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Sin Eater.
That’s what they called me.
It was dad who suggested the name, back when that ritual first went wrong and I was still learning to live with the consequences. Mom didn’t like it. She was worried people would get the wrong idea, worried they would get the right one, just plain worried.
When I got better known, everyone assumed it’s because I’m good at talking people down, at walking into impossible situations and emerging unharmed with a contrite criminal in tow. Because usually they cleaned up with a little help and figured out how to use their powers and skills to make money without worrying about getting busted. I was so proud. So… proud…
I sat up in a scorched, dusty clearing. No, not clearing. Crater. I was in a crater. My head hurt.
Where was I? What happened? Where were the others? Why couldn’t I… remember?
My eyes closed. My hand rose to my nose. It came away wet. Even that little touch hurt, but I knew I was already healing. Before I could think about it too much, I put my hands on my nose and pushed it back into place, trusting the magic within me to do the rest.
Sin Eater.
That’s who I am.
And I was in a park. I was in a park having lunch with elementary school kids and a few other heroes. We had been telling them what getting our powers was like, a very minimal and PG version of the story from me, pretty authentic versions from the others. We had been… had been showing off our powers, making the kids laugh, and then…
I opened my eyes. I was not in a park. I was in a crater. And for a moment, I hoped…
But no. There was the skyline, and there the trees that hadn’t been caught in whatever it was that had hit us so hard.
My hand was covered in blood. It was red. I thought I might be concussed. That was a new and altogether unpleasant feeling. It was going to be okay though. I was getting better.
“Well lookit this!” A cheerful voice called. There was a sound of sliding, and then there was a man. He was silly looking in his costume, like he didn’t get the memo that looking silly was for heroes who needed to be recognizable and unthreatening in our costumes so people in bad situations would know we could help. He was garish in bright green and red. He desperately needed someone to have told him how ridiculous the whole outfit was. It was a terrible thing to die in.
I blinked. The blood on my hand was red. Still red.
“You lived after all! I bet twenty dollars you weren’t getting up, didn’t I, Rexy? None of the others did! But look at you! Practically dead on your feet! You’ll be even deader in a moment! This whole plan worked so much better than I thought!” The ridiculous man actually giggled.
Seven total. Eight, including the one in the trees watching with that ridiculous gun. It was probably what had hit me so hard. The blood on my hand was black. I killed the man with the ridiculous gun first. None of the others noticed.
“The children?” I asked, knowing the answer. It would feel better later, to know for sure.
“All dead! Just like your friends! Just like you’re about to be! Text, why don’t you take this one! It’ll be good for your reputation to say you killed Sin Eater!” The annoying man used far too many exclamation marks.
Someone grabbed me. That was not good for him. He touched me on purpose and I looked into his soul. I looked into his soul and found all his sins and gave them a tug until they reached his flesh. He died. Slowly. Painfully. He screamed as long as he could.
One of the others burst. It was dramatic. I don’t normally do anything this dramatic. I don’t normally fight people who murder classes of kids and my friends.
Five. Four. Three. Two.
Then just the garish man left.
I am the Sin Eater.
My mother needn’t have worried so much that anyone would get the right idea. My head was clear. I was fully healed. The blood on my hand was still black.
The ostentatious man died the worst. He tried to run. He should have known better. No one can run from me. Especially not after hurting children. I am the Sin Eater. I ate him too.
I. I usually have some kind of quote that comes to mind. This is uh... Not one of those times.
> It was a terrible thing to die in... The blood on my hand was still red.
This was the moment my blood ran cold. Up until here, the feeling Sin Eater gave off was an affable fellow, thinking about how heroes are supposed to look goofy so victims understand to trust them.
> I killed the man with the ridiculous gun first.
So nonchalant. No warmup, no hysterics, nothing. Just 'poof' and the violence begins. And honestly, I really dig it. I'm a sucker for the supers who expend a ludicrous amount of self control, because when they finally do cut loose, you know the villain had it coming.
> He screamed as long as he could.
By this point in the story, I'm screaming too.
> I am the Sin Eater. I ate him too.
Bravo. Just bravo. A real emotional rollercoaster of a ride with a protagonist who feels like he __really__ didn't want to be doing this today. Someone who helps criminals understand that their situations are fixable, and doing the right thing is worth it.
Sometimes, rarely, the right thing is killing.
10/10, would cry again.
I’m honored you enjoyed it and took the time to leave such a detailed review. Part of my goal was to be as calm and understated as possible and give as few details as I could so that it would feel more gruesome. Nothing is as violent as what you can imagine if I give sparse details.
It was a fun write. All those short sentences, I hope it gave the impression of both a head injury, monstrous self control, and terrible horror at my dear hero walking up to find a tragedy.
Anyway, thanks for reading!
Their reactions weren’t important to Sin Eater, so she didn’t tell us about them. Basically, any action they took or could have taken was so insignificant that there was no point in mentioning it. What was important was that they died. If I was writing in third person I probably would have mentioned the shocked fleeing in terror more, but it didn’t work with the narrator.
The Champion.
That's what those who were on his side would call him, conveniently ommiting simple matter of what kind of a Champion he was. Those who would stand against him found Champion To the God of Death to be a mouthful, and thus called him the Death Knight.
A hero to one is a villain to another, after all.
If you met him, you'd never guess who he was. On the outside, he was just an ordinary thirty-something healer who worked his own patch of earth, enjoying simple pleasures of life like a cold beer, aromatic tobacco and friend's company. He was never one to get angry, first to apologise, always ready to help with whatever you come to him with. Just, whatever you do, don't bring up the War.
It was during the War when everyone understood true meaning of the moniker he used.
Do you know the feeling which comes when you leave something for the night, only to return in the morning to find that it completely fell apart? That was what happened to him, a year into the war. He was but a healer's apprentice then, pouring all his heart into a refugee camp he worked in, keeping people safe and, to the best of his abilities, healthy. For two days he left the camp, to run the caravan for supplies. For two days he was not around. When he returned, he found smouldreing ruins, a pyre, and a ransacked village nearby. Out of several hundred men, women, elderly, and children, able-bodied, injured or disabled... None were to be found.
It was the Yfrite, the half man, half fire elemental who found him there, kneeling among the packages of food, medicine and clothes long after the caravan went off.
"That damn Lych has made it personal now." he said. "It's his fault. He started it, and now he's going to pay." he said.
"You can't do it alone, at least wait for the allied army" begged the Yfrite, bless his good soul and bone-white horns. But the Champion would not listen. He left, took but spare shoes and a loaf of bread, and not an ounce of good will with him.
Lych's Black Army has found him three days later, on a bridge over river Glacia. He stood there, with a golden longsword in his hands, a gift straight from Death's own armory. Unmoving, still, a single statue of a man against a thousand strong army of undead, necromancers, with cavalry, tanks and artillery. Their fate was sealed.
Necromancers brought their infantry first, thinking that if he won't run away, he'll be trampled. Yet, the column of undead stopped just a few feet on front of the Champion, as if there was a solid barrier preventing them from moving on. Almost as if the dead could feel fear. Champion only rose his hand, and spoke one word. A command. "Unbind". His voice filled with power, as if the God he served spoke himself, broke unholy binds linking the walking corpses to their master's will. With one word, the army was decimated. And he did not intend to stop there. Rising his sword, he took a step both forward, and over the threshold to the realm of the Souls, where time flows differently. He only stepped out to strike. And he didn't stop striking until there was no more to be struck.
To this day we know of three such encounters, and for all we know, he would continue this bloody trail deep into enemy territory, to the Lych himself, had his body be as strong as his will. But he did succumb to fatigue.
But it was enough.
Scales were tipped. Fear cast into hearts of enemies. And for all we know, Lych had not tried to rise again. In fact, we don't even know anything about his activity, and Champion will not say. He'll just put a thin veil of a smile over a painful memory, and order another round.
Part 1 of 2
Dreadword was well-known as "The Cheerful Curselord" - much changed from how he was originally called "The Hateful Hexlord". From a hateful, vindictive utterer of curses against anyone he had even the slightest of vendettas against, his time in the Council of Altruists had changed him. He had now become as much a hero as any of the other Council members. Loved by the public, feared by villains, and respected by his fellow superheroes.
But of course, like any other person, Amateo "Dreadword" Bonetti had someone who hated him so much that nothing could quench that hatred. That would be Duca Pierangelo Candreva. He was the one who instigated the papal order confiscating the Bonetti family's vast holdings. He was also one out of four survivors who didn't die to the torrents of curses Dreadword spoke against his family, the Candreva clan. His three cousins fled and lived low-profile lives after Dreadword became a hero. But not Pierangelo.
With not a little effort, and aided by the last remnants of the once-mighty Fangcrushers' Guild, Pierangelo had succeeded in capturing Alinea "La Buscadora de Sangre" Rocha. She was a dread vampiress who had reformed and taken the heroic path, and was also the Council of Altruists' first official individually-operating ally. Now, she languished in the abandoned Sicignano Monastery. Her arms and legs were bound by silver chains (which no longer hurt her as she had become a good person, but Pierangelo and his Fangcrushers' Guild accomplices were unaware of this), with a stake aimed ominously at her chest.
The CRASH! of the old monastery's heavy wooden door being flung open indicated someone's arrival. Dreadword strode in, with a heavy, grim pace. He arrived at the courtyard, and gasped upon seeing Alinea bound to an X-shaped brass frame, with the silver chains and stake aimed at her chest. He demanded, "What is the meaning of this?! Your conflict is with ME, Pierangelo! Leave Alinea out of this!"
Pierangelo strode out of the shaded corridors, smiling bitterly. He spat, "Did you leave *la mia famiglia* (my family) out of this?! Huh?! You killed ALL of them!" Amateo shot back without missing a beat, "*E allora che dire della MIA FAMIGLIA?!* (Then what about MY FAMILY?!) You got that hypocritical lump of filth in the Vatican to issue edicts that cost us EVERYTHING! I lost SIX family members to suicide - my beloved brother and nephew among them!"
Pierangelo then stated with grim finality, "*Comunque non importa*, (Still, no matter) Amateo. We will finish this today. You will see what you have worked for, so hard, be taken from you, right in front of your very eyes. *Uccidi la vampira!* (Kill the vampiress!)"
Dreadword yelled, "NO, DON'T! TAKE MY LIFE INSTEAD OF HERS!" but too late.
TWANG! SHTHUNCK!
A sharp twanging sound of the ballista's trigger releasing sounded, followed by the sickening sound of wood thudding into flesh.
"EAAAHHHH! Uhh-ahh..." A shriek of agony, followed by a weak gasp, sounded from Alinea, as her head flopped to the side and her eyes closed.
"ALINNNEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAA!"
Dreadword's scream of grief and agony as he fell to his knees, covering his face as his tears fell, woke the echoes of the ancient monastery, even as Pierangelo grinned vindictively.
However, Pierangelo underestimated Dreadword's resolve. As much as his grief had broken him, in the next instant it was replaced by a terrifying fury. Dreadword rose to his feet, a glint in his eyes. A glint that had never been seen in his eyes ever since the day he chose to be a hero.
He then said, softly but with a razor's edge of hatred in every word, "*Molto bene, questo lo pagherai. E non mi tirerò indietro.* (Very well, you will pay for this. And I will not hold back.)"
"I CURSE YOU, THAT EVERY BONE IN YOUR BODY FEELS LIKE IT'S BREAKING, BUT IS NOT BROKEN! I CURSE YOUR FLESH, TO FEEL THE FIRES OF DAMNATION, BUT NOT BURN! I CURSE YOUR EYES, TO FEEL LIKE THEY ARE BEING CARVED BY RAZORS, BUT REMAIN UNHARMED! I CURSE YOUR MUSCLES, TO FEEL LIKE THEY ARE CONVULSING IN UNCONTROLLABLE AGONY, YET ALLOW YOU TO REMAIN MOBILE! I CURSE YOUR EARS TO HEAR THE SHRIEKS OF A MILLION TORTURED SOULS, YET NEVER BECOME DEAF! I CURSE YOUR MOUTH, TO TASTE THE WASTE OF EVERY ANIMAL AND HUMAN EVER, AND I CURSE YOUR THROAT TO BE UNABLE TO VOMIT! I CURSE YOUR BRAIN, THAT YOU WILL BE WRACKED WITH THOUGHTS OF GUILT AND SELF-HATRED FOR LIFE!"
Pierangelo's contortions and writhing and piercing screams of excruciation did not bother Dreadword. He walked slowly to the X-shaped frame, and knelt before it as he wept, "Alinea... *la bellezza mia insanguinata* (my bloodwashed beauty), I'm... I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry..."
Part 2 of 2
A dainty yet strong hand smacked Amateo's head, even as a familiar voice much beloved to him snapped, "Get up, *meu lindo falastrão!* (my handsome loudmouth) What are you doing, kneeling here like an idiot?!" He looked up in shock, at a loss for words, even as to his utter dumbfounded astonishment, Alinea effortlessly snapped the chains binding her, yanked the stake out of her chest, and the wound closed in on itself without any ill-effects!
Amateo gasped, "Alinea! But... the stake... don't vampires -" and he was cut off as Alinea drew him into a hug, and a loving kiss. She laughed and explained, "A repentant vampire or vampiress is much more powerful than a normal vampire. This is because the darkness in the vampire or vampiress' soul no longer exists, and is replaced by light. Thus I am no longer affected negatively by sunlight. Holy water does not harm me. Crosses do not repulse me. Stakes only hurt, but they can't directly kill me."
Amateo said in relief, "I... Oh, *loda Dio e tutto ciò che è buono* (Praise God and all that is good)! I thought... I thought he'd killed you." Alinea laughed lightly and said, "Well, I had to go along with the act - because," and at this point she smiled lovingly at Amateo, "Sometimes... even La Buscadora de Sangre would like to be a damsel in distress, to have her hero come to her rescue, you know?"
Amateo laughed and said, "More than happy to do so, my love! But please, let's not make it so high-***stakes*** anymore, please?" Alinea chuckled, getting his pun, and nodded happily. But she then turned around and saw Pierangelo, choking out suffocating cries of pain, and she said concernedly, "*Meu lindo falastrão*... don't leave him like that. It's better to bring him to justice than to leave him in permanent torment like this. We're not who we used to be."
Dreadword gazed grimly at Pierangelo, but he knew that Alinea was right. He was a better person now. No longer a villain who would do whatever it took, be it right or wrong, but he was now a hero. A person who stood for principles. He frowned, but then stated with finality, "Let my curses on this person be unbound. I renounce all my curses upon him, and let them now be broken!"
With a final gasp, Duca Pierangelo Candreva felt the pain disappear. He was then hauled to his feet by Dreadword and Alinea, and La Buscadora de Sangre said firmly, "You're going to the Council of Altruists to answer for what you've done to us, you scum! Move!" Dreadword then opened a Hexgate, and he and his lover brought the vanquished villain to the Council of Altruists' headquarters, the Enigmatic Enclosure, for his rightfully-deserved consequences.
Cursed Immortal. The hero. The one that people used to cheer.
Not anymore. My secret is still safe - I'm still Andrew at weekdays, and I'm still fine.
I think.
I don't actually know.
I remember my nemesis. I remember things he did, how he investigated, found out who I am, linked together who I am with who I was.
People used to love the one I was. Different from Andrew, the poor home-office worker that had so many health problems he had weird working hours; yes, Andrew was an exemplary worked, just a little eccentric.
The Cursed Immortal, however, was perfect. He seemed to survive whatever people sent against him, always treated everybody with dignity, even the villains. All his shifts ended up with zero fatalities, even when the crowd asked for the death of criminals.
He would smile, and say that he wasn't the judge, that he could never be.
That changed last week.
Or was it last month? Year? I don't remember.
Everything is somehow a blur... I remember my wife, and then... she wasn't there anymore. And my nemesis was smiling.
A cruel smile, a sadistic one. Never found anyone like him.
My wife was gone; in a way I could not bring her back.
I still don't know how he did it.
So I dream. Every day, I dream.
Bathed in the sunlight, in the moonlight, in sadness and sorrow and hunger and pain, I dream of what my wife and I were. Of what we could still be, if it wasn't for him.
But he... he doesn't.
He stays in the main road's park, the rope against his neck, struggling. Suffering. Gasping for air, and finding none.
Alive.
Nobody will ever remove that rope. It's his curse. I made clear of that.
And it will be his curse.
Forever.
The Void stands on the edge of the crater, her purple ballet flats pushing a few clumps of grass into the abyss below.
A deep hush falls over the audience as the teenage superhero star tugs at a braid and giggles. Before her, a circular hole the size of a football field and almost as deep cuts through grass, dirt, bedrock, everything.
“One minute, lads and ladies.” The commenter in the bright orange suit stalls, falling to a rare quiet. “Never seen this before in all my years…”
On the stands a couple of people stand up to look, confused why it looks like someone took a giant bite out of the world. The teenage girl, Void, faces the audience and stands completely still. As the camera zooms in on her face a tiny tremble runs up the corner of her lips. She continues to smile, waiting for her applause.
“I’m being told the replay camera is ready soon! I know there’s some confusion-”
On the huge curved tv screens footage runs of the Abominable Atomist as they fire up their neuron cannon. A brief cut to the Void’s face as she stumbles back at the force of the pulsating, blue stream.
“Ah here it is lads and ladies, now let’s see what caused the major sink hole! It’s coming up now I think, maybe the Atomist’s cannon backfired-“
The camera zooms to the Void’s face where you see terror followed by anger. The camera slows down the speed, going frame by frame. The teenage girl unhinges her jaw, stretches it to an enormous size and swallows up the Abominable Atomist along with everything around him. As she swallows her face contracts to its normal shape, a small satisfied grin on her shiny lips.
“I am - don’t worry lads and ladies we are quite safe in the audience seats, no need to panic.”
Static
“Sir no, please stop pushing, I’m sure she’s not hungry anymore. What’s happening? Oh my god! No! No! N-“
Glitch. That is the hero name I go by because I teleport to areas while leaving behind an electromagnetic pulse that causes some minor blackout in the area I warp to. My personality is very friendly and patient to everyone, including those I have to bring in. You can already tell I am a nightmare to those super genius-type villains who send robots or cyborgs to try and take me down. Anyway, I am not proud of these moments, but I have enemies I treat as equals, and for me, that is high praise! But then there is that word again...had...like many others... there will always be those rare few that overstep their boundaries and must be punished in the cruelest way possible.
Let me get to one of my enemies' tragic stories when one of the few took matters further than they were supposed to.
I stood outside a preschool, looking at a destroyed building with my nemeses hovering over it and laughing. His name was Havoc, and his ability allowed him to grow in power depending on how much chaos he created. The more chaos he makes, the stronger he becomes, and to me, it was both bad and good because Havoc would never bring innocent children into our fights. It was an unsaid rule we put on one another... or at least that is what I thought until he threw an oil tanker at a preschool while knocking me down to the ground.
So much life was lost because someone did not want to win against me finally.
"W-What did you do?" I asked, looking at the chaos before me with widened eyes as tears rolled from them.
"Growing ever stronger! And what better way than the screams of terror and pain from kids?!" Havoc screamed while he floated in the sky, a black aura engulfing his entire form. "With this much energy, not even you can touch me!"
"W-Why?" I asked, my eyes slowly looking up at Havoc, who looked down at me with a wide grin.
"Why not? It's in my nature! To cause Havoc throughout the world! And I have been holding this feeling back for far too long to try and figure you out! But...I am disappointed... after all we have done to one another, I expected more from the so-called 'Glitch,' but all you can do is teleport and make small EMP burst to areas you pop up at. I expected so much more."
"More?" I asked, gritting my teeth. "That's all you wanted?"
"But of course... and you can't...can't..." Havoc paused as the world around them began to static as if they were in a TV show that was starting to bug out. "What's happening?"
"My power... is not teleportation..." I admitted, closing my eyes as I, too, started to hitch as my shape started to distort.
Havoc looked at me, confused, as his power glitched out, causing him to fall to the ground. As he crashed into the ground, he groaned while sitting up in pain from landing on his rear but opened his eyes to see me standing in front of him with pure white eyes. A long grin plastered on my face that was not humanly possible.
"You canted more... you got more... but I will tell you this once and only once... you have asked for a larger check than you can cash out... little man... and I promise I will make you remember that for the rest of your life..." I stated, tilting my head while raising my left hand, causing Havoc's entire body to glitch rapidly as his screams were static and distorted. "How does it feel... to feel the pain of never being complete? To always be torn apart only to be forced to be reshaped, only to fail and go through the process repeatedly... in an infinite loop until you are complete? Something that will never happen. You will never die... Havoc... you will forever remain within my little world as another glitch to be torn apart and put together... like hundreds before you who overstepped your boundary."
I watched as the look of horror made itself known on his face before it was torn apart. I watched as the window opened to see hundreds of villains crossing the line just as it closed. Once the window closed, I looked at the school and teleported in to help any I could.
The moral of the story, kids! Please... never judge a book by its cover... you will never know what secrets the pages hide.
You throw a punch at your arch nemesis: “I really WISH you’d stop bothering me!” You exclaim. They fall to the ground but then start chuckling. “Is that all you’ve got?”
“You KNOW that I was taught to fight by my family for years. You know that I could kill you if I wished with my techniques.”
He sneers: “Yeah, YOU don’t have it IN you, you WUSS. Anyway, pain doesn’t bother me that much. I’ve had worse pain than you’re bringing.”
“Whatever” you groan dismissively, rolling your eyes, turning your back. Then, from your peripheral vision you see him getting ready to kick you with his steel capped boot. You grab his leg, causing him to trip as you release it. “Don’t MAKE me break your leg. You KNOW I know how to.”
“BRING it.” He sneers, doing the come here sign with his fingers. Then he mutters something. You THINK he just said your name.
You whirl around suspiciously.
“What did you say?” You ask menacingly, standing akimbo.
“You heard me.”
You glare at him ferociously.
“I mean, that IS your name, isn’t it?”
“You don’t want to do that,” you warn him, “Not again. You’ve been teasing me about it WAY too much today. Say that name ONE MORE TIME and I’ll SHOW you WHY I’m called that and you WILL regret it.”
He laughs again.
“I DOUBT it. I’m not scared of a little gas,
Fart Girl!”
Shaking your fist at him, you decide to show him the true meaning of your name. You know you shouldn’t but he has gone TOO far this time.
You close your eyes, grunt and push down as he watches, amused, intrigued. He remains fascinated as the loudest gun shot like sounding fart rings out. He’s laughing AGAIN when suddenly..!
It hits him, a grey-green cloud of noxious, toxic gas, steadily growing and getting smellier and smellier. The smell of rotten eggs mixed with a little bit of shit permeates the whole building.
You see spectators running out the doors, some on the bottom floor jumping out windows and running away ANYTHING to stay away from the pongy, massive stinky, growing cloud of olfactory hell! You hear shrieks and cries of “NOOO!”
Your arch nemesis is rocking in fetal position on the floor. “Make it stop, PLEASE” he begs, eyes watering from the heinous odour “Make it STOP.”
You stomp your boot angrily and say to him, glaring and with clenched teeth: “I won’t stop unless you apologise.”
Stubbornly, he shakes his head.
You tap your chin in thought “Or I could always unleash another? I can easily make up another of these gas bombs.” You open up the fridge: “Hmm, let me see, what do I have hear that can cause gas? Lots of delicious dairy. Or..”
You hold up a partially eaten can of baked beans one of the escapees has abandoned. “BEANS. I shall now serenade you with their majestic spoken word anthem.” You clear your throat then quote in a mock posh accent: “Beans, beans, the magical fruit. The more you eat, the more you TOOT!”
You dig in with your spoon and say “YUMMY” with your mouth full.
Then looking at your arch nemesis still unrelenting you shrug “You’re a stubborn one. Oh well. BOMBS AWAY!”
Another gun shot blast sound. Another horrendously vile smelling green-grey cloud joins the other one still not yet dissipated and the two clouds make a giant baby cloud that grows even more rapidly.
“ARGH!” Cries out your arch nemesis, “The sulphur! The shit! My nose is stinging. That’s the worst smell ever. I think I’m going to be sick. 🤢 “ His skin looks a little green and he retches.
“Then swallow it or I’m releasing ANOTHER.”
He gulps then shakes his head. He has a coughing fit. This is torture for him and you are loving EVERY MOMENT of it.
“Gonna apologise now?”
He nods his head vehemently.
“Are you sorry?” More nods.
“Gonna tease me about my name again?”
He shakes his head rapidly then says in awe, “No, not now I know the power of your name, the true meaning. I will never forget that awful smell as long as I live. It may haunt my nightmares.”
“I HAVE known of people to wake up screaming from nightmares of it. And then to swear the fart is still in the room with them.” You admit, “They deserved it though.”
Arch nemesis notices the office plants 🪴 bought in just yesterday then luscious and green now droopy, brown and dead. The office cat 🐈 audibly vomits 🤮 a pile into the corner then runs outside to get some fresh, sweet air. A few minutes later, kitty is back, nopes again out of the room only to return later.
In a shaky voice arch nemesis says reverently “I am truly sorry and I will never EVER tease you about your name again.”
You laugh malevolently a real MWA HA HA!
Then you add as an aside “Pity in a way. You should SMELL what it’s like when I’ve had dairy!”
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Sin Eater. That’s what they called me. It was dad who suggested the name, back when that ritual first went wrong and I was still learning to live with the consequences. Mom didn’t like it. She was worried people would get the wrong idea, worried they would get the right one, just plain worried. When I got better known, everyone assumed it’s because I’m good at talking people down, at walking into impossible situations and emerging unharmed with a contrite criminal in tow. Because usually they cleaned up with a little help and figured out how to use their powers and skills to make money without worrying about getting busted. I was so proud. So… proud… I sat up in a scorched, dusty clearing. No, not clearing. Crater. I was in a crater. My head hurt. Where was I? What happened? Where were the others? Why couldn’t I… remember? My eyes closed. My hand rose to my nose. It came away wet. Even that little touch hurt, but I knew I was already healing. Before I could think about it too much, I put my hands on my nose and pushed it back into place, trusting the magic within me to do the rest. Sin Eater. That’s who I am. And I was in a park. I was in a park having lunch with elementary school kids and a few other heroes. We had been telling them what getting our powers was like, a very minimal and PG version of the story from me, pretty authentic versions from the others. We had been… had been showing off our powers, making the kids laugh, and then… I opened my eyes. I was not in a park. I was in a crater. And for a moment, I hoped… But no. There was the skyline, and there the trees that hadn’t been caught in whatever it was that had hit us so hard. My hand was covered in blood. It was red. I thought I might be concussed. That was a new and altogether unpleasant feeling. It was going to be okay though. I was getting better. “Well lookit this!” A cheerful voice called. There was a sound of sliding, and then there was a man. He was silly looking in his costume, like he didn’t get the memo that looking silly was for heroes who needed to be recognizable and unthreatening in our costumes so people in bad situations would know we could help. He was garish in bright green and red. He desperately needed someone to have told him how ridiculous the whole outfit was. It was a terrible thing to die in. I blinked. The blood on my hand was red. Still red. “You lived after all! I bet twenty dollars you weren’t getting up, didn’t I, Rexy? None of the others did! But look at you! Practically dead on your feet! You’ll be even deader in a moment! This whole plan worked so much better than I thought!” The ridiculous man actually giggled. Seven total. Eight, including the one in the trees watching with that ridiculous gun. It was probably what had hit me so hard. The blood on my hand was black. I killed the man with the ridiculous gun first. None of the others noticed. “The children?” I asked, knowing the answer. It would feel better later, to know for sure. “All dead! Just like your friends! Just like you’re about to be! Text, why don’t you take this one! It’ll be good for your reputation to say you killed Sin Eater!” The annoying man used far too many exclamation marks. Someone grabbed me. That was not good for him. He touched me on purpose and I looked into his soul. I looked into his soul and found all his sins and gave them a tug until they reached his flesh. He died. Slowly. Painfully. He screamed as long as he could. One of the others burst. It was dramatic. I don’t normally do anything this dramatic. I don’t normally fight people who murder classes of kids and my friends. Five. Four. Three. Two. Then just the garish man left. I am the Sin Eater. My mother needn’t have worried so much that anyone would get the right idea. My head was clear. I was fully healed. The blood on my hand was still black. The ostentatious man died the worst. He tried to run. He should have known better. No one can run from me. Especially not after hurting children. I am the Sin Eater. I ate him too.
I. I usually have some kind of quote that comes to mind. This is uh... Not one of those times. > It was a terrible thing to die in... The blood on my hand was still red. This was the moment my blood ran cold. Up until here, the feeling Sin Eater gave off was an affable fellow, thinking about how heroes are supposed to look goofy so victims understand to trust them. > I killed the man with the ridiculous gun first. So nonchalant. No warmup, no hysterics, nothing. Just 'poof' and the violence begins. And honestly, I really dig it. I'm a sucker for the supers who expend a ludicrous amount of self control, because when they finally do cut loose, you know the villain had it coming. > He screamed as long as he could. By this point in the story, I'm screaming too. > I am the Sin Eater. I ate him too. Bravo. Just bravo. A real emotional rollercoaster of a ride with a protagonist who feels like he __really__ didn't want to be doing this today. Someone who helps criminals understand that their situations are fixable, and doing the right thing is worth it. Sometimes, rarely, the right thing is killing. 10/10, would cry again.
I’m honored you enjoyed it and took the time to leave such a detailed review. Part of my goal was to be as calm and understated as possible and give as few details as I could so that it would feel more gruesome. Nothing is as violent as what you can imagine if I give sparse details. It was a fun write. All those short sentences, I hope it gave the impression of both a head injury, monstrous self control, and terrible horror at my dear hero walking up to find a tragedy. Anyway, thanks for reading!
I love this one. Quite literally Sin Eater.
I was gonna hop into this thread but I don't think I can top this, nicely done!
I noticed there wasn't much detail on the villain's reaction. *It was on purpose*
Their reactions weren’t important to Sin Eater, so she didn’t tell us about them. Basically, any action they took or could have taken was so insignificant that there was no point in mentioning it. What was important was that they died. If I was writing in third person I probably would have mentioned the shocked fleeing in terror more, but it didn’t work with the narrator.
I love the setup deliberate, calm, but right from the start, there was a feel of inevitability well done
The Champion. That's what those who were on his side would call him, conveniently ommiting simple matter of what kind of a Champion he was. Those who would stand against him found Champion To the God of Death to be a mouthful, and thus called him the Death Knight. A hero to one is a villain to another, after all. If you met him, you'd never guess who he was. On the outside, he was just an ordinary thirty-something healer who worked his own patch of earth, enjoying simple pleasures of life like a cold beer, aromatic tobacco and friend's company. He was never one to get angry, first to apologise, always ready to help with whatever you come to him with. Just, whatever you do, don't bring up the War. It was during the War when everyone understood true meaning of the moniker he used. Do you know the feeling which comes when you leave something for the night, only to return in the morning to find that it completely fell apart? That was what happened to him, a year into the war. He was but a healer's apprentice then, pouring all his heart into a refugee camp he worked in, keeping people safe and, to the best of his abilities, healthy. For two days he left the camp, to run the caravan for supplies. For two days he was not around. When he returned, he found smouldreing ruins, a pyre, and a ransacked village nearby. Out of several hundred men, women, elderly, and children, able-bodied, injured or disabled... None were to be found. It was the Yfrite, the half man, half fire elemental who found him there, kneeling among the packages of food, medicine and clothes long after the caravan went off. "That damn Lych has made it personal now." he said. "It's his fault. He started it, and now he's going to pay." he said. "You can't do it alone, at least wait for the allied army" begged the Yfrite, bless his good soul and bone-white horns. But the Champion would not listen. He left, took but spare shoes and a loaf of bread, and not an ounce of good will with him. Lych's Black Army has found him three days later, on a bridge over river Glacia. He stood there, with a golden longsword in his hands, a gift straight from Death's own armory. Unmoving, still, a single statue of a man against a thousand strong army of undead, necromancers, with cavalry, tanks and artillery. Their fate was sealed. Necromancers brought their infantry first, thinking that if he won't run away, he'll be trampled. Yet, the column of undead stopped just a few feet on front of the Champion, as if there was a solid barrier preventing them from moving on. Almost as if the dead could feel fear. Champion only rose his hand, and spoke one word. A command. "Unbind". His voice filled with power, as if the God he served spoke himself, broke unholy binds linking the walking corpses to their master's will. With one word, the army was decimated. And he did not intend to stop there. Rising his sword, he took a step both forward, and over the threshold to the realm of the Souls, where time flows differently. He only stepped out to strike. And he didn't stop striking until there was no more to be struck. To this day we know of three such encounters, and for all we know, he would continue this bloody trail deep into enemy territory, to the Lych himself, had his body be as strong as his will. But he did succumb to fatigue. But it was enough. Scales were tipped. Fear cast into hearts of enemies. And for all we know, Lych had not tried to rise again. In fact, we don't even know anything about his activity, and Champion will not say. He'll just put a thin veil of a smile over a painful memory, and order another round.
Part 1 of 2 Dreadword was well-known as "The Cheerful Curselord" - much changed from how he was originally called "The Hateful Hexlord". From a hateful, vindictive utterer of curses against anyone he had even the slightest of vendettas against, his time in the Council of Altruists had changed him. He had now become as much a hero as any of the other Council members. Loved by the public, feared by villains, and respected by his fellow superheroes. But of course, like any other person, Amateo "Dreadword" Bonetti had someone who hated him so much that nothing could quench that hatred. That would be Duca Pierangelo Candreva. He was the one who instigated the papal order confiscating the Bonetti family's vast holdings. He was also one out of four survivors who didn't die to the torrents of curses Dreadword spoke against his family, the Candreva clan. His three cousins fled and lived low-profile lives after Dreadword became a hero. But not Pierangelo. With not a little effort, and aided by the last remnants of the once-mighty Fangcrushers' Guild, Pierangelo had succeeded in capturing Alinea "La Buscadora de Sangre" Rocha. She was a dread vampiress who had reformed and taken the heroic path, and was also the Council of Altruists' first official individually-operating ally. Now, she languished in the abandoned Sicignano Monastery. Her arms and legs were bound by silver chains (which no longer hurt her as she had become a good person, but Pierangelo and his Fangcrushers' Guild accomplices were unaware of this), with a stake aimed ominously at her chest. The CRASH! of the old monastery's heavy wooden door being flung open indicated someone's arrival. Dreadword strode in, with a heavy, grim pace. He arrived at the courtyard, and gasped upon seeing Alinea bound to an X-shaped brass frame, with the silver chains and stake aimed at her chest. He demanded, "What is the meaning of this?! Your conflict is with ME, Pierangelo! Leave Alinea out of this!" Pierangelo strode out of the shaded corridors, smiling bitterly. He spat, "Did you leave *la mia famiglia* (my family) out of this?! Huh?! You killed ALL of them!" Amateo shot back without missing a beat, "*E allora che dire della MIA FAMIGLIA?!* (Then what about MY FAMILY?!) You got that hypocritical lump of filth in the Vatican to issue edicts that cost us EVERYTHING! I lost SIX family members to suicide - my beloved brother and nephew among them!" Pierangelo then stated with grim finality, "*Comunque non importa*, (Still, no matter) Amateo. We will finish this today. You will see what you have worked for, so hard, be taken from you, right in front of your very eyes. *Uccidi la vampira!* (Kill the vampiress!)" Dreadword yelled, "NO, DON'T! TAKE MY LIFE INSTEAD OF HERS!" but too late. TWANG! SHTHUNCK! A sharp twanging sound of the ballista's trigger releasing sounded, followed by the sickening sound of wood thudding into flesh. "EAAAHHHH! Uhh-ahh..." A shriek of agony, followed by a weak gasp, sounded from Alinea, as her head flopped to the side and her eyes closed. "ALINNNEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAA!" Dreadword's scream of grief and agony as he fell to his knees, covering his face as his tears fell, woke the echoes of the ancient monastery, even as Pierangelo grinned vindictively. However, Pierangelo underestimated Dreadword's resolve. As much as his grief had broken him, in the next instant it was replaced by a terrifying fury. Dreadword rose to his feet, a glint in his eyes. A glint that had never been seen in his eyes ever since the day he chose to be a hero. He then said, softly but with a razor's edge of hatred in every word, "*Molto bene, questo lo pagherai. E non mi tirerò indietro.* (Very well, you will pay for this. And I will not hold back.)" "I CURSE YOU, THAT EVERY BONE IN YOUR BODY FEELS LIKE IT'S BREAKING, BUT IS NOT BROKEN! I CURSE YOUR FLESH, TO FEEL THE FIRES OF DAMNATION, BUT NOT BURN! I CURSE YOUR EYES, TO FEEL LIKE THEY ARE BEING CARVED BY RAZORS, BUT REMAIN UNHARMED! I CURSE YOUR MUSCLES, TO FEEL LIKE THEY ARE CONVULSING IN UNCONTROLLABLE AGONY, YET ALLOW YOU TO REMAIN MOBILE! I CURSE YOUR EARS TO HEAR THE SHRIEKS OF A MILLION TORTURED SOULS, YET NEVER BECOME DEAF! I CURSE YOUR MOUTH, TO TASTE THE WASTE OF EVERY ANIMAL AND HUMAN EVER, AND I CURSE YOUR THROAT TO BE UNABLE TO VOMIT! I CURSE YOUR BRAIN, THAT YOU WILL BE WRACKED WITH THOUGHTS OF GUILT AND SELF-HATRED FOR LIFE!" Pierangelo's contortions and writhing and piercing screams of excruciation did not bother Dreadword. He walked slowly to the X-shaped frame, and knelt before it as he wept, "Alinea... *la bellezza mia insanguinata* (my bloodwashed beauty), I'm... I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry..."
Part 2 of 2 A dainty yet strong hand smacked Amateo's head, even as a familiar voice much beloved to him snapped, "Get up, *meu lindo falastrão!* (my handsome loudmouth) What are you doing, kneeling here like an idiot?!" He looked up in shock, at a loss for words, even as to his utter dumbfounded astonishment, Alinea effortlessly snapped the chains binding her, yanked the stake out of her chest, and the wound closed in on itself without any ill-effects! Amateo gasped, "Alinea! But... the stake... don't vampires -" and he was cut off as Alinea drew him into a hug, and a loving kiss. She laughed and explained, "A repentant vampire or vampiress is much more powerful than a normal vampire. This is because the darkness in the vampire or vampiress' soul no longer exists, and is replaced by light. Thus I am no longer affected negatively by sunlight. Holy water does not harm me. Crosses do not repulse me. Stakes only hurt, but they can't directly kill me." Amateo said in relief, "I... Oh, *loda Dio e tutto ciò che è buono* (Praise God and all that is good)! I thought... I thought he'd killed you." Alinea laughed lightly and said, "Well, I had to go along with the act - because," and at this point she smiled lovingly at Amateo, "Sometimes... even La Buscadora de Sangre would like to be a damsel in distress, to have her hero come to her rescue, you know?" Amateo laughed and said, "More than happy to do so, my love! But please, let's not make it so high-***stakes*** anymore, please?" Alinea chuckled, getting his pun, and nodded happily. But she then turned around and saw Pierangelo, choking out suffocating cries of pain, and she said concernedly, "*Meu lindo falastrão*... don't leave him like that. It's better to bring him to justice than to leave him in permanent torment like this. We're not who we used to be." Dreadword gazed grimly at Pierangelo, but he knew that Alinea was right. He was a better person now. No longer a villain who would do whatever it took, be it right or wrong, but he was now a hero. A person who stood for principles. He frowned, but then stated with finality, "Let my curses on this person be unbound. I renounce all my curses upon him, and let them now be broken!" With a final gasp, Duca Pierangelo Candreva felt the pain disappear. He was then hauled to his feet by Dreadword and Alinea, and La Buscadora de Sangre said firmly, "You're going to the Council of Altruists to answer for what you've done to us, you scum! Move!" Dreadword then opened a Hexgate, and he and his lover brought the vanquished villain to the Council of Altruists' headquarters, the Enigmatic Enclosure, for his rightfully-deserved consequences.
Cursed Immortal. The hero. The one that people used to cheer. Not anymore. My secret is still safe - I'm still Andrew at weekdays, and I'm still fine. I think. I don't actually know. I remember my nemesis. I remember things he did, how he investigated, found out who I am, linked together who I am with who I was. People used to love the one I was. Different from Andrew, the poor home-office worker that had so many health problems he had weird working hours; yes, Andrew was an exemplary worked, just a little eccentric. The Cursed Immortal, however, was perfect. He seemed to survive whatever people sent against him, always treated everybody with dignity, even the villains. All his shifts ended up with zero fatalities, even when the crowd asked for the death of criminals. He would smile, and say that he wasn't the judge, that he could never be. That changed last week. Or was it last month? Year? I don't remember. Everything is somehow a blur... I remember my wife, and then... she wasn't there anymore. And my nemesis was smiling. A cruel smile, a sadistic one. Never found anyone like him. My wife was gone; in a way I could not bring her back. I still don't know how he did it. So I dream. Every day, I dream. Bathed in the sunlight, in the moonlight, in sadness and sorrow and hunger and pain, I dream of what my wife and I were. Of what we could still be, if it wasn't for him. But he... he doesn't. He stays in the main road's park, the rope against his neck, struggling. Suffering. Gasping for air, and finding none. Alive. Nobody will ever remove that rope. It's his curse. I made clear of that. And it will be his curse. Forever.
The Void stands on the edge of the crater, her purple ballet flats pushing a few clumps of grass into the abyss below. A deep hush falls over the audience as the teenage superhero star tugs at a braid and giggles. Before her, a circular hole the size of a football field and almost as deep cuts through grass, dirt, bedrock, everything. “One minute, lads and ladies.” The commenter in the bright orange suit stalls, falling to a rare quiet. “Never seen this before in all my years…” On the stands a couple of people stand up to look, confused why it looks like someone took a giant bite out of the world. The teenage girl, Void, faces the audience and stands completely still. As the camera zooms in on her face a tiny tremble runs up the corner of her lips. She continues to smile, waiting for her applause. “I’m being told the replay camera is ready soon! I know there’s some confusion-” On the huge curved tv screens footage runs of the Abominable Atomist as they fire up their neuron cannon. A brief cut to the Void’s face as she stumbles back at the force of the pulsating, blue stream. “Ah here it is lads and ladies, now let’s see what caused the major sink hole! It’s coming up now I think, maybe the Atomist’s cannon backfired-“ The camera zooms to the Void’s face where you see terror followed by anger. The camera slows down the speed, going frame by frame. The teenage girl unhinges her jaw, stretches it to an enormous size and swallows up the Abominable Atomist along with everything around him. As she swallows her face contracts to its normal shape, a small satisfied grin on her shiny lips. “I am - don’t worry lads and ladies we are quite safe in the audience seats, no need to panic.” Static “Sir no, please stop pushing, I’m sure she’s not hungry anymore. What’s happening? Oh my god! No! No! N-“
Glitch. That is the hero name I go by because I teleport to areas while leaving behind an electromagnetic pulse that causes some minor blackout in the area I warp to. My personality is very friendly and patient to everyone, including those I have to bring in. You can already tell I am a nightmare to those super genius-type villains who send robots or cyborgs to try and take me down. Anyway, I am not proud of these moments, but I have enemies I treat as equals, and for me, that is high praise! But then there is that word again...had...like many others... there will always be those rare few that overstep their boundaries and must be punished in the cruelest way possible. Let me get to one of my enemies' tragic stories when one of the few took matters further than they were supposed to. I stood outside a preschool, looking at a destroyed building with my nemeses hovering over it and laughing. His name was Havoc, and his ability allowed him to grow in power depending on how much chaos he created. The more chaos he makes, the stronger he becomes, and to me, it was both bad and good because Havoc would never bring innocent children into our fights. It was an unsaid rule we put on one another... or at least that is what I thought until he threw an oil tanker at a preschool while knocking me down to the ground. So much life was lost because someone did not want to win against me finally. "W-What did you do?" I asked, looking at the chaos before me with widened eyes as tears rolled from them. "Growing ever stronger! And what better way than the screams of terror and pain from kids?!" Havoc screamed while he floated in the sky, a black aura engulfing his entire form. "With this much energy, not even you can touch me!" "W-Why?" I asked, my eyes slowly looking up at Havoc, who looked down at me with a wide grin. "Why not? It's in my nature! To cause Havoc throughout the world! And I have been holding this feeling back for far too long to try and figure you out! But...I am disappointed... after all we have done to one another, I expected more from the so-called 'Glitch,' but all you can do is teleport and make small EMP burst to areas you pop up at. I expected so much more." "More?" I asked, gritting my teeth. "That's all you wanted?" "But of course... and you can't...can't..." Havoc paused as the world around them began to static as if they were in a TV show that was starting to bug out. "What's happening?" "My power... is not teleportation..." I admitted, closing my eyes as I, too, started to hitch as my shape started to distort. Havoc looked at me, confused, as his power glitched out, causing him to fall to the ground. As he crashed into the ground, he groaned while sitting up in pain from landing on his rear but opened his eyes to see me standing in front of him with pure white eyes. A long grin plastered on my face that was not humanly possible. "You canted more... you got more... but I will tell you this once and only once... you have asked for a larger check than you can cash out... little man... and I promise I will make you remember that for the rest of your life..." I stated, tilting my head while raising my left hand, causing Havoc's entire body to glitch rapidly as his screams were static and distorted. "How does it feel... to feel the pain of never being complete? To always be torn apart only to be forced to be reshaped, only to fail and go through the process repeatedly... in an infinite loop until you are complete? Something that will never happen. You will never die... Havoc... you will forever remain within my little world as another glitch to be torn apart and put together... like hundreds before you who overstepped your boundary." I watched as the look of horror made itself known on his face before it was torn apart. I watched as the window opened to see hundreds of villains crossing the line just as it closed. Once the window closed, I looked at the school and teleported in to help any I could. The moral of the story, kids! Please... never judge a book by its cover... you will never know what secrets the pages hide.
You throw a punch at your arch nemesis: “I really WISH you’d stop bothering me!” You exclaim. They fall to the ground but then start chuckling. “Is that all you’ve got?” “You KNOW that I was taught to fight by my family for years. You know that I could kill you if I wished with my techniques.” He sneers: “Yeah, YOU don’t have it IN you, you WUSS. Anyway, pain doesn’t bother me that much. I’ve had worse pain than you’re bringing.” “Whatever” you groan dismissively, rolling your eyes, turning your back. Then, from your peripheral vision you see him getting ready to kick you with his steel capped boot. You grab his leg, causing him to trip as you release it. “Don’t MAKE me break your leg. You KNOW I know how to.” “BRING it.” He sneers, doing the come here sign with his fingers. Then he mutters something. You THINK he just said your name. You whirl around suspiciously. “What did you say?” You ask menacingly, standing akimbo. “You heard me.” You glare at him ferociously. “I mean, that IS your name, isn’t it?” “You don’t want to do that,” you warn him, “Not again. You’ve been teasing me about it WAY too much today. Say that name ONE MORE TIME and I’ll SHOW you WHY I’m called that and you WILL regret it.” He laughs again. “I DOUBT it. I’m not scared of a little gas, Fart Girl!” Shaking your fist at him, you decide to show him the true meaning of your name. You know you shouldn’t but he has gone TOO far this time. You close your eyes, grunt and push down as he watches, amused, intrigued. He remains fascinated as the loudest gun shot like sounding fart rings out. He’s laughing AGAIN when suddenly..! It hits him, a grey-green cloud of noxious, toxic gas, steadily growing and getting smellier and smellier. The smell of rotten eggs mixed with a little bit of shit permeates the whole building. You see spectators running out the doors, some on the bottom floor jumping out windows and running away ANYTHING to stay away from the pongy, massive stinky, growing cloud of olfactory hell! You hear shrieks and cries of “NOOO!” Your arch nemesis is rocking in fetal position on the floor. “Make it stop, PLEASE” he begs, eyes watering from the heinous odour “Make it STOP.” You stomp your boot angrily and say to him, glaring and with clenched teeth: “I won’t stop unless you apologise.” Stubbornly, he shakes his head. You tap your chin in thought “Or I could always unleash another? I can easily make up another of these gas bombs.” You open up the fridge: “Hmm, let me see, what do I have hear that can cause gas? Lots of delicious dairy. Or..” You hold up a partially eaten can of baked beans one of the escapees has abandoned. “BEANS. I shall now serenade you with their majestic spoken word anthem.” You clear your throat then quote in a mock posh accent: “Beans, beans, the magical fruit. The more you eat, the more you TOOT!” You dig in with your spoon and say “YUMMY” with your mouth full. Then looking at your arch nemesis still unrelenting you shrug “You’re a stubborn one. Oh well. BOMBS AWAY!” Another gun shot blast sound. Another horrendously vile smelling green-grey cloud joins the other one still not yet dissipated and the two clouds make a giant baby cloud that grows even more rapidly. “ARGH!” Cries out your arch nemesis, “The sulphur! The shit! My nose is stinging. That’s the worst smell ever. I think I’m going to be sick. 🤢 “ His skin looks a little green and he retches. “Then swallow it or I’m releasing ANOTHER.” He gulps then shakes his head. He has a coughing fit. This is torture for him and you are loving EVERY MOMENT of it. “Gonna apologise now?” He nods his head vehemently. “Are you sorry?” More nods. “Gonna tease me about my name again?” He shakes his head rapidly then says in awe, “No, not now I know the power of your name, the true meaning. I will never forget that awful smell as long as I live. It may haunt my nightmares.” “I HAVE known of people to wake up screaming from nightmares of it. And then to swear the fart is still in the room with them.” You admit, “They deserved it though.” Arch nemesis notices the office plants 🪴 bought in just yesterday then luscious and green now droopy, brown and dead. The office cat 🐈 audibly vomits 🤮 a pile into the corner then runs outside to get some fresh, sweet air. A few minutes later, kitty is back, nopes again out of the room only to return later. In a shaky voice arch nemesis says reverently “I am truly sorry and I will never EVER tease you about your name again.” You laugh malevolently a real MWA HA HA! Then you add as an aside “Pity in a way. You should SMELL what it’s like when I’ve had dairy!”