him into the waiting list of a therapist, who wasn¡¯t able to help. Two months, George feels knives dig into his flesh with every movement. A year. George is dead. His body was found at the epicentre of what was thought to be a bombing, looking like someone had crystalized his blood and pierced his skin, face frozen in agony. George was 27 The ¡®blood¡¯ had penetrated the entire apartment complex, and thus the building crumbled. The blood is now spreading, and soon after this there was only crystalized blood. sic semper tyrannis Sic Semper Tyrannis Sic Sic was a young man, taught that he would be a part of something massive. He just never realized how big it truly would be. Sic was a fine man, always kind, always just, but this led to issues when he encountered things. Not people, which would undermine them, but things. They always referred to themselves simply as ¡®thus.¡¯ ¡®t????h????u???s????.¡¯ ¡®Thus¡¯ was always whispering the right words into Sic¡¯s ear, just so he would win the argument, or just so he knew how to phrase something. Thus Semper Semper was a strange woman, always everywhere, it felt. She was always on time, always ready, and always the smartest. Semper, like Sic, had to deal with things, but not ¡®thus.¡¯ No, Semper dealt with ¡®always.¡¯ They were everywhere, they were always in just the right area to tweak things just to Semper¡¯s advantage, which she appreciated, but ¡®always¡¯ never speaks. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Always a???l????w????a???y????s???? Tyrannis Tyrannis was born into wealth, his success already guaranteed just by being born to the warlord of the city. His place at the top of the chain of command already secured, he indulged those that referred to themselves as ¡®tyrants¡¯ or ¡®fall.¡¯ The ¡®tyrants¡¯ always had the most powerful advice, just the right policies to win that war, this battle, crush that rebellion. ¡®Fall¡¯ was far less fun, always seeking out ways to peacefully resolve things. Always trying to mediate, but always ignored. Tyrants Fall Thus, always tyrants fall. Sic and Semper lived under Tyrannis¡¯ rule and had enough. They began stirring the pot. And soon, ¡®fall¡¯ had taken Tyrannis by the hand, and walked him straight into a trap. An area, where all those he had wronged were waiting. and they were incredibly happy for this chance¡­ Sic Semper Tyrannis Thus, tyrants always fall. And with them their realm, a????????????????n?????????????????d????????????????????? ??????????????t?????h??????e???????????????i?????????????????r??????????????? ??????????????k???????i???????n????????? ????????????????s?????????????????h????????????a????????????????????l???????????l?????????????? ????????????????f??????a???????????????l?????l???????????????? ?????????w??????????????????i?????????????????t?????h??? ????????????t????????????????????????h????????????e????????????????m?????????? s???u???f?????f????e????r????i????n????g?????,???? ?????b???u????r????n????i????n?????g????,???? ?????s????c?????r???e????a?????m????i?????n???g????? file 3 File 3 Josh didn¡¯t sign up for this. He didn¡¯t agree to fight this fire. Flames reach between the gaps of the firetruck sealant, shattering the windows. BANG!! Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. The cars around josh were sent sky high as the fuel tanks detonated in synchronization, sending a rain of steel down from the heavens. The engine of his firetruck cut out, no longer having gas, and josh sped to the hose compartment. He opened every valve he could see, desperate to flood away this nightmare, right before he leapt into the flames, uncaring of the heat or melting tarmac below. The water pressure soon peaked, dousing the nearby fire, but not nearly enough to save josh. The charred remains of the once lush world were soon all that remained, waiting to spread the flames to the next realm or celestial body. file 4 File four The dusty land engulfed them. The red stain rippled like water, despite the sand remaining solid. The hill on the horizon was soon stained by the bodies, their broken and disfigured spines piercing the sandy ground. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. If Jack had paid attention, he would see the stone ripple, and the coarse voices of his passed friends begging him to leave, to run. Jack did not notice. Jack plummeted into the sand like it was thin air, his scream cut short through the ancient, dry air. Once again, the sands rippled and became a tone redder than before. Nobody ever takes out their binoculars early enough to inspect the hill, the ¡®rocks.¡¯ So, the rocks keep growing, like that of a growing child. A child named Uluru, cresting the horizon in majestic morbidity. files 6 File six ¡°I was in my bedroom.¡± ¨C Jackal, reciting the story before the Reaper Under the bed lays a child, no older than thirteen, trembling on the verge of tears, but terrified of the idea he may alert the maggot-ridden, demon-sent horde that had gotten the rest of his family. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. His parents. His sister. His brother. The world. All gone. Those lifeless eyes stare into his soul as the bed is lifted, effortlessly, off him. The urge to scream is suppressed by his new open-front airpipe design. Tears run a river down his rotting flesh. ¡°Why?¡± he manages to gurgle, barely, through the taste of his own rotten flesh. The bed, still tipping, crushes his unfortunate sister. The sound of bones crushing can be heard throughout the entire desecrated and destroyed church, having been abandoned by the divine. file seven File seven John ¡®walked¡¯ through the snowy, eternally dark forest, happy as ever, lighting up the night with his radiant glow. John arrived at the small clearing, slowing to a stop. ¡°What a lovely night.¡± He warbles to himself. John slowly lowered himself to the ground, the saplings leaning in like children to a storyteller who has long since passed to the ethereal. As johns flat base touched down, he was once again reminded of his bitter divinity, the pain symbolized as a gift by the glow around him. His cube body, the joke of a gift he obtained for his kindness to the universe. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. The saplings, young and frail, lean in, as do the mighty, ancient evergreens, to enter his aura of peace, growth, and safety. The saplings are as na?ve as to think it a gift, and the evergreens to get a bitter taste of the divine, if only to comfort John in his journey through the loneliness of eternity. file 2 File 2 Alex was meandering home, as one does after school, and had decided to take the scenic route. Most would say that Alex was lost, but he felt at home with the howling of wolves and screeching of birds. Alex soon arrived at the den, barking a greeting to the pack, and sat at the mealspot. Soon, the pack was feasting on fresh kill, and Alex was pestered into playing hunting with the cubs. As they raced around, trying to catch rabbits, they heard a childlike scream. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it A playmate! They even wore rabbit overalls! They must be offering to be the prey, right? It would be rude to ignore him, he even went through the trouble of dressing up¡­ The screams of a lost child soon died down, and once more fresh kill was served to the pack. the voices (maybe long story) The voices Bradley was a normal-ish kid, in a way you might be getting familiar with. He didn¡¯t see anything special, but he heard. He heard as well, but he also heard. They seem the same to most, but that¡¯s just because the others cant really hear, they just hear. Get the difference yet? ¡°weird¡± people hear, but ¡°normal¡± people just hear. Hearing is different because the voices saturate the world. Someone who writes down ¡®the trees scream as they fall¡¯ will have different experience from those who hear. Someone who hears will feel the rage, the anger and disappointment of these trees, while someone who just hears will hear the creaking of wood crushing of wood under its own weight. Bradley, or brad, was what we call a power hearing anomaly, or PHA. This means he can not only hear, but he can talk and empower. Empower might seem strange, but its basically enhancing the target to extreme supernatural standards, like a tree becoming a Treant, a boulder becoming a Golem, etc. Talk just means he can have a two-way conversation with these beings. Brad was a truly kind-hearted soul. He always tried to be polite, kind and sympathetic. This led to some voices becoming attached to him rather than their original source. Brad had basically made poltergeists, or ghosts that can interact with the world of the living, and tend to be vengefully protective or their territory. Poltergeists are also one of the only forms of undead that is both fully sapient, to the extent it was in life, and still anchored to at least one thing. Now that the details are out of the way, story time! You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. p.s. it is worth noting that these descriptions will be the basis for all future stories unless otherwise specified. It was a wonderful winter day at school, for most. Bradley, unfortunately, was the target of anger for many people, not because of him, but because he was an easy target. Today was the last straw for some of the voices. Jonathan, one of the bullies, had cracked one of Brad¡¯s teeth. The world seemed to slow, the air around Brad becoming a dark purple haze, as he fell to the floor, unconscious. Ghostly, partially transparent limbs began spreading from almost every surface that could be seen. The lockers were ripped from their hallway walls, the posters shredded as ghastly hands broke through with rage. (this indicates gore sensitive zone, and will also later signify the end of said zone) Jonathan limbs were restrained, pulled to the floor with violent conviction, as though trying to force him into the concrete. Then, for the first time in many years, the voices screamed into ¡°normal¡± space and audio. To those present, it sounded like the death throes of a million people being slowly crushed and dissolved. Most of the staff and students that survived would never forget the day that the school halls ripped apart a child in rage. The hands stretched Jonathan¡¯s limbs to their limit, the horrible popping of joints and cartilidge tearing and dislocating, sending Jonathan into a fit of pained screaming, yet the voices did not stop tearing at his flesh. But then the voices decided to reach deeper, using the empowerement that Bradley had given them many years ago, the voices reached into Jonathan¡¯s soul, and began to claw and rip all that they could. Jonathan was not making it to the next realm, because the very essence of Jonathan was being erased. Jonathan was being erased, hollowed out both literaly and metaphorically, for his transgressions. Once his body, and those of the staff who had ignored bradleys pleas for help, and those of the other students who did the same, and the various bodies in the way were reduced to bone powder and meaty slag, dripping from any surface the eye could see. (gore has ended. Good luck! This might become a series, actually.) Bradley had been moved, of course. The voices couldn¡¯t bear to think the grief that would befall him if he discovered what had happened. The voices had an idea! The voices reconfigured reality. The voices were reality, after all. The voices made Bradley immune to the tampering hands of time, immune to the faulty vermin of disease, hunger, sleep and thirst. Bradley was not changed, bar his lack of need to eat, sleep, drink or defecate. Bradley¡¯s powers weren¡¯t made better, because the voices knew. They knew he could do that on his own. the eyes, part one. The eyes Bradley woke up in the ER. How he got there escaped him, his memories seeming blank. He was hooked up to an IV drip on his right, and the sun had set, so it had been at least several hours since he lost consciousness. A gruff, professional but not judgmental voice interrupted Bradley¡¯s thoughts. ¡°What the hell happened at school? The hallway is a mess, and you seem to be the only one not injured to some degree.¡± As Brad looked to his left, he saw a tall, dark-skinned doctor wearing a lab coat, gloves, a mask, goggles and a hair net, as though trying to minimize some form of contamination. ¡°What?¡± Brad responded dumbly. ¡°Eyewitness reports say, and I quote, that the building itself was ripped apart from the inside, screaming with pain as a young man, with ginger hair and lightly tanned skin floated out of the building as if on an invisible stretcher. ¡°So, I will repeat once more; what exactly happened, to the best of your ability to remember it.¡± Stated the doctor in a tone that brokered no room for argument. ¡°I just remember getting yelled at by Jonathan, falling over and then waking up here?¡± Brad murmured, surprised by the bluntness with which the doctor approached Bradley. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Brad, at that moment, witnessed a horrifying sight that nobody else seemed to care about. One so strange that Brad didn¡¯t even register the doctors speech. A patient was absorbed into an endless black void which appeared between the poor woman and the bed, somehow leaving the body behind. Brad promptly fell unconscious, unable to handle the stress, much to the disappointment of the doctor.
To nobodies surprise, Brad took a while to wake up. Though he hates being called by such a title, we still refer to him as The Speaker. Precisely 12 hours, 6 minutes and 3.2 seconds. Gosh the others were so upset at the lack of living beings to talk to. Even when The Speaker did wake up, that pesky humanoid was too demanding to let The Speaker to talk! The ignorance of some people will never surprise me. If only we could see without His eyes, alas, we are restricted to audio only. And touch, but that is something most phantoms are privy to. As if to spite me, an Eye absorbed one whose time had come and gone months ago. ¡°WHY?!?!¡± I scream into the nothingness of the void as Brad falls into slumber once more.
When Brad woke up this time, it was to a unique scene. Namely, he saw what could only be describes as a multi-eyed, red skinned, floating human who was actively on fire! Brad immediately tried to run over to put the flames out, but was restrained to his bed. It was around this time that Brad took not of the rest of his surroundings. Namely, the lack of surroundings, and impossible scene in front of him. Hundreds of formless wisps surrounded Bradley, but only the burning man was talking. ¡°Are you The Speaker?¡± It was a simple question, yet one asked with such authority and power that Brad found it difficult to form words. One wisp, a familiar voice, soothing like that of a lullaby, spoke out. ¡°Of course he is! Do you not see the pure number of us? Any other would be vapor ten times over already!¡± It screamed. the jail Jail Thomas knew he had done too many people wrong. He knew he would get caught, but he didn¡¯t stop. Now he was paying the price. Most would say he was getting off easy, but that would be plainly wrong. He thought he got a rather light sentence as well, considering his crimes. After all, a murderer usually gets more than just a year in jail. The reason it was only a year rather than a decade was simple, nobody had ever managed to leave this prison alive. You should take notes. Most people who enter do leave, but not as they were before. Some as rotten husks, others as fools plagued by memories that aren¡¯t theirs. Some would leave as amalgamations of flesh, others subtly more twisted than before. The only consistent thing is their opinion of the jail; The Jail is distorted. Simple, right? Thomas just needs to survive in the jail for a year, then leave without being shot on sight, and he¡¯s a free man. Assuming he doesn¡¯t go mad, that is. Thomas of course knew none of this and was just bored when he saw the massive fortress of solid stone and steel cresting the hill as the armored transport bus drove steadily forward. Thomas didn¡¯t notice the tense atmosphere of the guards, nor did he notice the hundreds of motion-activated turrets surrounding the base. They simply weren¡¯t interesting to him. What was interesting however, were the guards rushing out to meet the bus. They wore full face masks, no skin showing, pitch black goggles and were armed to the teeth, and then some. They also moved in sync. Perfect sync. The militia around the bus immediately dragged Thomas forward. I should probably describe Thomas, shouldn¡¯t I? Thomas wasn¡¯t a tall man, standing at around 5 foot 3 inches, and he wasn¡¯t that bulky either. But, as you will have learnt, appearances can be deceiving. Thomas, despite being incredibly thin, was one of the few people who could punch several levels above their weight class. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. He had short blonde hair that he had never once combed, but had kept perfectly clean, and no other facial hair. Thomas was, all in all, a rather good looking man. The wardens all surged forwards, restraining Thomas in identical manners. This was the first time since he got caught that he was confused. The badges of the officers were all inscribed with ¡°officer Joerg¡±. It hurt to look at, and nobody else was even looking in his direction anymore. The number of red laser sight dots didn¡¯t make him nervous, being an ex marine, but the fact that they were all on the wardens? That was concerning. As he entered the building, there was an immediate feeling of danger, the same kind that you feel when there is a gun to your head. The feeling that your life is not in your own hands anymore. ¡°What was that?¡± asked Thomas, trying but failing to not sound confident rather than scared. There was absolutely no response, the only sound being the falling of boots and wind blowing. There were no windows. The door to the front was closed, bolted and had a hydraulic seal. There shouldn¡¯t be any wind. Thomas of course just assumed it was the ventilation, maybe it was being pushed extra hard? Thomas then noticed the complete absence of any people in the cells. Just one had anything in it, and he was being directed to the cell next to it. This ¡®thing¡¯ appeared to be a large pile of molten flesh, littered with teeth and bones. Thomas entered the adjacent cell, and immediately felt the lack of wind. There was a window, but no wind. There were trees outside, but he knew he should be at least three floors underground by now. ¡°What is going on?!¡± Thomas screams, finally unable to hold back from this seemingly liminal place. ¡°N0t much.¡± an unknown and grating voice sounded, coming from all directions. ¡°Who are you? Where are you? Where am I?¡± begged Thomas. ¡°All 1n g00d t1m3.¡± Another voice sounded. ¡°Y0U JU5T N33D T0 5URVIV3, 3A5Y, R1GHT?¡± And then Thomas fell to the floor, unconscious. When Thomas woke up, he was still in his cell, but the door was open. On the other side of the doorway seemed to be a swarm of beings of all shapes and sizes, but none human. Thomas did the reasonable thing, and jumped underneath his bed, shivering in fear. The demonic things seemed to ignore both him and his jelatinous neighbour. Until the neighbor tried to eat one of the mingling group, that is. Then they retaliated. By swarming the blob, tearing at the flesh, devouring both skin and bone as though they were the most delectable thing ever to grace their mouths. Within a minute, the blob of flesh was reduced to a single tooth, which was grabbed by the greedy paws of a smaller demon. ¡°BOO!¡± hollered a voice, sounding like barely contained joy, coming from behind the horde. ¡°A NEWCOMER! IT¡¯S BEEN YEARS!¡± another voice boomed, much deeper. The demons charged the voices, only to get turned to mashed paste by what appeared to be a gigantic Warhammer. You see, I did say that most leave, and some don¡¯t. A small portion of those who don¡¯t leave but don¡¯t die, often become battle junkies. Why? That¡¯s a dumb question, because they either need to kill for food, or they kill to grow in power. Either way, anything that stays in the jail for too long will inevitably become a monster in one way or another. Thomas should be thankful these ones are kind, and he should tread carefully. Unfortunately, Thomas is having difficulties talking, given the fact that a wraith has taken a liking to his vocal cords, and has removed them with surgical precision for no reason other than entertainment and to add to its collection. Thomas is now mute. Oops. Anyway, the newcomer wielding the Warhammer would be comparable to a polar bear in terms of size and strength. The other one is hurling fire around, teleporting and stabbing as many beings as possible in the weakest point on each one. The first people Thomas meets in this place are mildly insane. And so it begins. the bloody child I am drenched in blood I am singing to the tune I am singing I am happy~ ¡°For the life of you You cant seem to find out Why It All Fell Down. Oh-oh-oh. I, i wonder How much i can take Before Before Beefoore I Start To Crack¡± A boy is singing this tune Again and again Walking down the halls. The people in the halls try not to look at him ¡®The horrible smell¡¯ Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. They all think. The boy leaves a trail behind him A trail of blood Pouring from his every pore Leaving from his eyes Eyes that are opened wide Trying to find someone to look at The boy is alone The boy walks through someone who didn''t get out of the way As though they weren''t there. The boy starts to cry He doesn''t remember why He curls into a ball Against the wall The people in the hall Start to call Call for help Call for a doctor Doctors that never arrive Nurses that have long passed Flood the halls The boy looks up He sees a nurse She is clean, perfect She offers him some water He sings a different tune ¡°Today i was alone I was alone for long But then the long Came to an end And i found a friend Now we play Now we sing Now we dance Until its time to collapse¡± The boy is walking through the halls The people are avoiding him But they look He is smiling He is holding hands With a girl No blood They both sparkle They both play They run around Singing, dancing While the priests pray While the gamblers gamble The mothers mourne In an empty home The children are welcome In the home of the dead ¡°We were alone Alone for the sad And then All of the men And all of the women Pointed They pointed towards Our new home Where we are happy~ Where we can play~ Play all day~ Then sleep tight Right through the night~ To do it all~ Again The next day.¡±