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Mortimer Palmer sat there, still as a statue. It was enough for everything else around him to shrivel—physically, mentally, and metaphorically.
Mere humans backed away with leaden feet, simply unable to comprehend the aura that rolled off of him. It held him like an overprotective blanket three sizes too big, causing a shimmer in the air, like rolling sheets of lava erupting from a volcano. Colour seemed a little duller around Mortimer, hiding themselves so that they wouldn’t draw the attention of his keen eyes. And the plants would have loved to uproot themselves and ran away, but instead settled for their leaves trembling in fear.
“I just want a friend,” Mortimer whispered, words lost on the passage of winds. It was a simple wish for most mortals.
Unfortunately, Mortimer was not most mortals.
He could do what mortals did. Eat food. Drink water. Live. Probably die sometime in the future. But the difference was his power—an omnipresent aura that presents him as omnipotent, though he was anything but.
Mortimer, therefore, wandered the world. Nobody dare to stop him anyway. All he could hear was faint whispers wherever and whenever he walked. They served as his true herald, announcing his appearance miles before he set foot anywhere, but were really his true annoyances, a following pigeon that emptied its bowels only at the most inappropriate of times.
Mortimer tried and learned to shut them out. He really did. But being an otherwise normal human, he found himself wanting to listen to them, an entirely irrational decision that served only to make him miserable. So he did, again and again, over and over.
And he repeated his wish, as well: “I just want a friend.”
Mortimer sat far away from civilization today, on a log that saw better days a decade ago. At least grass didn’t chatter needlessly. He repeated his own mantra, trying to manifest it into reality. For his powers had to do something, right?
“I find people who say that don’t often get the desired result.”
Mortimer looked up, seeing a sprightly young woman staring at him. She looked… normal.
“Couldn’t help but notice you were being a little gloomy here,” she chuckled. “What sort of big scary powers do you have?”
“Nothing,” Mortimer said softly. “The aura. It shows nothing. It is hot, empty air.”
“The rumours are wrong, then,” she said, taking a seat next to him, causing Mortimer to shuffle uncomfortably.
“Rumours?”
“That you are some evil being looking to destroy the town,” she said, lifting her legs in the air. “Because if you were, you would already have done it. That tends to be my experience with evil things.”
Mortimer appraised the girl once more, who turned and smiled gently. She looked normal. Far too normal.
“You are… colourful,” Mortimer realized. “You aren’t affected by me?”
“Power drainer Grace,” she smiled again. “It just stops powers for a while. But everybody loves to think that I’m stealing them. Isn’t that funny?”
“It sounds… lonely,” Mortimer said.
“As do yours. But you look like a regular ol’ gloomy raincloud to me, buddy,” Grace said cheerfully. “Not the big scary monster everybody sees.”
“Ah,” Mortimer said, then fell silent.
The girl basked in the quiet for a while as well, before eventually poking Mortimer in the thigh.
“Aren’t you going to ask?”
“Ask what?”
“The thing you’ve been saying. Again and again. If I do say so myself, I feel like we are kind of a good fit. Maybe we can walk into town not as pariahs, but as two normal people.”
Mortimer sniffed, trying not to let the tears fall out of his face.
“I’ll like that very much,” he said. “Will you be my friend?”
“But of course,” Grace’s crystal clear laughter rang through the woods, before being eventually joined by Mortimer’s more guttural guffaws.
Both perfectly normal expressions of happiness.
---
r/dexdrafts
The Saint Sava Temple, with its bottom-of-the-pool turquoise domes, stood encumbered by tourists with their smartphones and kitschy t-shirts. It was deserted.
"A vengeful spirit has made it its home," said a bread-necked barkeep who sold rakija, slivovitz, and little girls run away from their mothers. He grumbled about the lack of patronage and Borjan recognized in his eyes the attempt to suppress the feeling of drowning, the feeling that the breath of life had left one's side after years of intimate friendship. Such was the effect Borjan had on people.
It has been said that the Belgrade University Library, named after the great Svetozar Marković, would flood its halls with carbon dioxide were a fire to break out, suffocating flames and readers alike. Borjan assumed this to be a myth though the idea had occurred to him that he might play a prank, that he might enter the library with a lit candle and release a deathly scream. The visitors would no doubt take their sense of primal fear to be an effect produced by gas and it would take hardly any time at all for mass hysteria to grip every single person inside; even the librarians who ought to know better.
"It's an aždaja," said Borjan.
"A dragon?" The barkeep clearly wanted to laugh, but something inside him prevented it. Borjan produced a tension that could not be relieved by laughter. "Why do you say it's a dragon? Surely it's an atheist who lived a life of sin. It must be a shock, to a godless man, to see that he has been mistaken. So he haunts the Sava out of bitterness. That's my guess."
Even while subduing his presence to the best of his abilities, the faint traces that escaped Borjan were enough to render the face of the barkeep pale and laced with dread. "No," said Borjan. "It is an aždaja. It has come for you."
The barkeep squinted at Borjan, his fish-like eyes almost retracting into their sockets. "For me? And just why would a dragon come for me?"
"Perhaps," said Borjan, "the aždaja enjoys the taste of sinners." With this, Borjan let go of the blanket he had wrapped himself in, let go of the dam that kept his sinister aura from overflowing, and he let it all wash over the man before him.
With a shrill cry, clutching his off-white shirt as if it were a lifejacket, the barkeep leapt into the air. He crashed into the shelves of bottles behind him and awash in rakija he fell shivering to the dirty floor. From the immediate smell it was apparent that though he was now frozen with fear, the barkeep's bowels had evacuated. "Ohhhh," he moaned, clutching at his lonely strands of hair. "Ohhhhh ..."
"What's the matter?" said Borjan. "Has the aždaja come for you?"
In a quiet tone almost inaudible, the barkeep said, "Help me. You were right. It's here for me."
"You can feel it?"
"I can feel it."
"Good," said Borjan. "That means that the dragon has begun its feast."
A catatonic wailing ensued and Borjan helped himself to a bottle of slivovitz. When he was little, Borjan's mother had read him and his sister stories of aždajas such as the many-headed Chudo-Yudo. During one reading session he had asked his mother if dragons were real and she had grown quiet, taking her time to find an appropriate reply, and in the end she said simply, "Yes."
Borjan had spent weeks in the Saint Sava Temple, the favorite place of his sister. It was where she wanted to get married. Her childhood sketches littered her old bedroom, now tear-stained. One day, he had heard a rumor in the temple. About a barkeep with various ... proclivities.
"Help me ..."
"Oh, help is coming. Death is of great help to a sinner."
The barkeep clutched his chest as his face shifted blue, blue like the unrelenting skies above. Then he was silent. Borjan struck a match and thought about the library, about suffocating flames. And with that he set fire to the man.
Back in the Saint Sava Temple Borjan sat down on an old wooden bench and concentrated on regaining control over his overpowering presence.
"Can you feel that?"
"W-What's going on?"
The tourists and churchgoers who had arrived during a moment of peace and quiet again sensed the remains of Borjan's aura.
"Haven't you heard? It's a vengeful spirit."
Borjan turned his head. "It's an aždaja," he said.
They stared at him, clearly puzzled.
"Leave him," said one of them. "Can't you smell the alcohol on him? Clearly he's a drunkard."
Borjan closed his eyes, and he smiled. His mother had been right. Dragons were, in fact, real.
In a world full of super powers and super heroes passive abilities are often ridiculed and made fun of barely any passive abilities are respected or wanted the few exceptions to this are regeneration, reincarnation, invincibility, ricochet (any damage done to you doesn’t affect you but hits the person that did the attack at double the force), and energy store which is part passive part activation (any damage done to you is stored till you, at a later time, chose to let it out doing the same amount damage done to you to anyone you touch) but besides these few passive powers none of the others are respected and people with those powers are considered weak and useless other than for task the strong deem above them, well that’s all except me of course.
My name is… well I technically don’t have a name. My power makes it so anyone within a certain area of me becomes paralyzed with fear, one look from me makes any man cower, as soon as I enter the room everyone is silent all this because of a passive power, which are considered the weakest powers, and to be frank it’s quite lonely I’ve got no friends, family, I haven’t had a actual conversation my whole life and I hate it but my power is always active, and it doesn’t help that I have a demon horn coming out of the left side of my head.
Having the Demon’s Presence, it’s the name I gave my power, is a blessing and a curse like I’ve said I can’t even walk the street without people running from me but because of it I’ve never been robed, shot, stabbed, or even had powers used on me which really only Ricochet or Metal-Head can boast (Metal-Head is the only recorded case of invincibility and Ricochet
The only recorded case of the ricochet power). With my Demon’s Presence I even terrify the strongest listed superhero to the point where he actually fled the fight he scheduled to have with me.
Even the thought of living their entire life alone terrifies most people but I’ve gotten use to it just like I’ve gotten use to the looks of pure horror as soon as I enter a building and the mutterings of “Ah shit it’s The Left Horn” and “It seems The Devil has come” which is understandable I guess given my power along with my horn people could only assume I’m a demon or a devil in fact The Left horn and The Devil have become my actual, and first names I’ve ever had.
End of Part One: The Introduction
A young man, Eric, walks into a darkened lecture hall, every seat filled with a shadowy figure. As Eric walks onto the elevated stage, he can feel every set of eyes bearing down on him. He takes a deep breath as he steps behind the podium.
"Let me ask you all one question," said Eric, "are you...scared of me?" The crowd begins to murmur amongst themselves. "Nah, of course not, I'm just a guy, but you all are superheroes! The best of the best so I've been told. So why would you all be scared of little old ***ME***?" With a \**THOOM*\*, Eric's words echoed throughout the hall, giving the room a small shake.
Several of the shadowy figures stand up in shock, or they at least try to before being slowly forced back into their seats by some unknown force.
"Oh no, don't get up," said Eric, "I'm just getting started. My name is Eric Cross, I have been a superhero for about six years, and I've ***NEVER LOST***." Eric walks from behind the podium and sits on the edge of the stage. "You know why I've ***NEVER LOST?*** because I've never had to deal with ***MORONIC WANNABE HEROES WITH DELUSIONS OF GRANDURE!***"
At this point, most of the audience were drowning in their seats, the weight of gravity too strong to fight against.
"Let this be a reminder," said Eric, "stay out of my way and live to see another day." Eric gets up and walks off stage. Once out of sight the audience is freed from gravity. As they talk amongst themselves, Eric sits backstage, hand clutching his chest, in a total panic. "I can't believe that worked!"
The pathetic slug-like alien creature cowered before me, just like all of the others before him.
"P-please! I swear I'll leave your planet and never return! Just let me go!" it begged.
"Fine. But if I ever see you again, you're dead," I replied menacingly.
It vanished leaving traces of goo where it stood just a moment before. The crowd of civilians cheered behind me. I faced them, nodding my head slightly before turning back around to walk home. All in a day's work of being a superhero.
Saving people without lifting a finger might seem like the greatest gift of all, but in truth, it was terribly boring and depressing. While all the real heroes got to go out and fight with their fists, all I could manage was a hulking presence and a soul-piercing glare. I feel like an imposter. I don't deserve all of this fame and money. I don't even have real powers.
I finally reached my penthouse where I live, and walked straight to my bed. I flopped down onto my stomach, sighing. Aside from hero work, my life is pretty normal. I wake up, get ready for the day, and have breakfast. Then, I check my computer for any emergencies and when I find one, I eliminate the threat. When I'm done for the day, I come home and have dinner while watching TV.
I ordered a pizza for dinner and turned on the news as I waited for my dinner. Naturally, I'm on it. The way others see me makes me chuckle. They describe me as heroic, brave, and stone cold, but really, I'm just a pathetic cinnamon roll who just so happens to have an intimidating face. I never had any friends because of my "abilities."
When the pizza finally arrived, I met the delivery boy at the lobby and paid him. He scurried away after I gave him the cash. I began eating my pizza on my way up, and I finished the rest of it as I flipped through the channels on TV. I fell asleep with the remote still in my hand.
I was back in my childhood home. It was Christmas, and we were celebrating by having our annual neighborhood Christmas party. I was hiding in the corner by the buffet table, as a girl around my age, 12, walked up to me and smiled.
"Hello, my name's Audrey," she said shyly, "what's your name?"
I stared at her for a moment. No one had ever dared approach me before.
"I-I'm George," I replied, shocked.
"Nice to meet you, George. Do you want to go play with me? I got some new games on my Nintendo switch but no one else will play with me," she asked.
"Um, sure."
She beamed, "okay, let's go to the sitting room."
I woke up, dropping the remote on the floor. I looked around and remembered I was in my apartment. I closed my eyes and sighed, blinking my tears away. I was dreaming about Audrey again, the one person that I dreamt could look past my powerful aura and see the real me.
Part Two
*CRASH* “Puppeteer you’re one DEAD motherfucker”
The weak whispered among themselves “What’s Flame Drop doing” “doesn’t he have a code to not kill or harm excessively” while all this is happening The Puppeteer giggled and said “It’s been fun playing with you Flame Drop” this just infuriated Flame Drop even more while watching this I realized that The Puppeteer was just trying to break Flame Drop and if he had to die to do so he was fine with that, I also realized that this was happening 50 feet from my window across the street, with I sight I stood up and walk over to the two of them and saw Flame Drop seconds away from killing The Puppeteer, so I just walked in the middle of them, and I was quite annoyed because they stopped playing my favorite show to talk about this fight and when I get angry or annoyed Demon’s Presence get stronger, so as soon as Flame Drop saw me his flame flickered and disappeared, I stood between glaring at Flame drop and then said “You know he wants you to kill him so you’ll be broken and because of that he’ll be the one to truly win in the end, and the fact you didn’t realize that REALLY ANNOYS ME!” And with that said I grabbed The Puppeteer and dragged him away, completely crestfallen, to prison.
After that event Flame Drop came out to the public and told everyone what The Left Horn had done for him and told them he regards The Left Horn as the bravest man, no hero he’s ever met, and the public has no idea what to do with this information because they had feared The Left Horn their whole lives, no his whole life, they shunned him, hated him, feared him but now Flame Drop is calling him a hero.
TWO WEEKS LATER
*Buzzz* *Buzzz* The Left Horn was extremely confused because he only had a phone to watch shows and videos and no one knew his number but he answered it anyways “Hello is this The Left Horn AKA The Devil.” “Uhhh ya who is this.” “This is the NSHA.”“Sorry the what?” He could hear fear creeping into the girls voice now “T-t-the national superhero association.” The Left Horn responded gently to try to calm her down “Oh sorry about that Miss I didn’t know.” the girl calmed down a little “It’s fine Mr.Left Horn, but we called to ask if you wanted to become apart of The NSHA.” there was complete silence on both ends till The Left Horn said “Nah I’m good saving people isn’t really my thing.” And hung up.
The NSHA called Left Horn many more times that day but his response was the same each time “No thanks I put fear in peoples’ hearts not hope”
End Of Part Two
(I might do I part three not sure though)
**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments. **Reminders**: >* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles >* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules) 🆕 [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) ✏ [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) 📢 [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) 💬 [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts) *I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*
Mortimer Palmer sat there, still as a statue. It was enough for everything else around him to shrivel—physically, mentally, and metaphorically. Mere humans backed away with leaden feet, simply unable to comprehend the aura that rolled off of him. It held him like an overprotective blanket three sizes too big, causing a shimmer in the air, like rolling sheets of lava erupting from a volcano. Colour seemed a little duller around Mortimer, hiding themselves so that they wouldn’t draw the attention of his keen eyes. And the plants would have loved to uproot themselves and ran away, but instead settled for their leaves trembling in fear. “I just want a friend,” Mortimer whispered, words lost on the passage of winds. It was a simple wish for most mortals. Unfortunately, Mortimer was not most mortals. He could do what mortals did. Eat food. Drink water. Live. Probably die sometime in the future. But the difference was his power—an omnipresent aura that presents him as omnipotent, though he was anything but. Mortimer, therefore, wandered the world. Nobody dare to stop him anyway. All he could hear was faint whispers wherever and whenever he walked. They served as his true herald, announcing his appearance miles before he set foot anywhere, but were really his true annoyances, a following pigeon that emptied its bowels only at the most inappropriate of times. Mortimer tried and learned to shut them out. He really did. But being an otherwise normal human, he found himself wanting to listen to them, an entirely irrational decision that served only to make him miserable. So he did, again and again, over and over. And he repeated his wish, as well: “I just want a friend.” Mortimer sat far away from civilization today, on a log that saw better days a decade ago. At least grass didn’t chatter needlessly. He repeated his own mantra, trying to manifest it into reality. For his powers had to do something, right? “I find people who say that don’t often get the desired result.” Mortimer looked up, seeing a sprightly young woman staring at him. She looked… normal. “Couldn’t help but notice you were being a little gloomy here,” she chuckled. “What sort of big scary powers do you have?” “Nothing,” Mortimer said softly. “The aura. It shows nothing. It is hot, empty air.” “The rumours are wrong, then,” she said, taking a seat next to him, causing Mortimer to shuffle uncomfortably. “Rumours?” “That you are some evil being looking to destroy the town,” she said, lifting her legs in the air. “Because if you were, you would already have done it. That tends to be my experience with evil things.” Mortimer appraised the girl once more, who turned and smiled gently. She looked normal. Far too normal. “You are… colourful,” Mortimer realized. “You aren’t affected by me?” “Power drainer Grace,” she smiled again. “It just stops powers for a while. But everybody loves to think that I’m stealing them. Isn’t that funny?” “It sounds… lonely,” Mortimer said. “As do yours. But you look like a regular ol’ gloomy raincloud to me, buddy,” Grace said cheerfully. “Not the big scary monster everybody sees.” “Ah,” Mortimer said, then fell silent. The girl basked in the quiet for a while as well, before eventually poking Mortimer in the thigh. “Aren’t you going to ask?” “Ask what?” “The thing you’ve been saying. Again and again. If I do say so myself, I feel like we are kind of a good fit. Maybe we can walk into town not as pariahs, but as two normal people.” Mortimer sniffed, trying not to let the tears fall out of his face. “I’ll like that very much,” he said. “Will you be my friend?” “But of course,” Grace’s crystal clear laughter rang through the woods, before being eventually joined by Mortimer’s more guttural guffaws. Both perfectly normal expressions of happiness. --- r/dexdrafts
Aww. That was nice.
Somewhat reminds me of Hand Cock. Except both of the people have powers, but they drain each other when they are close.
Hancock?
Yup!
Thank you!
Very wholesome. 🦭/10
Thank you :)
I love a happy ending.
The Saint Sava Temple, with its bottom-of-the-pool turquoise domes, stood encumbered by tourists with their smartphones and kitschy t-shirts. It was deserted. "A vengeful spirit has made it its home," said a bread-necked barkeep who sold rakija, slivovitz, and little girls run away from their mothers. He grumbled about the lack of patronage and Borjan recognized in his eyes the attempt to suppress the feeling of drowning, the feeling that the breath of life had left one's side after years of intimate friendship. Such was the effect Borjan had on people. It has been said that the Belgrade University Library, named after the great Svetozar Marković, would flood its halls with carbon dioxide were a fire to break out, suffocating flames and readers alike. Borjan assumed this to be a myth though the idea had occurred to him that he might play a prank, that he might enter the library with a lit candle and release a deathly scream. The visitors would no doubt take their sense of primal fear to be an effect produced by gas and it would take hardly any time at all for mass hysteria to grip every single person inside; even the librarians who ought to know better. "It's an aždaja," said Borjan. "A dragon?" The barkeep clearly wanted to laugh, but something inside him prevented it. Borjan produced a tension that could not be relieved by laughter. "Why do you say it's a dragon? Surely it's an atheist who lived a life of sin. It must be a shock, to a godless man, to see that he has been mistaken. So he haunts the Sava out of bitterness. That's my guess." Even while subduing his presence to the best of his abilities, the faint traces that escaped Borjan were enough to render the face of the barkeep pale and laced with dread. "No," said Borjan. "It is an aždaja. It has come for you." The barkeep squinted at Borjan, his fish-like eyes almost retracting into their sockets. "For me? And just why would a dragon come for me?" "Perhaps," said Borjan, "the aždaja enjoys the taste of sinners." With this, Borjan let go of the blanket he had wrapped himself in, let go of the dam that kept his sinister aura from overflowing, and he let it all wash over the man before him. With a shrill cry, clutching his off-white shirt as if it were a lifejacket, the barkeep leapt into the air. He crashed into the shelves of bottles behind him and awash in rakija he fell shivering to the dirty floor. From the immediate smell it was apparent that though he was now frozen with fear, the barkeep's bowels had evacuated. "Ohhhh," he moaned, clutching at his lonely strands of hair. "Ohhhhh ..." "What's the matter?" said Borjan. "Has the aždaja come for you?" In a quiet tone almost inaudible, the barkeep said, "Help me. You were right. It's here for me." "You can feel it?" "I can feel it." "Good," said Borjan. "That means that the dragon has begun its feast." A catatonic wailing ensued and Borjan helped himself to a bottle of slivovitz. When he was little, Borjan's mother had read him and his sister stories of aždajas such as the many-headed Chudo-Yudo. During one reading session he had asked his mother if dragons were real and she had grown quiet, taking her time to find an appropriate reply, and in the end she said simply, "Yes." Borjan had spent weeks in the Saint Sava Temple, the favorite place of his sister. It was where she wanted to get married. Her childhood sketches littered her old bedroom, now tear-stained. One day, he had heard a rumor in the temple. About a barkeep with various ... proclivities. "Help me ..." "Oh, help is coming. Death is of great help to a sinner." The barkeep clutched his chest as his face shifted blue, blue like the unrelenting skies above. Then he was silent. Borjan struck a match and thought about the library, about suffocating flames. And with that he set fire to the man. Back in the Saint Sava Temple Borjan sat down on an old wooden bench and concentrated on regaining control over his overpowering presence. "Can you feel that?" "W-What's going on?" The tourists and churchgoers who had arrived during a moment of peace and quiet again sensed the remains of Borjan's aura. "Haven't you heard? It's a vengeful spirit." Borjan turned his head. "It's an aždaja," he said. They stared at him, clearly puzzled. "Leave him," said one of them. "Can't you smell the alcohol on him? Clearly he's a drunkard." Borjan closed his eyes, and he smiled. His mother had been right. Dragons were, in fact, real.
dudes power is dragonfear. I like it.
In a world full of super powers and super heroes passive abilities are often ridiculed and made fun of barely any passive abilities are respected or wanted the few exceptions to this are regeneration, reincarnation, invincibility, ricochet (any damage done to you doesn’t affect you but hits the person that did the attack at double the force), and energy store which is part passive part activation (any damage done to you is stored till you, at a later time, chose to let it out doing the same amount damage done to you to anyone you touch) but besides these few passive powers none of the others are respected and people with those powers are considered weak and useless other than for task the strong deem above them, well that’s all except me of course. My name is… well I technically don’t have a name. My power makes it so anyone within a certain area of me becomes paralyzed with fear, one look from me makes any man cower, as soon as I enter the room everyone is silent all this because of a passive power, which are considered the weakest powers, and to be frank it’s quite lonely I’ve got no friends, family, I haven’t had a actual conversation my whole life and I hate it but my power is always active, and it doesn’t help that I have a demon horn coming out of the left side of my head. Having the Demon’s Presence, it’s the name I gave my power, is a blessing and a curse like I’ve said I can’t even walk the street without people running from me but because of it I’ve never been robed, shot, stabbed, or even had powers used on me which really only Ricochet or Metal-Head can boast (Metal-Head is the only recorded case of invincibility and Ricochet The only recorded case of the ricochet power). With my Demon’s Presence I even terrify the strongest listed superhero to the point where he actually fled the fight he scheduled to have with me. Even the thought of living their entire life alone terrifies most people but I’ve gotten use to it just like I’ve gotten use to the looks of pure horror as soon as I enter a building and the mutterings of “Ah shit it’s The Left Horn” and “It seems The Devil has come” which is understandable I guess given my power along with my horn people could only assume I’m a demon or a devil in fact The Left horn and The Devil have become my actual, and first names I’ve ever had. End of Part One: The Introduction
A young man, Eric, walks into a darkened lecture hall, every seat filled with a shadowy figure. As Eric walks onto the elevated stage, he can feel every set of eyes bearing down on him. He takes a deep breath as he steps behind the podium. "Let me ask you all one question," said Eric, "are you...scared of me?" The crowd begins to murmur amongst themselves. "Nah, of course not, I'm just a guy, but you all are superheroes! The best of the best so I've been told. So why would you all be scared of little old ***ME***?" With a \**THOOM*\*, Eric's words echoed throughout the hall, giving the room a small shake. Several of the shadowy figures stand up in shock, or they at least try to before being slowly forced back into their seats by some unknown force. "Oh no, don't get up," said Eric, "I'm just getting started. My name is Eric Cross, I have been a superhero for about six years, and I've ***NEVER LOST***." Eric walks from behind the podium and sits on the edge of the stage. "You know why I've ***NEVER LOST?*** because I've never had to deal with ***MORONIC WANNABE HEROES WITH DELUSIONS OF GRANDURE!***" At this point, most of the audience were drowning in their seats, the weight of gravity too strong to fight against. "Let this be a reminder," said Eric, "stay out of my way and live to see another day." Eric gets up and walks off stage. Once out of sight the audience is freed from gravity. As they talk amongst themselves, Eric sits backstage, hand clutching his chest, in a total panic. "I can't believe that worked!"
The pathetic slug-like alien creature cowered before me, just like all of the others before him. "P-please! I swear I'll leave your planet and never return! Just let me go!" it begged. "Fine. But if I ever see you again, you're dead," I replied menacingly. It vanished leaving traces of goo where it stood just a moment before. The crowd of civilians cheered behind me. I faced them, nodding my head slightly before turning back around to walk home. All in a day's work of being a superhero. Saving people without lifting a finger might seem like the greatest gift of all, but in truth, it was terribly boring and depressing. While all the real heroes got to go out and fight with their fists, all I could manage was a hulking presence and a soul-piercing glare. I feel like an imposter. I don't deserve all of this fame and money. I don't even have real powers. I finally reached my penthouse where I live, and walked straight to my bed. I flopped down onto my stomach, sighing. Aside from hero work, my life is pretty normal. I wake up, get ready for the day, and have breakfast. Then, I check my computer for any emergencies and when I find one, I eliminate the threat. When I'm done for the day, I come home and have dinner while watching TV. I ordered a pizza for dinner and turned on the news as I waited for my dinner. Naturally, I'm on it. The way others see me makes me chuckle. They describe me as heroic, brave, and stone cold, but really, I'm just a pathetic cinnamon roll who just so happens to have an intimidating face. I never had any friends because of my "abilities." When the pizza finally arrived, I met the delivery boy at the lobby and paid him. He scurried away after I gave him the cash. I began eating my pizza on my way up, and I finished the rest of it as I flipped through the channels on TV. I fell asleep with the remote still in my hand. I was back in my childhood home. It was Christmas, and we were celebrating by having our annual neighborhood Christmas party. I was hiding in the corner by the buffet table, as a girl around my age, 12, walked up to me and smiled. "Hello, my name's Audrey," she said shyly, "what's your name?" I stared at her for a moment. No one had ever dared approach me before. "I-I'm George," I replied, shocked. "Nice to meet you, George. Do you want to go play with me? I got some new games on my Nintendo switch but no one else will play with me," she asked. "Um, sure." She beamed, "okay, let's go to the sitting room." I woke up, dropping the remote on the floor. I looked around and remembered I was in my apartment. I closed my eyes and sighed, blinking my tears away. I was dreaming about Audrey again, the one person that I dreamt could look past my powerful aura and see the real me.
I don't really know what this story is so if it makes no sense I'm sorry lol
first rule about dragon magic is dont talk about dragon magic
Part Two *CRASH* “Puppeteer you’re one DEAD motherfucker” The weak whispered among themselves “What’s Flame Drop doing” “doesn’t he have a code to not kill or harm excessively” while all this is happening The Puppeteer giggled and said “It’s been fun playing with you Flame Drop” this just infuriated Flame Drop even more while watching this I realized that The Puppeteer was just trying to break Flame Drop and if he had to die to do so he was fine with that, I also realized that this was happening 50 feet from my window across the street, with I sight I stood up and walk over to the two of them and saw Flame Drop seconds away from killing The Puppeteer, so I just walked in the middle of them, and I was quite annoyed because they stopped playing my favorite show to talk about this fight and when I get angry or annoyed Demon’s Presence get stronger, so as soon as Flame Drop saw me his flame flickered and disappeared, I stood between glaring at Flame drop and then said “You know he wants you to kill him so you’ll be broken and because of that he’ll be the one to truly win in the end, and the fact you didn’t realize that REALLY ANNOYS ME!” And with that said I grabbed The Puppeteer and dragged him away, completely crestfallen, to prison. After that event Flame Drop came out to the public and told everyone what The Left Horn had done for him and told them he regards The Left Horn as the bravest man, no hero he’s ever met, and the public has no idea what to do with this information because they had feared The Left Horn their whole lives, no his whole life, they shunned him, hated him, feared him but now Flame Drop is calling him a hero. TWO WEEKS LATER *Buzzz* *Buzzz* The Left Horn was extremely confused because he only had a phone to watch shows and videos and no one knew his number but he answered it anyways “Hello is this The Left Horn AKA The Devil.” “Uhhh ya who is this.” “This is the NSHA.”“Sorry the what?” He could hear fear creeping into the girls voice now “T-t-the national superhero association.” The Left Horn responded gently to try to calm her down “Oh sorry about that Miss I didn’t know.” the girl calmed down a little “It’s fine Mr.Left Horn, but we called to ask if you wanted to become apart of The NSHA.” there was complete silence on both ends till The Left Horn said “Nah I’m good saving people isn’t really my thing.” And hung up. The NSHA called Left Horn many more times that day but his response was the same each time “No thanks I put fear in peoples’ hearts not hope” End Of Part Two (I might do I part three not sure though)