Daily OpusEverything I write is freely rebloggable. Just keep the source and tell people about my books :D [Until I decide otherwise, my pronouns are Ze/Hir/Hirself. As in "Ze went to the shops to get hir medication hirself". Thank you for the respect.]
Challenge #03060-H137: And Then, Death, You Will Die
[death is no longer a threat. the man took the scythe.
the silly fool is now the master of death.
he has adopted a great power, but also a great curse. what a silly man.](https://youtu.be/00AjJIwl-q4) – Anon Guest
[AN: The linked video is more or less described in the prompt, but it’s way more silly in person]
My name is Death… now. It was something else, once, but that changed. They say you can beat Death at one challenge, and that is indeed true. What they don’t say is what else you can win, besides one more day. I do not remember very much of my mortal life, nor how long ago it was that I won. I remember… I was arrogant. Proud of my strength.
I challenged Death to a wrestling match. I was strong, and I knew it. Yet Death is the strongest force in the universe. It is unstoppable. Even the universe will die… in time. What I didn’t know is… it is possible to win the title of Death. I was a fool. I have learned that, now.
I wrestled the scythe away from the old Death. I did not question why Death did not struggle too much. I did not ask why Death refused to chase me down. By the time I realised what I had done… it was too late. I had taken the Instrument of Death… and it had taken me. I had become Death, the end of all things. It was at that moment that I knew what an enormous mistake I had made.
Search for, and remember, the truth of your death – Anon Guest
Fog hid most of the world and it was easy to get lost. She kept close to solid things. Walls, doors, furniture, large appliances, that sort of thing. The fog was in her brain, to. The larger things were even harder to find because of that.
Her name was… She was just… She was lost. That was big enough to deal with. The shadow in the corners was frightening. She could orient to that to. Preferably away from it. She didn’t want to go near the shadows in the corners. She was alone. That, too, was large enough to find. Large enough to terrify.
People drifted in and out of the fog, but scream though she might, not one of them heard her. That was absolutely terrifying. They didn’t even see her, and no matter what she did. She tried to interfere with what they were doing, to make them confront her existence, but the shadow in the corners loomed every time she went close to trying. Every time the shadow came close, it whispered, “Remember.”
An old comic, repurposing the story of Orpheus to talk about obsessions and leaving the place where you were first sensitized to your intrusive thoughts. (I can’t remember if Doubt Creeps In from Hadestown was an inspiration for this but…definitely same vibes.)
It’s possible this would read better as a line of single images you could just scroll down, but…it was too long, I couldn’t bring myself to… OTL
If you’d like to support me you can also buy it as a .pdf here for $5, with my thumbnails/concept sketches as a bonus!
[AN: Nonny - are you trying to get me into trouble? These are lyrics (translated) from Super Smash Brothers Brawl. A line or two is fine but the entire song? Please don’t. I’ve trimmed a lot of the original prompt to try and keep things safer for all.]
They called him Varg the Destroyer. It wasn’t precisely his fault. His mother, according to legend, had made a lot of promises and one mistake in counting and the contest over her child had resulted in a concatenation of curses. Which resulted in him leaving a trail a mile wide in his lifelong quest to at least end some of them.
Heroics had been pure happenstance on the way. Armies of evil and cities of wickedness had no defences against the combined forces of demonic, angelic, and faerie curses. It might have been easy for Varg to become a power for evil, but such was not the case. Evidently, having the ability to cause great harm from a young age also creates a tremendously light and gentle touch in the holder.
He slept on a bed of granite, which he carried with him. He ate out of a special bowl made from starmetal, and even that was dented with use. He had, through a series of deeds, actually toned things down to the point where he could interact with the mortal world without being an automatic menace. Nevertheless, there were still a few interesting valleys that used to be mountains along his path to get there.
Power doesn’t measure a man, nor doesn’t corrupt a man, power reveals. When someone achieved the power they’ve always wanted their true intentions are always revealed. – Anon Guest
“Hold as much water as you can,” instructed Da. “You can try to hold it tightly, but the more muscle you use to hang onto it, the less you have. As time goes by, it will drip away no matter what you do. So too is the power of a crown. It has to be supported. Not just by your hands.” Here, Da let go of his own handfuls to cup his hands under Andi’s. “But also the hands of the people around you. Surround yourself with people who have the same goals. They may see different ways to do it, but they will always have the same destination. Then… you can use your power to do all sorts of things.”
The water went into a decorative ornament by the fountain pond, which set off a series of counterweights and whirlygigs, much to the amusement of Andi, who laughed to see it. He clapped his hands and splashed them both with moisture. Da laughed, too, catching him up and blessing a prickly kiss on Andi’s cheek. “Power always works best when it is used lightly, and in the right directions,” Da said.
Andi was ten when ‘King’ stopped meaning a Da like any other Da, who came into the nursery to read or play or teach important lessons with brightly-coloured toys. Lessons like the handful of water would stick. There were others. Some delivered in pithy little sayings that weren’t, he would learn later, actual sayings of very many people. Things like, “There’s a difference between seeking power and having to accept it,” or, “The mark of a good King is having the people wonder why they need him,” or, “Neither an oathbreaker nor a peculator be.”
[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for a link to the rest of this story, and details on how to support this artist. Or visit peakd (dot) com (slash at) internutter for the stories at their freshest]
Her child, one of several otherwise unwanted waifs within the village that she’d adopted, brought him to Ma. An older woman who was scarred and, yet, quite strong. She never gave up hope. He was old, he was poor, and he spent a great deal of time hungry. She’d seen him begging before, but had never had a chance to speak to him. When he was lead to her by one of her children during the Sunshine Festival, she had the chance to do so. No pay for a meal, only spend time with the children. As the sun rose, an invitation came to stay with her and her family in their home. For some work, and helping her with the family, he would have a roof over his head and food in his belly.
[AN: Bless you with benevolent synchronicity for adding the link into this prompt]
The sun rose. Enough smiles had brought springtime forth. The people thought it was their festival and the sweets, but it was truly won by the ugliest, the unhappiest, and the unwanted. Smiles can be performative. They can be a mask. They can, very obviously, be a lie.
The town had forgotten that it was true, sunny feeling that caused the sun to rise and end the winter. It was true warmth that helped summer along and made it prosper. Now that Neg had found a smile at the bottom of a bowl, the people of Brightherald were about to experience some very interesting times.
It began as all things do, with small things. Neg woke in a warm bed inside a comfortable home, with three other people and at least one animal using him as a personal heater. He woke to the smell of a stew in progress and the rumbling of a kettle. There was a pock-marked child perilously close to his face. Someone was singing - badly.
[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for a link to the rest of this story, and details on how to support this artist. Or visit peakd (dot) com (slash at) internutter for the stories at their freshest]
I’ve been away for so long. But like the winds of the summer weather, I am back and I’m even better. Nothing can break up this bond. We’re in our prime, this is our time – Anon Guest
Legendary heroes never die. It’s true. They’re always shunted off into some mystical realm to rise again in their country’s greatest need. Legends fade from memory. Country names change. Yet the land and the hero remain bound by that promise.
When there is the greatest need… that is up for debate. For something to be the greatest need, it has to be the most urgent disaster in all history. Which implies that this need would be occurring on the very cusp of there being no history left if someone did not intervene. There are also the heroes of legend and lore who are just… immortal.
In the time of Greatest Need… they rise. Obviously, since it’s no longer the greatest need once the disaster is averted, those heroes have to a bit more than discrete if only to save face. There is, after all, always another time of greatest need.
[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for a link to the rest of this story, and details on how to support this artist. Or visit peakd (dot) com (slash at) internutter for the stories at their freshest]
