This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Klokinator on 2024-10-30 15:03:13+00:00.

Author note: The Cryopod to Hell is a Reddit-exclusive story with over three years of editing and refining. As of this post, the total rewrite is 2,317,000+ words long! For more information, check out the link below:

What is the Cryopod to Hell?

Join the Cryoverse Discord server!

Here's a list of all Cryopod's chapters, along with an ePub/Mobi/PDF version!

Want to stay up to date on TCTH? Subscribe to Cryopodbot!

...................................

(Previous Part)

(Part 001)

Across all of the four battlefields, the humans continue to fight with all their hearts. The Eastern battlefield suffers terrible losses as a result of the Executor's battle in the skies, and the remaining humans rapidly crumble under the pressure of the remnant Cosmic shockwaves slamming into their bodies and psychic attacks that jar their minds. Before long, everyone dies, and the Kolvaxians swarm toward Mount Adams.

[Attention all humans and human allies.] Creator Demila says, her voice cutting through the fog of battle and piercing into the minds of the humans, demons, monsters, and even the few remnant angels. [Maiura is lost. The Executor Plaguehosts are too powerful. You must flee! Begin immediately retreating to safety!]

Inside Fort Adams, behind the increasingly fragile safety of their Wordsmithium walls, only twenty thousand soldiers remain. Among them are humans and monsters, but zero demons. Demila alone levitates above the city, keeping an eye out for any Psiovaxians that might take to the skies and threaten the humans within.

Her eyes hide a deep secret, but her appearance maintains the facade of a Volgrim protector, assigned to assist the humans to the best of her ability.

Not long after her declaration, the ground beneath Fort Adams begins to rumble. Distant booms reverberate half a kilometer beneath the feet of the humans, rapidly increasing in frequency as the ordinary Kolvaxians arrive and begin pounding on the Wordsmithium barrier beneath the people's feet. The dirt soil under their feet trembles and cracks from the mere aftershocks of those horrifying impacts, swelling the humans' minds with a sense of dread.

Many of the soldiers start to twitch. Even if they are professional killers, they have watched live feeds from their comrades outside the walls, men and women who are now dead and turned into the very monsters attacking them from the planet's depths. None of them can remain emotionless and stoic in the face of such a terrifying threat.

Neil Adams grimaces. He hesitates for a long minute, listening as the volume of the thrumming within the depths grows louder and louder.

Finally, he taps the side of his T-REX helmet.

"Attention all troopers. Creator Demila is right. We must evacuate. I will have Hope retreat from the Northern Front and begin teleporting people back into the Labyrinth. Everyone else, return through the Warpgate now!"

Quiet sighs of relief go up among the troopers, but many men and women still silently lament the fact they have to give up Maiura.

This was supposed to be their new homeworld!

Maiura was going to become the birthplace of a superior humanity, one unburdened by love of foul demons or other wretched creatures!

But now, it has fallen.

After spending many years quietly building lives on Maiura, the longest-lived residents feel a deep sense of loss. Many of the people who arrived are recent immigrants, only coming here after the Great Debate. But a sizable portion are not, and it is those who had children and started to live fulfilling lives who feel this loss the deepest.

Neil Adams is no different.

For him, Maiura represented his political ambitions. He and Hope will likely be able to build up another world, but at what cost? How long will it last? Will the Plague show up there, too?

Neil's eyes flicker with hatred. He hates the Kolvaxians, but secretly he feels these creatures are not acting naturally. While he lacks evidence for his hypothesis, some aspects of the Plague's attack simply never added up.

Why did it cease all battles on all other worlds in the Milky Way?

Why did it beeline straight to Maiura and attack them?

"Artoria...?" Neil mutters out loud, where no-one can hear him.

The moment the Black Hole Construct was taken by the Plague, that's when everything changed. Could her personality have somehow infected the Plague? Could her memories be special enough to guide the Plague to Maiura?

Neil isn't certain, and he doesn't have time to think about it now.

But once the situation cools off, he secretly vows to himself that he will investigate the matter.

...

Hope Hiro jumps into the air. He grimaces as a pair of Psiovaxians attack him on the right and left, these powerful creatures each both standing at the 6th Level of the Volgrim, possessing strength on par with 5th Level Psions.

He wields Excalibur in both hands, dashing between them with the swiftness of a fly dodging a flyswatter. The Psiovaxians silently pursue him, with one of them conjuring flame chains to snap at and ensnare him, while the other one fires poisoned needles made out of condensed Psionic power.

Hope dodges the needles whenever they fly at him, shuddering when the needles rip through rock and stone or embed deeply into the armor of the Warframes below him. Just when Hope isn't sure how to handle these two creatures in the fastest way possible, Uriel joins him and begins attacking with a furious salvo. Possessed by the spirit of her brother Gabriel, she wields a greatsword that can hammer and slash effectively enough to pressure one of the Psiovaxians. With her help, Hope cuts one of them down, then he and his makeshift ally kill the other.

Gabriel speaks afterward. "Hope. Neil called for a retreat. Thou must teleport the remaining combatants off Maiura. Verily, I shalt hold back the enemies here. I will draw their focus."

Hope nods. "Alright. It's time we faced reality. Maiura is lost! I can't believe I'm saying it, but this situation isn't salvageable, and it's only getting worse."

After affirming Neil's decision, Hope flies into the sky, leaving the Archangel behind.

Gabriel gives up control of Uriel's mind, allowing the Archangel of Retribution to regain control of her body. At the same time, the other Archangels appear beside their sister with grim expressions of their faces.

Raphael speaks first. "This battle is not what it seems, siblings. There is a greater force at play here."

"The Kolvaxians art not as simple as they appear." Michael affirms. "They act as mindless beasts, but they always hold back until the humans gain an advantage. Then they reveal another card from their sleeves."

"Every time we think we've made a breakthrough, the Kolvaxians reveal another dimension of their abilities." Uriel says coldly. "I believeth even now they hath not shown the full extent of their power."

Uriel splits apart the greatsword Gabriel was using, causing it to revert into her signature twin-spears. Then she alters the appearance of the Gae Bolg, changing it into a single longsword before tossing it to her brother Michael.

Like this, Michael gains a formidable weapon that may help him in combating the Plague.

"Remember, our goal now art not to kill these beasts, but merely distract them." Gabriel says. "Keep thy wits about thee, and take care to draw the fiends' attention!"

After speaking, the Archangels rejoin the battle, the four of them working together to assist Hope as he swiftly starts teleporting soldiers away from the Northern front. Since all of them are only inside the Warframes, it doesn't take him long.

Hope glances at Belial. He hesitates for a moment, then starts to fly toward the Western Front to retrieve his children. Just as Hope is about to leave, Belial suddenly disappears, teleported away.

Hope's expression turns ugly.

Jason! He's still watching, after all.

Secretly, Hope was thinking of leaving Belial here. With the Warframes gone, there would be no chance of her surviving. But since Jason teleported her away, that destroys Hope's plan.

Always ready to protect his vicious demon friends. Hope thinks. I told you to stay out of Maiura's business! Damn you, Jason!

Hope departs, leaving Uriel and her brothers behind. Immediately the swarm charges at the angels, threatening to put them down. But luckily, the Archangels simply take to the air, leaving their grounded enemies without a prayer of catching them.

Naturally, with their Cosmic-level bodies, the Kolvaxians are still able to leap into the air hundreds of feet high. But the moment they pounce, the Archangels dash to the sides, flying around with flaps of their wings to nimbly and agilely dodge their comparatively clumsy enemies.

"Come, test me if thou dost dare!" Uriel challenges. "I am not afraid of thee!"

...

Hope quickly arrives at his children's side, finding Mandy and Levi fighting with the assistance of Demon Deity Kristoff above. Kristoff's blood spears skewer and sla...

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1gfonk0/the_cryopod_to_hell_594_the_kolvaxian_conspiracy/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/OGGruntComm on 2024-10-30 14:39:01+00:00.

Part 10.5

Hello Everyone! Thanks for everyone reading my parts! Been a bit again! This part covered Terra's ascendancy within the Galactic community! More to come!

Part 11: A Declaration

10 years pass the liberation of Dorothi

A large piece of furniture resembling a chair would be flung across the massive room smashing against the wall before its pieces settled below. A man approaching his 70’s stood confidently in the center of that large room. Large Windows that lined the back wall revealed the beautiful deep space around the station.

Many different species either stood or sat around the man in their respective positions. The larger and more influential species sat closer to the windows, with the smaller ones seated near the entrance. 

A symbol lay adorned beneath the man, signifying the Galactic Council that had requested his presence. Many species felt uneasy after the recent show of aggression from the Thraxian Representative. A few of their guards gripped their weapons tighter but immediately released them once they noticed the Council Guards staring them down. 

“ COUNCIL MEMBERSHIP?!?!” The brutish ape-like creature yelled out into the silent environment. 

“ We have done it for every species achie–” The Dwarf like species was immediately cut off. 

“ They only achieved Faster Than Light by stealing it from the Thraxian Empire. They are thieves and Violent Brutes. This Council voted for them to be unsanctioned. Bringing them to membership is unprecedented.” The Sularians interjected from their second seat. Their species being one of the founding for the Empire

The Dwarf responded soon after: “ We unsanctioned them based on the Empire's claim that they had violently attacked Empire science vessels. We were told they were barely sentient and were to violent to be introduced to the rest of the galaxy.” The Dwarf lifts himself up and gestures towards the lone man in the center. “Yet here they stand.. We have been deceived.”

“ They are only here due to pirating our Technology and taking our engineers. They are nothing more than a weak, dumb species with a tendency towards violence. I heard they have even imprisoned the Vrox.” A member from the Irk said in the 3rd. 

“Yet they are here. No matter how they had done it. They achieved the minimum required to have a seat in the council.” A voice from the 5th seat retorted.

“This is ridiculous! They are unsanctioned and, therefore forfeit to the whims of the galactic community! They are no longer qualified for membership!” The Ape creature yelled out again bashing its large hands onto its table, causing it to crack from the impact. The members from the 5th and 7th seat adjust their position.

“ Council Members, I’d like to interject for a moment, please.” The Ambassador spoke from the center of the room, his eyes running along everyone within his 90-degree range. 

“ Go ahead..” The Dwarf responded before the Sularian could.

“Let's remove the issue altogether. Humanity is not seeking a seat in the council, " the older man said.

Audible gasps come from several of the seats. The Ape like creature sat back down and the sularian took a sip from what resembled a glass full of liquid.

“ We refuse to sit in the same body of representatives that voted for our destruction. You all accepted the Empire’s story because it was easier to sign our death warrant then challenge your masters.” The ambassador gestured his hand to the three seating closest to the windows on the term “Masters”.

The Dwarf adjusted in his seat and looked down in the form of disappointment. A small “Humph” escaped him.

The Sularian spoke up: “ Noone here is a master. We are all equal in our vote. Even the pufflings have…well…something” It gestured to a staff member resembling something close to a standing Bearded Dragon. It served more water into a glass for the 7th seat to drink.

“ Right…Equal.” The Ambassador said empathically.

“ The point stands. We won’t be seeking a position within the Council. I am here to set the record straight.” The man rose a small pad up infront of him and swiped a few times onto it.“ To all Galactic Council members, you will be sent a Data Log housing information, Audio, and video recordings of the invasion of Earth. You will see proof of our Sensitivity and when it began, the current situation with the people of Vrox, and personalized messages for all of you.” The ambassador spoke out once he noticed most members looking down at their own datapads or being spoken to by their own staff.

A few gasps would come from the Council followed by a few murmurs.

The Dwarf spoke first: “ Is this true Sularian?” 

The Sularian stood up which grabbed the attention of much of the council. 

“I hereby vote on behalf of the Thraxian Empire to mark the Terran Republic and their Homeworld the Enemy of the State by the Council.” The Sularian speaking directly to the ambassador, that wore a slight smirk. 

All 4 of the closest seat stood in acceptance. The Dwarf spoke out in anger along with many others from the lower end of the Council. Anger began to swell within the council as yelling was met from all sides. 

“ As Representative of the top 4 seats. We hereby VETO the rest of the Council Votes against our declaration. It has now passed, The Terran Republic is marked Enemy of the State. All Species seen supporting, aiding and abetting the republic will be marked further as Enemy of the State and subsequently approved for extermination.”

“ WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!” The Dwarf stands up in anger, yelling directly to the sularian. 

“ This was not in the Council constitution! We refuse!!” Another voice spoke up. 

The Royal Council guard tenses up as they eye down the personal protection of each council member. 

The Human turned to the four standing council members near the window. “ The Terran Republic accepts your decision Thrax.” The Ambassador spoke with confidence and vigor. His stance unchanged and confident which caused the Sularian to adjust itself from the awkward look.

The Yelling raises as items around the council room begin to be shifted and some thrown as the anger grows among the community. 

“ The Vrox say hello..” The Ambassador says before his hologram fizzles out.

After the declaration, The Galactic Council began splintering from its once unified roots. The Thraxian Empire took advantage of the unease. It justified the destruction of multiple council member states that supported the Terran Republic during the conflict with the Dabin ( Dwarf ) and few other much larger member species being able to withstand the conflict with the Thraxians.

The Terran Republic opened its borders with majority of the Ex-Council Member Species to allow in refugees from the conflict caused by the ever-growing Thraxian Empire. With the immigration came new technologies, new cultures and new committed members to the Terran Republic itself.

In just a few years, the Terran Republic had grown rapidly, incorporating the Sol System and two others under its banner. The entire galactic community has been embroiled in its first galactic-spanning war.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/MrIzuarel on 2024-10-30 13:42:10+00:00.

Chapter 100

Concerning the divine crystals, I had two of the needed 9 for the next evolution. At the same time, I had obtained the first of ten used crystals for the third secret, but I was unsatisfied.

No matter how I turned this thing around, I was nowhere close to where I should be in terms of strength. I had fought with two monsters that had consumed divine crystals, and in both cases, I had to fight dirty to win. I had to do something about this.

There were two options that were viable at that moment.

Either raising my level to 80, obtaining the disguise skill rank 2 that allowed me to use equipment, and then hope I would obtain more weapons similar to the petrification club. Personally, I didn't want to hope for that.

Or I would finally start working on my goal of obtaining more skills.

I opened the mutation window and used all my points to select the last and final tier in that window. The price to do so was horrendous, but I paid it happily, sacrificing quite a few levels of my hunter job in the process.

Raising my maximum level from 90 to 100 and unlocking the final enhancement tier for my character was very emotional for me. It felt like arriving at the final stretch of a very long race.

That was the last time I used the mutation mechanism of my system for that purpose.

I ordered the immediate stop of any dungeon explorations and explained the situation. I went into detail about what we needed to do to solve this problem as fast as we could and how to proceed. What followed was brutal.

The girls accepted it, and for two months, we did nothing else than fishing inside my dungeon. We were more than determined to obtain the last secret of the job and finally move forward. Day after day, we fought, we conquered, and we advanced my job at an astonishing pace.

So, when that moment finally arrived and we received the rewards of our efforts, I could not be prouder.

○○○○○

Mermaid fishing

You have the probability of 1% to fish a mermaid instead of a treasure chest when you use mythical grade lures and a fishing rod. The mermaids will give you quests to complete.

○○○○○

This was all I wanted.

Mermaids were the most hidden secret of this job. The rewards they gave for completing quests were insane, but so was the difficulty to clear it. If I was lucky or unlucky, depending on the point of view, the reward would be a good item. But those were the easy quests. The more challenging ones had rewards like trophies, free enhancements, and skills.

Yes, the mermaids gave me very challenging quests, and I could obtain skills that I would otherwise only get through repeated enhancement block completion.

I let the two fishing buffs run out, the one pertaining to the lure and the other connected to the net, and observed my girls. Then I pulled out the highest possible rod out and destroyed a tiara. The tiara was the only mythical grade item I had, and it was the item I had found inside the mythical grade treasure chest that started the quest for the final secret.

In the next moment, over four hundred small swarm beasts pulled out their rods and started fishing.

What followed was pure chaos. Most of them obtained fish. That much wasn't surprising, but the others who pulled out treasure chests had those treasure chests transformed into ghost ships. That much was also not surprising.

Of all four hundred girls, one had a mermaid on the hook, and that was considerably lucky. I ran towards that girl and ordered the others to clean up the ships. As I arrived, I was stunned by that I was seeing.

It was a mermaid like I expected it to be, but it wasn't exactly the one I had designed. This one had an addition to it that I didn't recognize.

On her head, instead of eyebrows, she had antlers. Except for that small detail, she was definitely the mermaid I had created.

○○○○○

A mermaids plea

Clear 10 dungeons and obtain the reward from the mermaid.

Dungeons cleared: 0/10

○○○○○

That one was a bust. It was one of the easy quests, so it only gave me a simple item as a reward for my efforts. What exactly always depended on what dungeons I selected to obtain the reward.

We cleaned up the place and went back to fishing for more mermaids. The next one was also a bust. She was also asking to clear ten dungeons for an item.

The third one was more challenging. She asked me for about thirty items hidden inside specific dungeons, but gave me a skill as a reward. This one was a winner. The first one.

This put a smile on my face. I was not expecting obtaining such a quest this fast, as they had a very low probability to occur. It only encouraged me to continue collecting more quests.

The girls and I stayed inside my dungeon for two days, doing nothing else than fishing mermaids and accepting their quests. I filled my quest log with almost 1.600 quests.

I wasn't even sure how I had obtained that many of them. I had reached the hard limit of acceptable quests and continued with collecting them with the idea of abandoning the useless ones to create room for the useful. Instead, I simply added them to the list and ignored the limits.

And that was also not the only problem i was facing. The requirements for all those quests made it almost impossible for me to wrap my head around it.

I had no quest giving me trophies as the trophy system wasn't active for me. I could live with that tragedy, even if it made me cry crocodile tears.

Once we finished that quest gathering, I let my girls roam free inside the dungeons. It didn't take too long until hundreds of items started piling up inside my inventory and the quests being cleared. Then, after a few hours, the first quests i really needed started to be cleared.

Dungeon related quests were pretty common as quest from the mermaids, but there were a significant portion that requested other conditions to clear the quests.

I had hundreds of simple dungeon clear quests that gave me items, so I wasn't surprised when bows, lances, and other items started to appear in my inventory. In fact, the only annoying part in those quests was that I could not clear a dungeon, and that would count for multiple quests at the same time. I was also disappointed that it was impossible for multiple quest items inside dungeons to appear. But my mind was not focused on those small problems.

Far more important were the quests that gave me skills and enhancements. Of those quests, I had 14 skill related quests and 8 enhancements related quests.

As most reward items came in, the only ones that caught my attention were the heroic or mythical items.

After two days, the first pop-ups started to show up. I was obtaining random enhancements without needing to put in the experience points. The costs of the following enhancements still rose due to that, but a free enhancement was always welcome.

After a week of intensive quest clearing, the first skills started to show up.

I was a bit disappointed because these were not really the skills I was expecting, but I accepted them nonetheless. My girls were also quite underwhelmed by the rewards, but everything that could help was always welcome.

I was also very occupied with completing the quests that didn't involve entering the dungeons. Material gathering most of the time.

After eight days of intensive dungeon runs, I asked my girls to come back so we could collect more quests again for two days, which they happily accepted.

First / Previous / Index / Next

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/SpacePaladin15 on 2024-10-30 16:11:18+00:00.

First | Prev

Krev Exchange [NEW] | Patreon | Subreddit | Discord | Paperback | NOP2 Species Lore

Memory Transcription Subject: Tassi, Bissem Alien Liaison

Date [standardized human time]: February 10, 2161

Returning to the Sapient Coalition after a reprieve on Ivrana, I tried to set realistic expectations for what I could accomplish. Elias Meier’s temporary control over the Secretary-General position had lapsed, and there was no telling whether Osmani would fulfill the idealistic promises that his digitized predecessor pledged with such certainty. The galaxy was rather in flux at the moment beyond just humanity’s leadership. The Sivkits were preparing to move off of our world, while us Bissems—despite the ecological, unhinged, stunted terrors that they were—implored them to stay a bit longer. Those crazy Federation-brained furballs had been making a noticeable dent in the algae problem, so we were begging them to avoid returning home for a little longer.

The Farsul were much quieter refugees, with many happy to get off of Talsk for the first time in their lives, even under the circumstances of their homes being bombed. Lassmin, my country, had decided to offer pathways to citizenship; this decision wasn’t received well by all of the locals. I’d been turning more of an ear toward news from Ivrana, not wanting to feel detached from my homeworld again. As majestic as space was, we were up here for that rock of oranges, greens, and blues. The temporary truce in the Global War that had lasted for a few weeks gave me hope that our subspecies were realizing that. I hated that it took the threat of Aafa to drill that home.

I don’t know what will become of the Carnivore Alliance, with the Arxur interfering in the Jaslip business and pissing off the newly-pacified KC; Bissems can’t afford to get roped into this, and we’re not partial to Kaisal after he used our brand new ships as shields. With that said, I think we might have a few permanent friends out of this, and not have to break away.

“Tassi,” a warm human voice said; I hoped I had been right to believe in Elias. Was he even capable of achieving what he wished to? “Of all the faces here, there are none I’m so happy to see as yours. The SC should consider itself lucky to have you.”

I accepted his hand with a flipper, pretending not to notice how the skin felt spongy to the touch. “It’s good to see you.”

“About damn time you took out those predator-hating cloacabeaks,” General Naltor grumbled. “The Yulpa are more eager to sacrifice you than Zalk was with Dustin when he washed ashore.”

“I did not hurt the human.” The Tseia scoffed, a sour look on his eyes. “Someone got rid of him after he helped us, though. I wonder who.”

Elias offered a sympathetic smile, though I noticed his expressions and blinking were a bit off. “That’s what I came over here to say. Beyond offering my sincere apologies that your close encounter with Jones ever transpired, I intend to ensure that she never tries any maneuvers like that against anyone else. Osmani and I are planning to call her on the carpet about all of this, then cut her loose. We must not operate like that with species that should be under our tutelage.”

“Wow! You…really punished her for that?”

“Not yet, but as soon as this is over, it’s on the calendar. I must admit I’ll savor the look on her face. I…or rather, the original Elias found her to be quite the viper, and kept her under constant watch to avoid the Venlil getting railroaded by her schemes. They were vulnerable and intimidated by us, and whether or not we took advantage of them said a lot about humanity’s DNA. I believe that we can walk a path of kindness.”

Zalk scoffed. “Bah, you sound as naive and moralist as Dustin.”

“Oh no, I’m something much worse. A fixer. I can separate my own beliefs from the toxicity within the system, and search for a course of action that shortens the gap between the two. I can’t be deterred if you show me my optimism is misplaced; you’ll only motivate me to be the solution to the problems.”

“That’s the problem with your type,” Naltor countered. “Sometimes, the viable solution is the use of force. You have to protect yourself with strength. You can’t space magic away every issue.”

“I quite agree; my prime directive is always to keep humanity safe. When a species like the Yulpa jeopardizes our ability to live in peace and attacks us in a bold-faced manner, the path forward is clear. In general though, you should try the other avenues first before reaching for the weapons. If I might, I think that is a lesson that would be of the utmost value to Bissemkind and its subspecies.”

“We signed a truce with the no-good foreigners, even after they’ve tried to plunder our land and our technology again,” Zalk spat. “A real enemy to go after for the Starlight Incident: we have to find those Farsul bastards. Ivrana will never be safe so long as they’re out there.”

“The Sapient Coalition is holding a long overdue vote about making you a full member of our organization, but regardless of the outcome, such a tragedy won’t occur under humanity’s watchful eyes. Our mantle is the guardians of Orion. And for what it’s worth, we’ll nail the ‘bastards.’”

I turned hopeful eyes toward Meier, as he smacked a confident fist onto an open palm. “The way you talk, it sounds like Osmani is keeping you close. And if that’s the case, I have every confidence in humanity. It’s wonderful to finally have the galactic community willing to consider admitting us into the fold, without us needing to dive through hoops.”

The Terran diplomat’s decades of learned composure faltered for a minute, as an arched eyebrow betrayed his interests. “Bissems dive through hoops? Forgive me for allowing my curiosity to get away from me, but that idiom conjures a mental image that’s rather striking.”

“Don’t cover up what you meant. We can see your fucking internet,” Naltor retorted. “Adorable is what you meant.”

“You won’t hear those words from me. Unlike the Krev, I strive to be professional.”

I gave Meier a teasing nudge. “And how often is that professionalism tested?”

“Daily,” the diplomat said with a wink. “We all have our struggles.”

The mind-uploaded human retreated from the balcony, as the UN fleet was on the verge of dropping out of warp and giving the Yulpa a nasty surprise. I recalled how livid Kaisal had been when the primates didn’t help, after the Fed remnants turned on him during Aafa’s defense. The Arxur leader wasn’t accompanying his forces on this hunt. While Grenelka’s fleet was pretty backward and dated, still requiring manpower, the grays were stretching themselves thin; that made it numerically difficult to overpower a well-defended world, with allies to come to their aid. Attacking the humans and their eighty-odd SC friends was a poor decision from our enemies, since we were the vast array of allies the Chief Hunter needed.

It’s about time all of the factions in this galaxy worked together to rid our stellar neighborhood of Federation-borne ignorance. The people who agree that the word “predator” shouldn’t matter need to stand up against the ones who maintain their bigotry.

Drone feeds came online, as the Sapient Coalition’s support dropped out of warp. The Arxur Collective were keen on battering defenders, in the hopes of releasing payloads like this was one of their old-school raids. Any critical infrastructure, whether military or industrial in nature, was being targeted with prejudice. However, the Yulpa and their allies had numerical superiority, and were banding together to strike down carnivore vessels. Plasma lanced around through our magnified lenses, colliding in bursts of fire. The Arxur were in need of an assist, with many automatons appearing to bail out under immense pressure. I knew their sensors were picking up the unexpected contacts; the primates had a chance to lend surprising aid.

Naltor lowered his voice, faking an Arxur-like growl and adding in periodic hissing sounds. “That’s great that you came to help, but where are the Bissem ships? We need allies we can use as shields.”

“After the Yulpa tried and miserably failed to attack Libastion, it’s time that we bury them! This fight needs to be over before it begins,” Secretary-General Osmani spoke into the microphone, standing coolly before the central podium. “We’ve sent a message to the Arxur and the KC alike, vowing to stand with them to snuff out the last vestiges of the Federation. Those who fall on the wrong side of history must be taught a lesson they will never forget.”

“They sent a message to the KC too? I guess they didn’t want the Krev getting the idea that humanity is siding with the Arxur against them, since the ink on the peace treaty has hardly dried,” I remarked. “The humans stopped their war when they realized they were fighting each other. It’s time Bissems sign an accord like that for our own affair.”

Zalk narrowed his eyes. “The Krev Consortium was, in fact, mostly not a human-against-human...

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1gfqad2/the_nature_of_predators_281/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Quetzhal on 2024-10-30 15:56:30+00:00.

Book 1 | Prev | Next

Somehow, saying the words makes them feel all the more real. There are enough inconsistencies I've uncovered between the Integrators and the Interface that I'm no longer willing to take everything it says at face value. It doesn't help that I know for a fact that not even the Integrators fully understand the purpose of the Interface—it's an object of worship for them more than it is something they control, and their limited administrative rights over it is a reflection of that.

Unlike Kauku.

The thought strikes me out of the blue, and I frown. He modified the Interface's method of rewarding Inspirations with little more than a wave of a hand. He changed at least one Durability roll so that it modified me physically rather than rewarding me with skills, and he added a message into the Interface on top of that.

Gheraa's done something similar, but he couldn't do that by default, could he? He added Temporal Echo to my Firmament rolls, and that seemed about the extent of his manipulation—he couldn't send me a message through the Interface until...

Well, until whatever he did just before he died. Whatever he did that gave me those skills. That gave Isthanok a chance.

Kauku didn't need to do any of that. It's another mark in what feels like an ever-growing list of questions about what exactly he is.

Not that any of this changes what I have to do next. Complete the stages, retrieve whatever memory it is Kauku wants from the Empty City, and then bring Gheraa back to life. The sooner I can get that done, the better—but even if the Intermediaries are repaired, I don't think I care anymore about whether the Integrators are watching.

Let them watch. There's more at play than them. Bigger actors. Kauku is proof of that, even if I don't know what his presence means yet.

"Okay," I say, letting out a breath and gathering myself. "The Interface is lying. We can deal with that later. Ahkelios—can you get the Seed?"

Ahkelios stares at me, a little nonplussed. "Are we, uh, not going to discuss the Interface lying thing?" he asks. I stare at him, mostly because I have no idea what more I'd say about it, and he raises his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, I'll go get it. But for future reference, you don't get to just say things like that and not elaborate."

I chuckle. "It's more that I haven't finished putting together everything I need. We'll talk about it later. Let's just get the Seed first."

It doesn't take him much time to get it. He flies back, the glass orb clutched in his arms. I'm surprised there isn't even a scratch on it, considering the intensity of the fight with the Seedmother.

I reach out for it—

And the moment it touches my hand, it vanishes. The Interface pings me with an update.

[Seed collected. Congratulations, Heir. Ritual Stage 1 has been completed.]

[Bonus objective complete: Defeat the Seedmother without it entering its second phase! +200 Firmament credits.]

[Progressing Ritual: The Empty City to Stage 2. Be aware that the Firmament levels required for dungeon alteration are hostile to fifth-layer lifeforms and below. Evacuation is recommended.]

My eyes narrow on the notification. Fifth layer? How much Firmament is the Interface capable of usi—

Premonition activates. The danger is everywhere. Even with the skill, I don't have time to react.

Around me, Firmament roars to life, the pressure stronger than anything I've experienced before—everything I felt in the Intermediary is weak by comparison. The force of it is enough to push the breath from my lungs, to make Ahkelios vanish as his form is destabilized and he returns to shelter within my soul. He-Who-Guards collapses almost immediately onto his knees, using a single hand to stabilize himself; a choked noise emerges from his vocalizers.

I remember Miktik.

I don't hesitate. The Knight Inspiration surges back to life around me. I'm drained enough that I can't sustain the transformation for long, nor have I really recovered enough for this to be a good idea; I can already tell I'm going to pay for this later. But staying in the dungeon for anything more than a few seconds is going to be even worse.

I grab Guard, launch myself back to the top of the building with the portal, and throw us both through it and back to Hestia.

The pressure drops off almost immediately. The portal doesn't seem to allow the immense outpouring of Firmament through, a fact I'm grateful for. I can only imagine the effect it might have on anyone around the portal if it had. I place Guard gently on the ground, then turn back to it—

I blink. The portal to the Empty City is still there, but where I could see through it and into the dungeon before, it's now opaque. A golden film blocks the whole thing off. Carefully—more out of curiosity than anything else—I reach forward to poke at the film, and it remains firm beneath my touch.

I could try to break through, but that seems like a bad idea. A quick glance at the Interface more or less confirms the thought.

[The Empty City has been locked. Time remaining before full establishment of Ritual Stage 2: 8 hours.]

Ahkelios re-manifests as I frown at the notice, popping back up on my shoulder and shuddering.

"That felt awful," he says. He glances at the portal, then at the screen I'm reading. "Eight hours?"

"Yep," I say dryly. "I take it that's never happened to you before?"

Ahkelios looks troubled. "No," he says quietly. He stares at the portal for a long moment. "I hope..."

"What is it?" I raise an eyebrow at him, but he shakes his head.

"It's nothing," he says. He hops off my shoulder and toward Guard—the former silverwisp is still lying on the ground, his vents cycling air rapidly. I don't think he's conscious. "Is Guard okay?"

I kneel beside him. "He's fine," I say. Nothing about his Firmament feels off. He's just unconscious, and by the looks of things, he'll be better in a minute or two. He wasn't exposed long enough to...

I sigh.

"Looks like we have some time to kill," I say. I reach out with a hand, letting Ahkelios hop up onto my palm; with a thought, I summon the key to the Empty City and twist the portal shut. "Let's wait for Guard to wake up and then see how Tarin is doing, yeah?"

"Sounds like a plan," Ahkelios says quietly.

—

If Rhoran had a mouth to snarl with, he would've. There was nothing here. Nothing he could attach himself to and take—everything here was too strong, too... distorted? There wasn't a word for what they were. They lacked the consistency and life that other things did, and they lacked the element of emptiness that he could otherwise take over.

Neither real nor an echo. Where even was he? He remembered vaguely going through a border. Remembered a transition from one region to another. But his senses were dull and almost meaningless when he was in this state; he'd turned himself into a parasite, into a devourer and conqueror of Firmament.

That meant nothing in a place where all Firmament was either twisted to the point of meaninglessness or too strong for him to conquer. If he could just find something small enough to take over, he could grow in strength—hop from host to host until he found someone or something that could crush the spirit of the irritating human that kept surviving his stupid Trial.

His job was supposed to be easy! The Path he'd been in charge of consisted nearly entirely of "dead" planets and civilizations; they were hosts to Trials that the Integrators had long since given up on anyone actually completing. That they had anyone overseeing them at all was more of a formality than anything else. Being assigned to these Trials was something like a vacation. Or a retirement job.

Until Gheraa, anyway. A younger upstart of an Integrator that insisted to the Upper Council that he'd find a way to complete one of these Trials—to restart a dead Path. Suddenly he had to do work, to supervise, to actually contribute his Firmament to the Interface so it could operate as intended on Hestia.

So what if he'd been a little rough with him? Gheraa needed to learn. If he hadn't been able to restart the dead Path, no one could.

Except the bastard had started rebelling.

Now here he was.

The longer Rhoran spent time as this—this parasite he'd been reduced to, the more coherent his thoughts were, at least. He wasn't quite as subject to his mind shattering again and again like it had in the beginning, and he was starting to learn more about his new form. More about what he could do.

That didn't change the situation he was in. He was a Firmament parasite in a world filled with Firmament he couldn't even touch. Everything he could sense was a realm beyond him.

Ethan was here, he could tell that much. He was fighting some enormous thing that should've killed him a hundred times over. Rhoran could even tell that it had—he sensed the stutter-stop in his environment every time things reset.

But he couldn't affect the fight. He wasn't strong enough. If there was just something he could attach himself to...

He felt his frustration reach a boil when Ethan actually defeated the creature he was fighting. This was unfair. That human hadn't even ranked highly for any kind of Firmament affinity—his base had been unstable and pathetic, and Gheraa's selection of him had been idi...

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1gfpxdb/die_respawn_repeat_book_3_ch_17/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Spooker0 on 2024-10-30 15:48:39+00:00.

Previous

First | Series Index | Galactic Map | RoyalRoad | Patreon | Discord

++++++++++++++++++++++++

ZNS 1006, Terra (5 Ls)

POV: Stsinkt, Znosian Dominion Navy (Rank: Ten Whiskers)

The seventy remaining destroyer squadrons of the Grand Fleet — over eight hundred space combat ships, with the thousands of troop carrier and fire support ships they were escorting — they dived down at the enemy home planet near the system plane. Stsinkt saw the sensor signals showing the rough volume estimates of the four enemy squadrons of their Peacekeeper destroyers, and she knew that this was the end for her. Even if by some miracle the two enemy squadrons of their prized, invisible Python destroyers were not present, the little she could see on her screen would wipe out her entire fleet to the last Znosian.

But the Grand Fleet had bought the time and distance they needed: to bring the Great Exterminators into range of the Great Predator home world, just five light seconds away.

The relatively large figure — almost 1.2 meters — of the Greater Exterminator chief, Ten Whiskers Knushosht, appeared on the 1006 main screen at Stsinkt’s summoning.

“Great Chief, we are going to do as much as we can to hold off the predators,” Stsinkt told him. “That should give you time to complete the extermination as planned. Are you ready to complete this mission without us?”

Knushosht nodded at her solemnly. “We are prepared. Everything has been perfectly planned, to the last Znosian Marine. If our planetary tugs do not work, the nuclear hellfire will. And if that does not work, our tens of millions of Marines, backed by our orbital fire support— In our grand masterplan, we have built redundancies into our redundancies. The Will of the Prophecy will be fulfilled, one way or another.”

“Good, good,” Stsinkt praised, feeling his joy second-hand. “May the Will of the Prophecy be fulfilled through you. Because It likely will not be through us.”

“Our lives were all forfeited to the Prophecy the day we left the hatchling pools,” he said, bowing his head in respect.

Stsinkt sighed, taking one last look at the blue and white planet of the predators on her console. She was so close, yet so far. At least she would die knowing she participated in the Great Extermination. That was as much as any loyal Servant of the Prophecy could dare to pray for.

“All ships, maximum burn to engage,” she ordered. “Burn out your thrusters and inertial compensators if you have to. Every one of those enemy ships we take out will save the lives of hundreds of thousands — if not millions — of your fellow Servants.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++

TRNS Sonora, Terra (0.1 Ls)

POV: Catarina Ibarra, Terran Republic Navy (Rank: Captain)

Captain Catarina Ibarra looked unhappily at the unsightly patch of black metal in the midsection of her ship’s hull from the external cameras. “That’s the best we can do?” she complained.

“Yes, Captain. A full repair — they’d need to take out the whole module, and well… Ceres Shipyard is not exactly available right now.”

“What is our side-on RCS now?” she asked, referring to their additional vulnerability to the enemy’s radars now that the original custom-painted radiation-absorbent hull had been damaged by an enemy missile.

“Still small enough to fool their sensors, hopefully.”

“I’m not hearing a lot of confidence in your voice, XO.”

“Still small enough to fool their sensors, hopefully!” he repeated in a much more upbeat voice.

“Are you mocking me, Commander?” Catarina looked at him severely.

“I would never think—”

She interrupted him. “And remember, it is illegal to lie to your captain.”

He pretended to be deflated and sighed, “Fine, then. Yes, Captain. I was mocking you.”

“It’s okay, I forgive you,” she said magnanimously.

He grinned. “And I’d do it again.”

Catarina slapped a palm to her forehead in mock horror. “A mutiny! On the eve of battle!”

“Not a mutiny, Captain. It’s insubordination. A mutiny implies at least two members of the crew… I asked Lieutenant Reed, and she refused to join my conspiracy.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Atlas Naval Command, Luna

POV: Amelia Waters, Terran Republic Navy (Rank: Fleet Admiral)

“Put the latest disposition of Bun Battlegroup Ears on screen,” Amelia ordered. “Sam, do we have the data we needed from Panoptes?”

++++++++++++++++++++++++

19 days ago

Samantha Lee sized up the middle-aged corporate executive with a visitor’s badge around her neck.

This is the woman who’s supposed to be the key to saving us all?

She forced a smile and held out her hand. “Commander Samantha Lee, nice to meet you.”

“Martina Wright, Raytech. Amelia told me you guys needed some extra technical help.”

Samantha nodded. “Yes, we have some heavily encrypted data we need your people to break into. And we need it now.”

“Sure, what is it?” Martina asked as she produced her tablet.

Samantha held out a data disk. Martina grabbed it and plugged it into her tablet.

“Out of curiosity,” Martina asked. “What is this supposed to be?”

“The entire memory data bank dumped from one of their battlecruisers. The contents include biometric and interrogation data from two of their engineering officers. We want their order of battle. The manifests of every ship. Who commands what. And where in their fleet their commander is hiding… Eight Cretan Marines died for this information.”

“My condolences for your loss, Commander.”

“Just make sure it wasn’t in vain. How soon can your prototype machine intelligence decrypt all of its contents?”

“As soon as possible,” Martina said as she initiated the decryption job on her tablet.

“And how long is that… specifically?” Samantha asked, her eyes narrowing.

“It’s done,” Martina replied, looking toward the corner of her eye. “Anything else?”

“Already?”

“The Buns’ new encryption scheme… took our computers 13 milliseconds. Compiling and aggregating it all in a format you wanted… another calc frame. The Znosians are improving. Not as fast as Panoptes though.”

“That’s not bad, I guess,” Samantha sighed in relief.

“Wanna see it do that again?” Martina smiled cheekily.

“No, that’s fine. Just send that data to Atlas—”

“Already done.”

“Well… thanks.”

Martina shook her hand. “Commander, good luck. We’re all counting on you.”

“Yeah, and don’t we know it?” Samantha eyed Martina’s hand gripped around her suitcase. “You heading somewhere else? Evacuating to one of the… rich people bunkers out in the asteroid belt?”

She guffawed. “Bunker? Asteroid belt? Nah, I’m flying back to Olympus tonight.”

“You sure?” Samantha asked. “You know… it’s hard to tell, but it’s probably safer here on Luna than on Mars—”

“Yeah,” Martina smiled. “I’ve seen your battle plans and how—”

“You have System Defense Secrets clearance?!”

“Not— not exactly… But Mars will be fine. Your Martian defense will hold.”

“How are you so sure?” Samantha asked.

“Panoptes assured me.”

“You almost make it sound like it can see the future.”

“Psychohistory? Hah. Not quite, Commander, but we’re getting there. One day in the distant, distant future, maybe.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Present day

“Send a message to all ships and orbital batteries in the Thermopylae Defense Zone,” Amelia ordered.

Samantha pulled up the battlemap on her tablet, now showing the ships in Terra orbit. “You know what happened at Thermopylae, right?”

“The last stand of the three hundred Spartans? I’ve seen those movies… They held off like a million Persians, right?”

“Technically they had more than three hundred for the whole battle, but more importantly, they lost. And the sacrifice was strategically meaningless,” Samantha replied. “As it turned out, the Greeks didn’t hold off the Persians for long enough to matter; they stopped them… somewhere else.”

“Welp. Thanks for ruining the movies for me.”

“Funnily enough, a couple thousand years later, two infantry brigades from Australia and New Zealand defended the exact same position against the Nazis in World War II.”

“Oh? Did they win?” Amelia asked, perking up.

“They held it against two Kampfgruppen for about sixteen hours. Hopefully we are a little more ambitious than that today.”

Amelia rolled her eyes. “Okay, you can pick the names next time, Herodotus.”

Samantha smiled as her tablet pinged. “The fleet reports it is ready for weapons release, Fleet Admiral.”

Amelia stood up and faced the camera. “All ship captains and computers, prioritize and coordinate targets.”

“Which priorities?” Samantha asked, entering a new order queue into the computers.

“Priority one, orbital fire support ships carrying strategic weapons: planetary tugs and megaton-plus nukes.”

Samantha tallied them as they appeared as red triangles marked with numbers on the screen. “56 targets.”

“Priority two, orbital fire support ships carrying tactical weapons: kiloton-plus nukes and those biological weapon payloads.”

“124 targets.”

“Priority three, naval leadership decapitation. By importance of position. Squadron leaders and up.”

“72 targets.”

...

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1gfpqo4/grass_eaters_orbital_shift_66_priorities/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/yousureimnotarobot on 2024-10-30 14:31:19+00:00.

Hi everyone,

Some of you may remember my dad for his previous posts here, and his astounding science fiction writing (yes, I'm biased, sue me). If you want to read it again you should start here: Human Altered

I am one of his twin sons, out of five children, some of whom have appeared in several of his stories throughout the years. I also happen to be his supposed "editor-in-chief" (I told you I was biased), meaning I saw him every time he uploaded a new story to you.

My dad passed away last weekend after a really shit time with throat and lung cancer, which took away his voice about a year and a half ago. He was 55.

As someone who saw him during every upload, and proofread every story, I can only give my thanks to each and every one of you who interacted and appreciated what my dad wrote as he found his way into this craft, and cultivated it into what it became.

I would like you guys to know that he read every single comment on each new story, from every instance of enjoyment, grief, reminiscence or simply inspiration for the issue. Each and every one of these gave him great satisfaction and motivation to write the next story, despite the cruel circumstances that he was going through. A lot of you were also a great help in getting him to figure out where he wanted some of the stories to go, so thank you for the ideas and the conspiracy theories!

You helped my dad to find his feet, his purpose and, most importantly, his voice, in a time when he no longer had one.

May you all remain Humans, Altered.

Sincerely,

Definitely Not a Robot

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Far-Help6106 on 2024-10-30 13:10:19+00:00.

Chapter 5

In the orbit of Alpha Centauri - 2 days into the siege of the planet

It had taken the Utkan fleet two whole days to control the space above Alpha Centauri. The Utkan commanders were appalled by the notion of space infantry which seemed to be so common among these Oomans. They thought it was wasteful and pointless to have forces that would die so easily, « like an ujak on a windshield » one Utkan commander had described it. The Utkan couldn’t fathom how a species could throw themselves in the harshest of environments with nothing but a piece of fabric between its body and the void. They had recovered the dead bodies of these Ooman fighters and poked and prodded at the white fabric of their suits, only to discover they weren’t armor, they were literally made of multiple layers of fabric. What type of species would send their own into the void with nothing but a piece of cloth between it and rigours of space? 

The skies above Alpha Centauri was littered with the burnt husks of Ooman ship, these space infantry who threw their lives away and anything else the Oomans could throw at them. The Utkan fighters fought to push into the atmosphere, they were met by staunch resistance in the air. Ooman warriors engaged the fighters in encounter suits. These suits allowed the Oomans to wield large weapons and hand held atomics. They weren't as quick as the Utkan fighters and couldn't survive being hit by their fighters' weapons but it didn’t stop the Oomans. The Utkan fighters had to dodge the floatsome and jetsome that now littered the space around the world. 

Not only that but the Oomans also had a constant barrage of missiles coming from the surface. 

Again, the fighters didn't find it difficult to evade the incoming missiles but, after two days of a constant barrage, the debris was making navigation difficult. The EM output alone was making any type of communication between the Utkan ships impossible. 

The initial barrage of missiles had been indiscriminate in its targets. It had struck both Utkan and Ooman ships. Shields failed, hulls were pierced. Light bloomed in the void with each reactor that was struck. Ships floated uncontrolled around the world and would need to be dealt with when the invasion was over. For the moment, the Utkan would have to dodge the increasing number of shipwrecks floating around, smashing into each other and creating more explosions that would burst in a sudden flash of light, EM and nuclear radiation. The Ooman satellites and shipwrecks were now giving so much radiation that certain parts of the space around Alpha Centauri were very unhealthy to station around.

But the Utkan had managed to take control of the space around the world in two days. Two days of constant barrage, two days of constant slaughter. They could now wage war on their own terms.

When they had engaged the Oomans in the skies, the Utkan fighters relied on orbital intelligence to determine where to engage. The Oomans found it difficult to engage these forces, not for lacking of trying. A good 90% of the debris in orbit came from launches from the ground of missiles and other spaceborn fighters that had been swept away by the Utkan. 

This seemed to have frustrated the Oomans who turned to alternate strategies, a strategy so crazy the Utkan had never even thought of them. The Utkan space commanders had not yet fully translated the Ooman language but they had managed to hack into their communications network and one of the command they had quickly noticed and become to dread were the words « Ramming speed. »

At first, they didn’t realize what was happening when one of the Ooman spaceships, a chunky ice hauler, had raced towards one of the Utkan drop cruisers and rammed it. But when cargoes, luxury yachts, interstellar pleasure cruise ships joined the Ooman Fleet and rammed the Utkan vessels, always howling their defiance, the Utkan ships quickly learnt to keep the Oomans at a healthy distance.  

From then on, the Oomans found it difficult to ram the Utkan vessels but there were a few cases where the Oomans had been successful in taking some of the Utkan out. These slight beings were putting up a fight. They had bloodied the Utkan's space command's nose but the Utkan were not worried.

The tenacity of the Oomans had taken the Utkan Command a little aback but they weren’t worried. After all, the Utkan strength came from their ground forces. Their soldiers were unparalleled in ground combat. They were deadly individually, performed ideally as a unit. They were able to think up strategies on their own, strategies that made sense, that were tactically sound but these Oomans and their strategies were… unfathomable.  So much so that, the Utkan soldiers planetside had became more than a little wary of any sort of direct contact with the Oomans on the ground. 

When the Oomans had rammed their ship, the Utkan ground troops had already been in their drop ships or had already been dropped and were on their way to the surface. They hadn’t been aware of the full extent of the destruction the Oomans had wrought. The Utkan Commanders among the ground troops had, of course, known some of their ships had been destroyed when they suddenly lost contact with it. But far from scaring the Utkan, it only seemed to fuel the warriors’ bloodlust. They had launched themselves with gusto against Oomans but the resistance the Oomans had put up was nothing short of madness. They had never seen or heard of anything like this. The Oomans howled in combat, throwing themselves at the Utkan soldiers without fear or hesitation. It didn’t matter who they were, male, female, infant. It didn’t matter.

As a rigidly set civilization, the Utkan understood castes and beings evolved to answer a particular need. Their own civilization was so rigid that individuals born into their caste couldn’t even think of a single task that concerned a field outside of their caste. Queens lay eggs, warriors fight, technicians build and scientists invent. It was so. 

But these Oomans were different. It seemed that their warrior caste was the entire population. Ulfni couldn’t believe that. That wasn’t possible, was it? There was no way a civilization could exist solely for war. There had to be castes the Utkan hadn’t seen, weren’t aware of. Could it be that these other castes were hiding underground? Could it be that the Utkan had already destroyed these Oomans’ nests? Maybe the Ooman queens had died. That would explain the madness. If their reproductive and scientific castes had been exterminated, it would explain the madness of these Oomans. 

The Utkan warriors were far from these concerns though. They fought. It was what they were trained for, what they were born for, what they were bred for. 

For weeks, the Utkans advanced, plundered and killed. They scourged the world. They rushed the streets, cutting down any they met. Their lasers lit up the night. The screams of these weak Oomans had filled the Utkans’ ears with joy. 

But as the weeks turned to months, the howls of joy died. The Utkans’ joy had turned sour. They fought on and on, killing these Oomans, slaughtering them by the hundreds, their males, their females, even their infants. Utkan soldiers’ had invaded thousands of worlds, made hundreds of civilisations bend the knee, slaughtered races in the dozens. The Utkan Command had heard of the Ooman nests that had been found, they had read the reports of the Ooman males fighting with fury when the Utkans had found their dens but what had shocked them was the females’ fury. 

Ulfni had watched with disinterest when Sho’Tak had lased a Ooman group. A single male, six females and ten infants. They were in a basement of a collapsed building, a dark dank room where Ulfni had had to use its infrared eyes to see anything. It was with its squad of six other Utkan, armed with lasers capable of cutting through flesh, steel and stone with little or no effort. It could smell the fear permeating the room. It made its heart beat faster. Its mandibles clicked in excited anticipation. Ulfni raised its weapon, the coil whirling to life. Ulfni pointed its weapon at the group and pulled the trigger. The weapon howled into life and unleashed a beam of plasma at the group. Ulfni watched in dreaded fascination as the luminous laser struck the male at the front of the group. Ulfni was fairly impressed with itself as, despite being one of the last into the room, it was only the second to strike at the mammalian biped. There was a flash of light, a scream and the male fell, a smoldering hole twelve centimeters in diameter in his chest. The room filled with high-pitched screams and howls but there was something more, a low growl that seemed to fill the room. 

It was coming from a female who was staring at Ulfni with utter hatred, its head low, its shoulders wide, its entire body coiled ready to strike. But what made Ulfni pause was its eyes, two non-facetted eyes that seemed to bore into Ulfni’s skull. Sho’Tak moved its weapon towards the group. That seemed to be some sort of signal as the female launched herself at the Utkan soldiers. Her claws out, her fangs bared. She was a female, a breeder. In Ulfni’s world, this sexed being would have been a queen, able to lay eggs for generations. Never would she put herself in such a situation. She would have had millions of warriors hardwired to defend her, there would ...

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1gfm53x/what_it_cost_the_humans_vi/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Duphonse on 2024-10-30 12:19:36+00:00.

Authorsnote: Been awhile since the last writing. Struggling to write where it's always easier to just turn on tiktok or netflix and just brainrot. But this clawed its way out. It feels slightly unfinished but is meant as a standalone. Please enjoy reading, any feedback and advice is always appreciated. Have a great week ahead.

BEGIN

Daniel Tillson was gorgeous as a baby. His stubby fingers and somewhat chunky limbs made others openly smile when they saw him. He didn’t cry as often as his elder siblings and seemed more aware of his surroundings. The easiest baby Mummy Tillson had so far.

Her only complaint was that he suckled far more often than her first child, leaving her sore and tired. She often joked to her husband that she had given birth to a little piglet, chuckling through the pain as Daniel latched on for yet another feeding.

Daniel Tillson was adorable as a toddler. His stumpy steps and chubby arms made passerby grin when Daddy Tillson took him for ‘walks.’ The bunny-ear hat he wore helped too, as ladies rushed over to coo at him. Mummy Tillson sometimes suspected Daddy Tillson volunteered for walking duty more for the attention than the exercise, but she let it slide. She was forgiving.

He was inquisitive, though, often causing nightmares for his parents. Daddy Tillson screamed for the first time in his life upon discovering Daniel five feet above the ground, scaling the wardrobe where Mummy Tillson had hidden the snacks. His climbing skills were prodigal, which meant no treat was ever truly out of reach. Mummy Tillson lost three family vases that year (Sorry, Grandma).

Daniel Tillson was round as a tween. His fondness for food had made him rotund, and he could always be found with a snack hidden in some fold of cloth. His friends, whenever feeling peckish, could rely on a proffered hand from Daniel holding a buttered bun or a sugary treat.

While other kids his age were obsessing over gadgets or each other, Daniel obsessed over cuisine, experimenting with bizarre combinations that usually didn’t taste as good as they looked (No, it only looked like steak). But he never stopped trying to create something new, always pushing for the next big dish.

Daniel Tillson was scrawny as a teen. An unfortunate overindulgence with a tray of butter buns had soured his love for food, and he turned his obsessive nature toward gaming instead. He played for hours on end, diving deep into virtual worlds where he could compete. He was good, but not great. He always came close to the top but never quite reached it. It gnawed at him, that gap between “good” and “the best.”

One night, while squatting on the roof, sneaking a cigarette (totally underage), Daniel spotted the new girl next door. She was a gamer too, and her streams were popular. She was the best. He felt the pull of competition and something more—desire. He wanted to be as good as her. No, he wanted to be better. He wanted to be the best.

Daniel Tillson was restless as a young man. He streamed endlessly, mixing his childhood love for food with his gaming prowess, hoping to find success in this fusion. His viewers grew, and soon he had a steady following. But it wasn’t enough. The girl next door? She had thousands more followers, more sponsorships, more fame. He wanted that. He needed it. More viewers, more fame, more everything.

But no matter how hard he worked, how many hours he streamed, it never filled the emptiness inside him. He wanted something bigger—something that would finally make him feel like he had arrived. Then he saw the military recruitment ads. Conflict was brewing overseas, and the army was looking for people with drive and determination. This was it. War was the ultimate competition, the ultimate test of skill, courage, and leadership.

Without hesitation, Daniel enlisted.

Daniel Tillson was fierce as a soldier. Basic training was grueling, but his stubborn drive pushed him through. Where others struggled, Daniel excelled. His commanders saw his potential, and soon he was promoted, climbing the ranks just as he had climbed those childhood wardrobes. But it wasn’t enough. It never was. Daniel craved more responsibility, more recognition, more victories on the battlefield. War, to him, became just another game, another ladder to climb.

He fought hard, earning medals and commendations. His name was spoken in hushed tones by his comrades—some admired him, others feared him. But no matter how many missions he completed, how many promotions he received, Daniel still felt the gnawing emptiness. The victories came, but they never lasted. He always needed the next one.

Years passed. The wars dragged on, but something else was coming. Whispers of unidentified objects in the sky turned to televised reports of contact with alien forces. At first, the governments of Earth tried to hide it, but soon there was no denying it—the aliens were here, and they weren’t friendly. Entire cities vanished overnight, consumed by colossal ships that appeared from the clouds, and the military scrambled to mount a defense.

Daniel Tillson was relentless as a middle-aged man. With every new conflict, he threw himself into the front lines. The enemy was like nothing he had ever seen—alien technology, advanced weaponry, tactics that made Earth’s armies seem outdated. But to Daniel, it was just another opponent to defeat, another war to win. His hunger for victory grew stronger with each mission, each desperate battle.

He found himself in a war zone unlike any before—an evacuation mission in a city that was crumbling under the alien attack. The skyline had been reduced to rubble, and the air buzzed with the sound of their ships overhead. His unit was tasked with extracting civilians before the next bombardment.

The helicopter’s rotors chopped loudly through the thick, smoke-filled air as it hovered above the crumbling city. His team had already loaded the chopper to capacity, and they were ready to take off.

But something made him pause.

Through the chaos, his sharp eyes spotted movement below—a figure stumbling through the rubble. A single refugee. A child, by the looks of it, covered in dust and limping toward what was left of a crumbling street.

"Sir! We’re full! We have to go!" the pilot shouted over the roar of the chopper.

But Daniel didn’t hear him, or didn’t care. His gaze locked onto the child. He could save one more. One more person. Just one more. The thought gnawed at him, as if this one last act could fill the void that had haunted him for decades. One more would make it all worth it. Wouldn’t it?

Without thinking, Daniel dropped his rifle, unhooked his harness, and stepped off the chopper. He landed with a heavy thud on the broken ground, his knees aching from years of wear and tear. The rotors whirred above, but he barely noticed. He broke into a sprint, pushing through the smoke and debris, toward the child.

The pilot yelled after him, "Sir, we can’t wait!"

But Daniel didn’t stop. The child was close now, closer. He reached out, grabbing the boy by the arm and lifting him, running back toward the helicopter. The rotors spun faster, the assist’s hand outstretched, waiting to pull them aboard.

Daniel shoved the child toward the open door. Hands reached down and lifted the boy into the helicopter. The child’s wide eyes met Daniel’s for a brief moment, confusion and fear mixing in his gaze.

Daniel took a step back. There wasn’t room for both of them. He knew it. The chopper was overloaded, the engine straining.

As the door began to close, Daniel caught the pilot’s gaze in the rearview mirror. The pilot glanced at him through the reflection, eyes heavy with understanding. Then, slowly, he gave Daniel a nod—one of acknowledgment. A thumbs up and the door slammed shut before the helicopter rose into the sky, taking the child to safety. Daniel stood there, watching it disappear into the smoke-filled horizon. His breath came in short, ragged bursts, the sound of alien ships buzzing closer, the ground shook beneath him.

He had saved one more. He had made the choice.

But as the alien ships loomed overhead, their shadows swallowing the ruins around him, Daniel felt the familiar emptiness return. He grinned as he turned towards the city, he had to feed the void.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/kayenano on 2024-10-30 02:38:30+00:00.

[<< First] | [< Previous] | [Next >] | [Patreon] | [Discord]

Synopsis:

Juliette Contzen is a lazy, good-for-nothing princess. Overshadowed by her siblings, she's left with little to do but nap, read … and occasionally cut the falling raindrops with her sword. Spotted one day by an astonished adventurer, he insists on grading Juliette's swordsmanship, then promptly has a mental breakdown at the result.

Soon after, Juliette is given the news that her kingdom is on the brink of bankruptcy. At threat of being married off, the lazy princess vows to do whatever it takes to maintain her current lifestyle, and taking matters into her own hands, escapes in the middle of the night in order to restore her kingdom's finances.

Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Action, Fantasy, Copious Ohohohohos.

Chapter 305: The Least And Most Expected

I led the way, Starlight Grace in hand.

The darkened stairs wound on relentlessly. 

There wasn’t a hint of the pleasing spiral my bedroom tower offered. Sharp and angular, it zig-zagged with clockwork precision into the depths of the mountain until I was no longer counting the steps.

Normally, this would be little more than an exercise in dullness. Yet as I descended this veritable tunnel beneath a floating eyeball’s bathtub, it was not mud and roughly hewn rocks which were lit by my sword’s glare. 

It was walls of finely engraved stone, the surface so keenly chiselled that it shone like a mirror.

Whereas the caverns overhead were undoubtedly the work of amateurs, this was the product of professional stonemasons. 

A glance was all I required. I offered my full inspection instead. 

Few things etched upon bare walls earned my attention. But these were not the coarse recesses where a poorly laid flaming spike waited to be sprung. 

Octagonal patterns decorated the tunnel, the distinct lines as accurately measured as the steps. A statement as loud as the boisterousness of those who had carved them, for few would fail to recognise the handiwork on display.

“Dwarves,” I said simply.

Indeed, it was no small feat to carve through a mountain. 

It was even harder to dig beneath it. 

But for dwarven stonemasons, it was a greater accomplishment to prevent my nose from wrinkling. Something they regularly failed to do.

“Dwarves~!” repeated Coppelia with a joyful fling of her arms. A moment later, she tilted her head. “Huh, that’s weird. We don’t normally have dwarves in Ouzelia.”

“Is that so? How strange. I’d have thought the mountains of Ouzelia were rife for illegal looting.”

“Oh, they definitely are. We actually used to have loads of dwarves, but the last ones left ages ago.”

“I see. Did they manage to fully excavate your most prosperous mountains with one hand while claiming ignorance with the other?”

“Nope. Still filled with treasure. It’s just that it’s really hard to illegally mine anything in Ouzelia without a dragon coming in and yoinking it away. Those guys really mess up other people’s long term looting plans when they just keep taking all their stuff.”

I nodded.

“Dragons. The kings of vultures. But I admit they at least ensure your nation’s wealth does not abscond.”

“Mmh~ dragons have loads of uses. You can have amazing picnics. Just find a nice dragon lair, sit outside the entrance and every now and again, whack the ground a whole bunch of times with a broomstick. The flame which comes out can make the best fondue sandwiches.”

“... Coppelia, do you purposefully aggravate your dragon in order to acquire melted cheese?”

“Ahahaha.” Coppelia waved her hand dismissively. “Yes.” 

I gave it a moment’s thought, then hummed in agreement.

“Very well, then. An excellent use of your time. To purposefully fatigue a dragon ensures one fewer available to ferry me away in the night.”

“Well, I don’t think the big guy is one you need to worry about. Especially if dwarves are scampering around the place. They don’t have a good relationship, what with the constant yoinking and all.”

“Then he may rejoice. As much as dwarves enjoy squatting beneath mountains they do not own, if they were actually present, they’d ensure every ear in the realm knew it … even those desperately searching for peace in a tower.”

“Ooh, it sounds like I’m about to hear a princess story.”

“Not at all. Mine’s an experience so ordinary that even the commoners outside the Royal Villa can share in it.”

“They got really drunk and insulted everyone, didn’t they?”

“It was awful, Coppelia. A modest delegation, I was told. I’d never hear it from my tower. Do you know what happened? … Halfway through the night, I thought they were tunnelling beneath the ground. They were simply snoring instead.”

I shuddered as the memories came as clear as the shaking of my bed frame.

“Even without being drunk, their rowdiness was enough to echo after they’d left. And still they had no interest to be exploited by our merchants and traders for our selfish gains. Dwarves know as much about diplomacy as they do about gardening.”

“Weeeell, there aren’t a lot of flowers underground.”

“All the more tragic we find ourselves here, then.” I frowned at the engravings, each etched with immaculate monotony. “Still, these walls were made by dwarves. But not for dwarves. This is no abandoned holding we’ve discovered. I recognise these patterns.”

“You can’t tell me this came from a brochure.”

I shook my head. If only it were.

“Worse. Even the most basic of overpriced dwarven designs come with basic motif engraving as standard. But these markings are far too unassuming. Not a single meaningless swirl or cadaver effigy exists as a distinguishing characteristic. And anybody who commissions dwarven stonemasons would also have the wealth to debase their creation appropriately.”

An unorthodox combination. 

Dwarven architecture without ceremony. Like peasants without soil. 

The air was stale, but not rancid. These tunnels were used. But not by anyone who needed torches, golems or servants to accidentally drop a ledger detailing the cost of hiring dwarves.

My suspicions rose at once … as did my trepidation. 

Something was amiss. 

And as a whispering echo filled my ears, I knew my fears would shortly prove true. 

The bottom of the stairwell revealed itself at last. Granite so polished a troll would try to sell it as marble. Likely bundled with the great archway now towering overhead. It was a thing so immaculately carved and oversized it could have stood as its own monument … for what it welcomed us to was the depths of a mountain no more appropriate for a dragon than a princess.

And still–not a single motif. 

I pursed my lips as a sliver of fear entered my innocent heart.

Indeed, I had no more doubt as I viewed the archway bereft of a single personalised quotation, much less the tasteless gargoyles that such a thing insisted on being flanked by. The result was that it wasn’t even dull. 

No, it was well beyond that. 

It was simply … functional. And the reason was as obvious as it was dire.

“Coppelia, this place … was prebuilt.” 

I shuddered as I took in the warning signs. 

No house sigils, no emblems, no skulls and no squiggles. Here was a canvas destined never to be scribbled upon, its architects long having left for more exciting work. 

Coppelia blinked up as she admired the blandness of it all.

“Gasp. We are not ready.” 

“I know. This is unimaginable. We are dealing with somebody with such low standards that they simply purchased the site of their schemes outright from what was available.” 

“What can we possibly do against such a being?”

“I don’t know. Nobody does. Anyone capable of purchasing a prebuilt lair is capable of anything. For all we know, they don’t even commission their own generic fruit bowl paintings. They purchase them from a gallery instead. Because it’s all the same.”

A shudder ran through me.

Even so, I would not turn back now.

“Very well.” I lifted my chin. “We must prepare for the worst. The end is near–as well as whatever malevolence awaits. I can smell the ill will like the dust in the air. It is time at last to rescue your dragon.” 

“Aww.” 

“Hm?” 

“I mean, yay!” 

I pursed my lips.

Then, certain in the knowledge Coppelia most definitely wanted me home as much as I did, I swallowed a deep breath before forcing myself to peer ahead. Only a hollow chasm met me, and a breeze which had likely been a prisoner as long as the darkness. 

I strolled forward to meet it all.

As Coppelia and I passed beneath the bland archway, our footsteps clattered in our wake. But only for a moment. A great hall fit for any number of hill giants immediately revealed itself, so vast that even our echoes failed to reach the walls. 

But that alone wasn’t what muffled our presence or caused my mouth to widen.

No … it was because for all its size, the hall was not empty. 

Quite the opposite. 

It was filled to the very brim … by books.

Piles and piles of books.

Where Starlight Grace pointed, I was met by a desert where every grain of sand was a page and every dune a small mountain of books. 

Here and there, I saw hints of the furnishings which came as standard, now absorbed by their new tenants. The shelves of cabinets and tables alik...

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1gfckuz/the_villainess_is_an_ss_rank_adventurer_chapter/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Auggy74 on 2024-10-30 06:06:28+00:00.

[First] [Prev] [Next] [Royal Road]

Authors' Note: I can't count.

___________

Homeplate, 7th Space Cavalry Legal Office

The office was well-lit, with three older Terrans in the traditional uniform of the legal profession - charcoal-gray suits, bright white shirts, and a dark blue tie. The three were looking at the holoscreens of three other individuals; small nameplates over each of them identified the Throne of both Vilantia and Hurdop as well as a representative of the Collective Interplanetary Diplomatic Corps. The Collective Diplomatic Adjutant was speaking in a flat monotone - a result of the translator dealing with a crustacean species.

"...This is a most unusual request, and the Diplomatic Corps will require extensive time to ensure the agreement is fair to all sides." The representative was moving slowly through the documents.

The lead lawyer for the Terrans then spoke. "We do understand the nature of the request. Due to the exceptional nature of the current situation and to avoid the impending economic and social upset that the Councils' own predictive models have shown to have a 95% chance of coming to pass, my clients would like to jointly invoke Amendment 8, Article 5, Section A, Paragraph 8, clause B of the Collective Interplanetary Governance Charter which states that third party arbitration can be agreed upon and acted upon as if it were a binding ruling of the Collective Interplanetary Governance Council."

A full hour and a half passed while the Adjutant perused and considered the relevant clause. "This is acceptable. We will await your treaty document, and it will be enforced as a binding ruling, pending approval. Any amendments the Council submits must be countered or accepted within one standard year."

The Terrans nodded, and the Hurdop and Vilantian representatives lifted their heads slightly to show agreement. "Our thanks, Adjutant."

Another thirty minutes passed before the adjutant spoke again. "The hearing is now adjourned." And a few minutes later the Adjutant closed the transmission.

The Terran leader seemed unfazed by the glacial pace of the adjutant. "Now then, Thrones – you have the documents in front of you, and we will reconvene in a week. If you or your councilors have questions in the interim feel free to inquire with us directly."

___________

Terran Mercenary Ship "Voided Warranty"

Gretzky and Anagram walked to their quarters, with Hoot looking at the ship interior with wide eyes. Ensign Tabby trundled slowly down the hall with Jones proudly riding on top, as they were the masters of the ship, no matter what it said on the organizational structure. Hoots' eyes went wide as she hopped up and down and pointed.

"Papa-Gryzzk. What!?"

Gryzzk looked carefully. "That is a Jones and a Stabby. They are here to make the crew happy."

"Very important?"

"Very important." Gryzzk nodded solemnly.

Nhoot had a look of entrancement on her face as the pair approached slowly, sniffing the air slowly and deeply. When they were close enough, Jonesy sniffed back, finally inspecting and rubbing against Nhoot in order to claim Nhoot in some feline way. Gryzzk was also inspected and given some stamp of approval as Jonesy trotted off to resume patrolling with Stabby.

"They smell funny. But I like Jonesy."

Gryzzk chuckled. "They seem to like you. I think." They continued along and finally got the door opened to Muranagas' room.

Inside was a slightly different scene, as someone had been busy with whatever printer it was that made the uniforms. Several uniforms were present for Gryzzk with the Terran Foreign Legion logo in various styles and colors. A note said "pick one ship-wear, one physical training, and one combat." Someone had done some work behind the scenes, as the clothing looked very close to Vilantian military wear, but with what would appeared to be Terran additions. The ship pants had multiple pockets and inserts for situations where the full armor was impractical. The physical training wear was gray and made of a highly breathable cloth. All of the uniforms had small attachment points for rank insignia and a print of his name. As he looked, he realized that most people on the ship mixed their pants and shirts depending on what was probably personal preference.

Muranaga nodded as Gryzzk selected the ones he preferred and sent the others to be recycled. He then tried them on and found that they were almost tailor-made for him. Apparently the data from the medical scan included clothing information.

Muranaga pointed to the chow printer. "If you need extras, you can use the chow printer to make a new shirt – Foreign Legion Two. It can print most things, but about ninety percent of what the grunts use it for is food. No booze or drugs."

There was a long pause while Gryzzk smoothed his shirt. "Can it reproduce seasonings?"

"What, like food? Yeah. Just gotta have a sample for it to copy."

Gryzzk quickly went into his luggage and retrieved his small spice box that he had brought with him and began working the controls. After a few minutes, the system requested he clear the area. A short time after that the seasonings he'd placed in were reproduced with near perfection. It was amazing – things that took weeks to harvest and prepare were ready in very short order. He sniffed and had mixed feelings. It wasn't perfect, but it wasn't too far off. It seemed to be useful to a point.

Muranaga smirked. "It's decent, but not perfect. That's the other reason we mostly hit the chow hall - Cookie does it better. Anyway, get your rank on, we gotta head to the officers' meeting. Also, your rank doubles as a comlink, so if you feel it buzz you've got a message coming about a second later."

Gryzzk nodded as he made the proper attachment to his t-shirt, and they headed to the bridge. As they entered, he looked around for the proper conference area and entered.

The area was a bit crowded as the meeting included every officer on the ship. Most of them Gryzzk hadn't met, however it seemed he was easily recognized, and it was only partially because he was in a purple outfit. At the head of the table was the Major, looking fairly pleased. There was a spontaneous measure of clapping that the Major allowed for several minutes.

Finally with a rap on the table, Major Williams got the attention of the officers. "Alright. We have two orders of business. First is that we've got an angel on our shoulder because we've got a list of all the ships that departed port with a potential of having Captain Gryzzks' wife and child. Alpha Company will be accompanying us to one, and Charlie and Delta will be taking the other. What we're looking for is a female Vilantian, about a meter and a half tall, late stages of pregnancy. If she's not on those ships, our next location is going to be Ricks'. Not a social call. The thing going against us is that we are probably in a race. First Sergeant Brooks, bless her heart, probably earned us a solid enemy back on Vilantia. Not to say the sunnovabitch didn't have it coming, but he's gonna have blood in his eye as soon as he can walk without an icepack on his cojones." There was a pause. "To answer the question I know you're all dying to ask, we do not have stills of the event. That said there will be an optional viewing of the shuttles' external feeds immediately after this meeting. Now to item two on the agenda. As you've noticed, we have a new officer on board; Brevet Captain Gryzzk. We're spinning up a new company; our current recruiting targets are Vilantians and Hurdop - the initial table of organization calls for twenty-five percent Terran personnel, and then of the rest I want to try for a 50/50 split. There's gonna be enough problems at the outset - the expectation from each of you is to assist Captain Gryzzk as much as you can. Captain Gryzzk's gonna raid your teams, but don't get boo-boo faced. If we get the full go, he's gonna be taking from all the Companies to form this up. What that means for you is if you meet a Vilantian or a Hurdop, ask 'em if they've got a job. I they don't, set up an appointment with the captain. If they do, hard sell and set it up. We got a lot of empty files and a lot of jobs. I want this this go well, because if it does, we got a hell of a leg up on every other merc company that's looking to expand the ops sphere. And if this works, everyone gets a bank account that's nice and fat. Any questions?"

One of the other captains flicked a finger up. "So yeah, we know what they look like, same pitch for both?"

Major Williams shook his head. "Negative. The Hurdop have been pretty heavily into piracy - give 'em the pitch you'd give a pirate or other thief. Vilantians are proud, lean into that. Hint that the Hurdop could be better off, that kinda jazz." Major Williams looked around. "Sparks, before we hit R-space see if you can pull the feeds of the Throne-Heir coming out of our shuttle. We'll get some nice ad copy from those. Now, of there are no other questions?"

There were none, and with that the room dimmed slightly and a very high-resolution video began to play. It started with Gryzzk talking to Lord A'Kifab, and then there was a quick pan and zoom to the Great Lord snarling and then contorting with an expres...

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1gffxiv/humans_for_hire_part_13/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Obsequium_Minaris on 2024-10-30 01:02:51+00:00.

First / Previous / Royal Road / Patreon (Read 12 Chapters Ahead)

XXX

After a quick lunch, the first-year students continued on to their next class, which was Magical Theory. As they filed into the classroom, Pale was surprised to see the teacher already there. It was Professor Tomas, and he was eyeing them all with no small amount of disappointment.  

"You're all late," he surmised as they sat down.  

The students shared a quick glance with each other before one of them – Joel, by the sound of things – decided to speak up.  

"Professor, we're right on time. Class starts at one on the dot."  

"If you're not early, then you're late," Tomas grunted. "I have a year to teach you all the very basics of advanced magical theory, which isn't nearly enough time to do more than scratch the surface. It's my duty to prepare you all for the upper-level courses, where the really dangerous things start being taught. If you don't have the discipline for it, then this school is not for you. The things we will be dealing with here are very volatile, and we cannot afford any mistakes."  

That got Pale's attention right away. She made a mental note to pay close attention, even if she couldn't cast any magic herself; if nothing else, perhaps learning more about it would help her learn how best to counter the various mages she'd come across.

Professor Tomas took a seat at his desk, which was situated in the back of the room, in front of a row of chalkboards. Pale couldn't help but note that there didn't seem to be any textbooks present in the room, which was more than a bit confusing.

"First off, you all need to understand what it is we'll be learning here," Tomas said. "This class is not about the practical application of magic. Rather, it is very specifically about the theory of magic. What does that mean, exactly? Well, magic is an extension of your sjel. You can think of it as physically projecting the very essence of the sjel itself. Everyone on this planet can use magic; it is an ability inherent to us all. But what separates the true practitioners of magic from the common riff-raff using parlor tricks is the ability to look within and truly understand how magic is being cast."

Someone raised a hand; Pale turned and saw it was Cal. Tomas pointed to him, and Cal said, "Question, Professor – you said that the things we'd be dealing with here are incredibly dangerous, but you also said that this class isn't about the practical application of magic. Could you elaborate on that, please? I mean, how can magic be dangerous if we aren't actually going to be casting any of it in this class?"  

"Good question, I'm glad you asked it," Tomas complimented. "Ultimately, what we're doing here is simple on its face – I will be teaching you to delve into the depths of your sjel to begin fully unlocking its true potential."  

The room went dead silent at that. Pale looked around and saw that many of the students suddenly seemed incredibly fearful of what they'd heard. A few who had been taking notes, Kayla included, had suddenly paused, their eyes wide with shock. Tomas seemed unperturbed, however; he merely cleared his throat before continuing.  

"I understand that many of you have your misgivings about hearing me say that," he said. "The sjel is a sacred thing, after all – it's what makes you the person you are. And while, on a certain level, it is possible to tamper with it, I'm sure you have all heard horror stories of people who went too far too quickly. Rest assured, that will not be happening in this class. What I seek to do is push the limits of your sjel in a controlled environment. It is not without its danger, but at the same time, it is not nearly as dangerous as some of you seem to believe it is."  

Kayla swallowed nervously, then raised a hand. Pale noticed she was shaking. Tomas called on her, and she took a breath.

"What… do we stand to gain from doing this?" she asked. "I mean… there must be some kind of benefit to doing something this dangerous."  

"Indeed, there is," Tomas answered with a nod. "If you lot are like the other students who have come before you, then you're here for a few key reasons. Some of you simply wish to research magic to increase your own knowledge of it; some of you want to test your capabilities and improve yourself. Some of you want to serve in some capacity, whether that's as a soldier for your kingdom, a mercenary or adventurer, or as a professor of magic yourself. In each case, all of you will benefit from testing the limits of your sjel. As for the specific benefits…" Tomas smirked a bit; Pale had to admit that it looked more than a little strange on him, given how straight-laced and serious he normally was. "I'll start with the obvious one – how many of you have heard that a person can only have a single magical affinity, aside from a few rare instances among the nobility?"  

A few tentative hands went up, Kayla's included. Tomas stared at them for a moment before shaking his head.  

"That is complete nonsense," he said bluntly. "Yes, it is true that some people naturally have two affinities and others do not. It is also true that this happens primarily among the nobility. But the idea that it's exclusive to them is false. In reality, any of you in here can unlock a second affinity."  

For the first time, an excited murmur went up through the crowd of students. Pale looked around and noted that several of the students of noble blood – Joel among them – suddenly seemed much more dour than they had been before. It didn't take her much thought to figure out why.

They'd gone their whole lives thinking their second affinity made them special, and that knowledge had just been cruelly ripped away from them in the course of a single afternoon. If she'd been less disciplined, it would have been enough to make her crack a smile.

"Settle down, please," Tomas stated, causing the students to go quiet once more. When they were all settled, he began speaking again.

"Believe me, a second affinity is just the tip of the iceberg," he promised them. "By the end of this first year, all of you will have found a second affinity, sure… but you will also have improved your casting with your first affinity, too, to the point where you could be considered expert mages in it. Not master or grandmaster mages, mind you, but experts. Faster casting times, more mana to draw from, more powerful spells in general, the ability to cast silently and without an external catalyst… all of that will come to you in due time. Let it be known that in this class, there is no such thing as a risk without an accompanying reward."  

That, at least, seemed to placate the students who had earlier been worried about working directly with their sjel. Pale still wasn't sure exactly what that even meant, but hopefully she would find out in due time.

"Now, for today's class, I am going to keep things simple," Tomas offered. "I am going to go around to each of you. You will tell me your affinity, and I will gauge the depths to which you have managed to explore your sjel so far. Do not worry if you do not seem to measure up exactly to your peers; everyone's rate of development is different in this regard, and by the end of the year, it won't matter, anyway, as you will all be good enough to be considered experts."  

Tomas approached the first row of students, motioning for the first one – Valerie, Pale noticed with a small pang of some unidentifiable emotion. She buried it as quickly as it came, however, instead focusing as Valerie took in a breath.  

"Earth," she said. "That's my affinity."  

Tomas nodded, then rest a hand on her head. Valerie closed her eyes, and to Pale's shock, a light began to emanate out from all around her. It only lasted a moment, but it seemed to tell Tomas everything he needed to know.  

"You are quite skilled already, for a girl your age," Tomas surmised. "However, as you would expect, there is still much work to do."

Valerie seemed a bit disappointed at that, though it soon faded as Tomas tested the next few students and found them to be, for lack of a better term, novices, though he was quick to assure them that it didn't matter at this stage. Pale, for her part simply paid close attention, watching for anyone she recognized.

Eventually, as Tomas went around the room, he stopped in front of someone Pale couldn't see through the crowd. The small voice that came a moment later told her exactly who it was, though.  

"U-um…" She heard Nasir say. "My affinity… I'd rather not say…"  

That took her off-guard, as it did with the other students. Tomas, however, was unperturbed.  

"You are a dark elf, yes?" he asked. "I understand that magic for your people is slightly different than it is for the rest of us. That's nothing to be ashamed of; your affinity is a part of you, after all, and it does you no good to keep it concealed."  

"O-okay…" Nasir sucked in a breath. "It's… my affinity, it's…. blood magic."  

A worried murmur went up through the crowd of students, one Tomas was quick to silence with a glare.

"One thing I cannot stand is the idea that...

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1gfapgh/ballistic_coefficient_book_2_chapter_23/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Determination7 on 2024-10-30 01:02:32+00:00.

What a beautiful waste, Adam thought of Eric's Canvas.

He was hiding in the ruined battlefield when Solara's Ghost of Flames caught up to him. The new information that the specter returned with was of vital importance, yet even it had to wait for now. There was a different fire that he needed to put out first.

The fire Eric had spawned when unleashing his Hangman Talent.

They were located at an elevated part of Santuario das Chamas. It was high up enough for air to feel thinner, and close enough to the top of the mountain for the dread of the Ancient Dragons to feel most ominous.

Before their duel began, these sacred ruins had already been mere remnants of a once-grand city. Buildings fit for Dragons used to stand tall and proud. Now even those broken stone houses were lit aflame, hardened rock burning as if it was a matchstick covered in gasoline.

Adam had escaped being consumed by the inferno – barely. It was a temporary reprieve. Either the flames would spread and catch him, or Eric's indiscriminate firebombing would.

Have to focus. Can't let him know where I'm hiding. Painting his soul is my best option...maybe my only option.

The one other plan he'd devised was to wait until Eric exhausted himself. But with how the Hangman was furiously rampaging around, that didn't seem to be a reliable course of action. His flames would engulf the entire city long before then.

No. Painting him was a much, much better option – provided that Adam could.

I have to figure out what I'm missing.

What was it that he didn't understand about Eric?

The two of them knew each other extremely well. Better than most people, certainly. Yet if Adam's previous paintings had failed, there had to be something he was missing.

Worst of all, he couldn't even talk to him. Adam was so much weaker than the Hangman that the moment he tried to ask any sort of deep, piercing question...he would die*.* It wasn't like Eric had the best of tempers to begin with, and near-unlimited power had done little to curb that habit of his.

"WHERE ARE YOU, ADAM?!" Eric shouted. His voice sounded maniacal, deranged, close to inhuman. "C'MON! QUIT BEING A FUCKING COWARD! YOU WANT ME DEAD, DON'T YOU? YOU THINK I'M A BASTARD WHO STOLE YOUR SHIT, DOOON'T YOOOU?!"

The battlefield had become a ruin within a ruin. Eric had destroyed much of the already-broken stone houses with his Talent, as well as killing most of the honor guard Adam brought along, with the few survivors writhing in pain and despairing over missing limbs.

Have to stay hidden until I come up with a plan. It was the best course of action. He knew that. He and Eric had engaged in a Realm Clash earlier that shattered both their Realms and stained their Canvases – neither man would be able to use Realm Laws to achieve an easy, automatic victory.

And without the backing of a Realm...Adam needed to think very carefully about how to fight someone with an absurd Talent like Eric.

Although knowing might be the easy part. Actually doing it is a different story.

"COME ON, ADAM!" The Hangman kicked the wall of a ruined house, sending its foundation tumbling sideways. "Why are you running away now? Weren't you prancing around and agonizing over how you couldn't trust me? Whining about how you didn't want to believe I stole your shit?"

His former best friend laughed and bellowed out, "I FUCKING DID! I STOLE YOUR PAINTING BACK THEN – JUST LIKE NOW!"

Why?

Despite his intense focus, Adam couldn't help but flash back to the many years the two spent together. Was all of it an act? If so, for what purpose? Why would you–

LISTEN TO ME! The Ghost of Flames suddenly shouted in his mind. IF YOU DIE, THEN I WILL DIE TOO, SO LISTEN WELL, HUMAN!

Adam and Solara couldn't communicate freely, distant as they were, but the Ghost of Flames served as an unwilling – if limited – communication method that was faster than even the Grandmaster's crows.

It was Solara who'd come up with the idea. The Painting Talent allowed those bound by 'tattooed' paintings to share their magic with one another, but only until the ink on the person's back vanished.

And since the Ghost of Flames was a package deal with the Talent of Haunting Flames, why not take advantage of that? Once Solara finished her battle, she could simply scrub away the ink and her Talent would revert to Adam – carrying with it a most unhappy messenger.

As for the Ghost's obedience...the Elf and Painter had both agreed on a very simple solution.

Tell me everything now, Adam demanded of the Ghost in his mind. Or else I'll trap you within a dying soldier and let you disappear forever.

The Ghost of Flames didn't need to be told twice. Sola...the Elf has won, it stuttered. Penumbria went as you hoped. Aspreay has declared for you. The Emperor's army has stalled.

Meaning that Eric would be recalled as soon as the Emperor had the chance to order him so. Retreat was no longer an option.

This was the Plagiarist's last chance to kill Adam.

Stay hidden, the Ghost cautioned. The Hangman's Canvas grows more stained by the moment. He wastes much of his Blank trying to find you, destroying buildings indiscriminately. Allow him to tire himself out. He'll weaken.

That was already my plan. I'm not going to run out and risk my life if standing still works fine. I'll win even if I can't trap his soul. Just have to think of a new painting, let Eric exhaust himself, wait for his emotions to get the better of–

Eric lifted up the body of a mangled soldier.

"ARE YOU SEEING THIS, ADAM?!" The soldier was so bloody, and so maimed, that at first the Painter thought it to be a corpse. A moment later he recognized the man to be Diego – the young captain of his honor guard. "IF YOU DON'T COME OUT, I'LL KILL HIM!"

A poor bluff, the Ghost grunted. The soldier is near death anyway; he's missing a leg and bleeding out as we speak. He'll perish no matter what you do.

Yeah. Adam's thoughts slowed as he watched Diego cry out in agony. It would be meaningless to get myself killed trying to save a dead man.

Exposed bone poked out from where the young captain's leg had been, twisted and shattered. I'm weaker and less talented than Eric. When his mind is burning hot, I need to freeze mine cold.

Diego's tormented screams pierced the sky. Being cruel and calculating is my only chance of winning here. I can't afford to get emotional.

Adam was aware of all that.

He honestly, truly was. He had long since prepared himself for the sacrifices he would need to make.

"I'm right here."

Yet when he saw the suffering in the Captain's eyes...the words were already leaving his mouth. He pushed the rubble off from his hiding spot, standing proudly.

"I'm right here...Eric." Every word Adam spoke dripped with a fury that melted away the ice of his plans. He silenced the Ghost before it could even object. "Put him down."

Fire crackled around the two men, their eyes locked in a silent eulogy to their shattered past. Only smoldering shards of their once-precious bond were left now, and all it invoked was motivation to kill the other.

With a careless flick of his wrist, Eric let the Captain's mangled body slip from his grip. Diego's unmoving form hit the ground with a sickening thud. The Hangman's eyes locked onto Adam throughout it all, daring him to react, to break.

"You came here with eleven men," Eric sneered. "And you still failed to fucking beat me. I'd say all twelve of you would leave here in caskets but..."

He gestured to the carnage around him. "Don't think you can find all of your men anymore. Ah, well. Maybe their families will settle for pieces? I think I see a leg over there."

Adam's fist tightened.

Are you insane? The Ghost desperately barked out. He'll kill you – kill us! And for what? The man is dead already!

I might be insane, the Painter thought, but I'm not inhuman. Not yet.

"Your Talent of Hanging is of the Fourth Rank," Adam noted, in a tone dryer than the flame-wreathed air. "And your Talent of Flight..." He gestured at the beautiful featherly wings sprouting from the sides of Eric's boots. "...Is also quite high ranked. Fifth Rank, I believe?"

Eric nodded. "You always were the type to do your homework." His nod turned into a shake. "Just one of the many things about you that annoyed the shit out of me."

"And you never did yours*.*" Adam smiled wryly. "Always preferred to leave it to the end and ask me for the answers."

"Heh. Then answer me this as well – what's your highest-Ranked Talent?"

"Third Rank. Two under yours."

The Hangman nodded again. "And since neither of us can use our Realms, you have no way of bypassing our difference in Rank. Well, no way except Painting, and we both know how much worse you are than me in that regard."

"Yeah, guess that's true," Adam acknowledged with a shrug. "I have no way of killing you outside of somehow managing to paint your soul. My Talents are all weaker than yours, and you can probably kill me within a few seconds. That's all true – I don't dispute any of it."

He took a step forward.

"So I hope you're ready," the Painter told the Plagiarist, in a nonchalant voice. "I hope you're to watch this talentless fuck, the one you stole everything from...take your fucking soul."

In response, Eric also took a step forward.

"Watching you fail is the most entertaining t...

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1gfap8j/the_skill_thiefs_canvas_chapter_56/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/LukeWasNotHere on 2024-10-30 03:13:11+00:00.

Unfortunately that’s not a euphemism. It was an explosive on a timer in my pocket (oh dear God). Along with a giant stuffed bear stuffed full of things that also go boom. 

Now, for the Human saying of the day. Whistling past the graveyard: To act calm, cheerful, and relaxed while you try not to pee yourself. To ignore any upcoming hazards, while hoping for the best. Along with a song I like. 

I walked through the carnival and circus. I did my best to saunter instead of jitter violently like a faulty wire. I whistled the song in question, in some vain hope that the absurdity of whistling that tune would help me calm down, it made me laugh, but it was only the nervous kind. I wasn’t on beat because my heart was drumming too fast. 

The issue other than the bombs was that the carnival’s stands, tents, and other stalls made it a maze. Thankfully all of the children, parents, pets, snacks, and other important items were already evacuated, not that I knew that at the time. The trick was to loudly yell out “Bomb!”. Please don’t do that, I don’t want to get sued. Scout split up from me to meet the bomb squad outside, and I slowly made my way to her. Lest I bump something on the bear or my pocket too hard or scare anyone at the carnival. 

An Alien clown, who happened to be one of the people who planted the bombs appeared from nowhere. “Oh crap.” I dropped to the ground and drew my peacemaker. I fired a shot at him. A stun round hit him in the chest, he flopped on the ground and swore while tased. I got up and ran frantically in what hindsight was probably just one big circle. Still not noticing how empty the carnival was. 

I carefully but still hastily took the bomb out of my pocket and stared at the timer. 

2:00 

“What!” I yelled, and I heard sounds of what I thought was the bomb squad somewhere near me. I started to sprint over to them, explosive still in hand. More people disguised as circus performers descended upon me and drew their guns. I looked around for cover but there was none near me. 

I put the stuffed bear in front of me. They swore in panic and didn’t immediately shoot me. I popped up behind the bear and shot three of them. I tried to think of a quip. 

1:48 

I changed my mind. I heard more sounds ahead of me. I ducked behind a stall for cover. More hooligans with guns rushed past me. I held my breath and thanked the bomb for not beeping like the movies and reloaded. I heard one of the people make their way towards me.

Until they turned back around. 

1:31

I rolled away from the stall and continued my sprint. Until I saw the same people who just walked past me in front of me somehow. We stared at each other surprised. One clown pointed their gun at me. 

I threw the bear at them. They yelled and tossed it to their friends like hot potato. I fired more taser shots at them. Careful not to accidentally shoot the bear. After I got all six of them I picked the boom bear from the ground. 

0:58

“Oh crap!” I yelled at the bomb like it would do something. Until I heard more sounds around me. I was surrounded. I quickly reloaded. I looked around for anything that could save me, apart from more stuffed animals and food there was nothing else. “Wait a minute.” I said. 

0:42

I ran over to all the other giant stuffed bears and threw them around haphazardly around me. “Get your stuffed bears with bombs here! Come one! Come all! For bears with freaking bombs inside of them!” I yelled. 

Each time I threw one I heard more swears and panicked voices. One group stood right in front of me, once I threw a decoy bear they dove for cover and yelped. 

0:24 

I turned a corner and was met by a dozen more people with guns. “Wait! Don’t shoot him, that's Theseus.” Scout stood in front of the cops and more importantly the bomb squad. I ran over to them and threw the stuffed bear at them. Along with the bomb in my pocket. The two men in bomb suits caught them in the air effortlessly.  

0:05

One man clicked some hidden button on the bomb with the timer. 

0:04

Another reached inside the bear's butt. 

0:03

I heard a distinctive click in the bear's butt. I waited to blow up. 

0:00

We didn’t blow up. I finally started to breathe normally and laid on the grass. Scout sat next to me on the ground, also with wide eyes and sweaty hair. We both laughed at each other in relief. 

“Wait.” Scout laughed even harder. “Why didn’t you just leave the bomb somewhere and let it blow up?” Scout asked me. I thought about it for a second, about how I didn’t see anyone else at the carnival other than the people who planted the bombs. Everyone must have already evacuated. I just carried a bomb around for no reason. 

“Oh, Goddamn it!” 

Author’s Note: Another quick one shot because I almost took a nap through my deadline. 

Vaguely important second note: This isn’t a series, though it could be debated. It’s an idiotic writing challenge I made up one night and keep almost failing. Writing a one shot everyday for thirty days. I write these like an episodic T.V. show, the two main characters are the same, sometimes there are two part episodes but it’s meant to be enjoyed on its own. The fact it can be read in order is a bonus afterthought. Context is overrated anyways.

Thanks for reading. :}

24/30 Days

First / Previous

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Jcb112 on 2024-10-30 01:12:04+00:00.

First | Previous | Next

Patreon | Official Subreddit | Royal Road

102 Hours After the First Round of Interloper Interrogations. UNAFS Perseverance. Hangar Bay.

Vir

There were a great deal of core, fundamental processes that truly differentiated the AI experience from that of the organic.

Though there was one that truly was a cut above the rest.

One aspect of it that even some AI considered just a bit outside their comfort zone — what the organics colloquially referred to as ‘multitasking’.

Whilst most AI were doing this in some fashion as a fundamental aspect of their very existence — something that came with being acutely aware of your internal and external processes, a fact that was comparable to an organic going into ‘manual breathing’ mode but taken to the extreme — there was one part of this experience that elevated it from mere ‘multitasking’ to something a bit beyond the organic bandwidth for comprehension.

Multi-reference live-concurrent compartmentalization.

MRLCC.

Or, ‘morlock’ for short.

This ability, whilst more often than not a boon, sometimes had its limits.

And it wasn’t necessarily just raw computational power that was its bottleneck, no.

It was far more… complex than that.

Something stemming from higher functional limitations, rather than anything hardware or software related.

To put it bluntly, it was emotional dissonance — seeing, experiencing, feeling, and processing two diametrically opposed circumstances at about the same time.

And while it was one thing to console someone going through a breakup whilst partying it up in the officer’s lounge, it was another thing entirely to be dealing with someone who required urgent and intense help as a result of a lifetime of captivity, while simultaneously handling the layers of cautious optimism currently developing amongst your crewmembers (plus two).

So while plans and reassurances were currently being made over dinner, a far different form of planning and reassurance was being made deep within the bowels of the shuttle.

The sheer difference in emotional context between the two conversations kept me on edge, and strained what I colloquially referred to as my ‘emotional bandwidth’.

But that wouldn’t stop me from doing what needed to be done.

Both above, with both the practical planning and emotional well being of the crew (plus two), and below with our unexpected guest.

The latter of which, was starting to address the heavier questions that came with his existence.

With one question in particular proving difficult to address.

“So what happens next?” Eslan-secondary asked with a sincerity and earnestness that made it harder to respond in any satisfying way.

The felinor was as close to a blank slate as was possible.

This meant that every single response needed to be thoughtful, reasoned, and above all else — made with his future in mind.

“That’s something only you can answer.” I began, before purposefully shifting course. “Or rather, that’s something that only you should be able to answer.”

Eslan-secondary took a moment to pause at that response, his brows furrowing in deep thought, before coming up with an equally simple but heart-wrenchingly impactful question.

“But what if I can’t?” He shot back. “I’m trying, I’m trying really hard, but I can’t… see anything ahead. There’s only darkness and confusion.”

“Did you actually try?” I returned playfully, garnering a look of abashed frustration from the felinor.

“Yes!” He yelled back with an indignant tone.

“Then you’re on the right track.” I smiled back reassuringly, garnering yet another look of confusion from the felinor. “I don’t expect you to know the answers to a question that big just yet. Heck, I know I wouldn’t. In fact, I remember just how utterly confusing it was to be thrust into a world I knew nothing about, with people who were complete strangers, and in an environment completely alien to me. It’s honestly intimidating, and really demoralizing, and there’s always that urge to just… give up.” I paused, allowing the felinor to process that information. “So the fact that you’re still trying in spite of all of that, means that you’re more than halfway there.”

“So what do I need to do to actually get there?” Eslan-secondary questioned with a cock of his head.

“A lot of things. More than I can list. But maybe we can start out with a few key simple things.” I began, as I started listing things out via my platform’s fingers. “First, you’re going to need experience. You’re going to need to actually know the lay of the land before you commit to any big decisions. There’s no way you’ll be able to chart a course without a map, after all. Second, you’re going to need to set up an order of operations, focus on the small things first, decisions that pertain to your immediate survival, and what sorts of actions you need to take in order to make it to the next day. This can be anything from deciding when you want to eat, to when you want to go to bed.”

The latter two statements might’ve sounded obvious, if not outright patronizing to most.

However, for someone who’s had their lives micro-managed to an excessive degree like Eslan-secondary, these were reaffirmations he needed to hear.

“Do you understand?” I double-downed, eliciting a worrying bout of silence, as the felinor’s eyes closed in deep thought.

“Yes.” He finally responded, more confidently this time around as well. “At least, I think I do.”

“Good!” I acknowledged. “In that case, what would you like to do next?”

Another bout of silence soon descended on our admittedly one-sided conversation.

However, I took that as a good sign as any. Primarily because these moments of silence hinted at Eslan-secondary's attempts at self-direction, at learning to take those tentative steps towards what would be a long road to recovery.

“I’d like to get something to eat… provided there’s like, actually food and stuff here?” He finally managed out, albeit with a tone that was wracked with an expected lack of confidence.

“I can get that sorted for you.” I nodded, before shooting back a followup question to really get those brain cells rewired. “Would you like to eat here, or outside?”

“Outside I guess?” Eslan-secondary responded surprisingly quickly, making it clear that there was a drive and spirit underneath those layers of conditioning.

This prompted me to push for my next gambit, one that would continue to push the boundaries, all in an attempt to establish the new-normal for Eslan-secondary.

“That can be arranged as well.” I nodded, reaching out a hand to help the felinor up. “And what would you like to eat?”

Eslan-secondary froze at that question, his mouth hanging agape as he tried to process a world that to him, probably seemed to be ever-expanding without any definitive end.

“I…” He stammered out, as I stood there patiently, awaiting an answer.

This was going to be a long journey.

But I would be here for it, no matter how long it takes.

104 Hours After the First Round of Interloper Interrogations. UNAFS Perseverance. The Officer’s Lounge.

Lysara

Debriefs with Vir tended to be straightforward, albeit oftentimes run-on affairs.

This first debrief with our local liaison team however? Proved without question to be one that stretched the ‘run-on’ tendencies of our typical debriefs.

As topic after topic passed back and forth, many of which seemed to grow increasingly further and further away from the task at hand.

Though this also came with the benefit of a surprisingly stress-free conversation for the most part. Heavy topics such as Evina’s long-term rebuilding proposals and the very real possibility of a species-wide evacuation — in the event the interlopers returned — were intertwined with more casual conversations involving Evina’s surprisingly deep and varied life experiences. A lot of which seemed to rival even my own, given the unique set of circumstances 'inheritance’ brings to the table.

As unlike the functional immortality that followed from the Vuarks, ‘inheritance’ more or less allowed for the weaving of a varied and rich tapestry of lives, rather than a single ‘stagnant’ one. With each ‘iteration’ having lived a full life into early adulthood prior to ‘receiving the torch’, allowing for a distinct identity and personality to have formed, and thus a distinct individual persona to carve out a life functionally independent from the rest of the inherited memories. With the latter acting less as an overriding identity, but more so as a repository of experiences, one that bordered on living memories — a concept that was alien to both Vir and I.

The evening quickly evolved into conversations regarding the many lives led through Evina’s various iterations, before we finally circled back around to address two big ‘elephants’ in the room.

The first of which involved a certain species whose idioms I seemed to be prone to drawing from.

“So you’re saying they’ll be back at any moment?” Evina continued with a skeptic perk of her brows.

“I’m saying that is definitely a possibility, yes. Given how this planet was a point of interest, we may see our friends arriving, an...

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1gfaw1j/humans_dont_hibernate_part_117/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Nemo__404 on 2024-10-29 23:30:11+00:00.

first

Luna VI query: Set the source to the leaked files of the first reconnaissance operation of Irisa.

No Problem!

Luna VI query: Tell me about the day that Nathan became a father.

Your request will generate an account from multiple points of view. Do you wish to proceed?

Luna VI query: Yes.

***

Ryo’s perspective:

Ryo leaned against the glass railing, his gaze drifting over the blue leaves in the atrium garden below. Over the past few months, he had come to realize that the Irisians rarely visited this place, making it an ideal spot for conversations without being confined to his or Elysira’s rooms.

Beside him, Elysira watched a line of guards crossing the floor below, her claws tapping impatiently on the glass, betraying her eagerness to resume their conversation once the guards were out of earshot.

Ryo, however, was less impatient. He glanced at her, still adjusting to her new look. She wore a military jacket, much like the one he had worn in the mountains of the Ebon Range, paired with light jeans and shoes that most Irisians would probably find distasteful. Every inch of her skin was covered, except for her neck and face—the only places where she could display her emotions.

Over the past month, he had watched her transition to this style. It began with her desire to hide the scar left by her missing tail using human pants. That led to matching shoes, and finally, the jacket—to conceal her growing belly.

She wasn’t worried about Amara or the elders noticing; her greater concern was how the rest of her people might view her, labeling her a traitor more than they already had. After all, Amara’s forgiveness couldn’t erase the past from the minds of those who still held it against her.

As he watched her, Elysira’s orange eyes tracked the guards as they disappeared from view. She turned to him, speaking as soon as they were gone.

"We can’t keep living like this, Ryo. Amara’s baby is due soon, and we don’t even know how long you can stay on Irisa after the mission ends." She pointed to her eyes, frustration evident in her tone. "This blue makeup is driving me crazy. I’m tired of hiding and waiting for you to decide. I need to know what we’re going to do when the mission is over."

As she spoke, red filled her face, intensifying the contrast with the blue around her eyes.

"It depends on what the Prime Minister says," Ryo replied, unfazed by her rising temper. "I told you already. I could be ordered to stay or be sent back to Mars. Ivanov gave us the money, but I’m still a soldier. We agreed you’d go with me, wherever that is. Why are we having this conversation again?"

He watched as her mouth opened and closed, recalling their ups and downs over the past months. There had been rough patches after she first introduced him to the children, but also good moments—especially after Nathan convinced him to apologize and be more open with her. Yet, despite it all, their relationship never felt solid. It always seemed like things could fall apart at any moment.

He envied Nathan and Amara. They seemed to bulldoze through their problems so easily, and Ryo often attributed that to Amara’s elevated status and Nathan’s civilian freedom. But deep down, he suspected they were simply better at communicating—something he was still learning to replicate.

"I won’t know what’s wrong unless you tell me." He was tempted to ruffle her hair playfully, like Nathan always did with Amara, but the very idea felt childish and foolish.

Elysira’s eyes met his, and he noticed purple concentrating along her neck, deepening with each breath. "I... can’t go with you."

Can’t go with him? Ryo’s gaze sharpened, anger bubbling beneath the surface. He saw the purple spread across her face, but clenched his teeth, forcing himself to stay calm. A flood of negative thoughts rushed through his mind—how could she just decide this? Had someone influenced her? Why agree to have a child only to stay behind?

But he didn’t let the anger take over. He unclenched his fists, taking a deep breath before speaking, his voice harsh but measured. "Explain your reasons."

Her skin was still flushed with purple, and her eyes avoided his. "I’ve thought about this a lot." Her voice was soft, hesitant. She glanced at him, but his expression remained firm, though her orange eyes always had the power to reach him.

"When Amara’s baby is born, it’ll be one of a kind. And when ours comes, it’ll be the second. They’ll grow up alone—different from everyone around them. Can you imagine being the only human in the world? That kind of loneliness is scarier than being shunned. They’ll be fundamentally different, and there’s nothing we can do to change that..."

As she spoke, her fears became raw and exposed—fears that their child wouldn’t be accepted, that they might be exploited by either species. Ryo’s anger dissolved into understanding as she continued, and by the time she finished, he felt a strange new fear of his own.

"...I want to go with you, but it wouldn’t be fair to take our child away from the only other being like them."

By the time she finished, Ryo’s expression softened, and guilt flickered within him. He hadn’t fully grasped her fears before—he’d been so focused on their future together that he hadn’t considered how isolating it would be for their child. Now, her words told him what he had missed. Her concerns were valid, and the life he’d envisioned for them might not be what was best for their future. Silently, he began to agree with her, realizing that staying on Irisa might be the better choice after all.

Seconds passed as her anxiety grew, but eventually, Ryo spoke, his voice sending a wave of purple across her face. "You can’t go with me. I understand." His hand moved to her cheek, gently touching her skin. As his fingers lingered, he watched the purple recede, giving way to gray instead of yellow.

Sharing her sadness, Ryo’s thoughts raced for a solution. Even in the worst case, he could visit Irisa while on leave. And with money no longer an issue, he might even consider taking steps toward a full discharge, though that was a decision for the future. Just as he was about to bring up those possibilities, their moment was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps. Elysira’s skin instantly shifted back to blue, her emotions once again concealed.

The source of the footsteps was a male Irisian, likely a guard, sprinting toward them. The first thing that struck Ryo was the oddity of it—it wasn’t every day that he saw an Irisian making such a noisy entrance. As the guard approached and stopped abruptly, bowing with his tail wrapping around his legs, Ryo’s second thought was the urge to punch him. Why now, of all times?

The reason quickly followed. "Princess Amara has gone into labor, and we can’t find Nathan anywhere. Do you have any way to contact him?"

Elysira’s neck shifted to purple in surprise, while Ryo’s brow furrowed. He suspected Mia or Reynolds might have better means to reach Nathan, but then he recalled how communication systems often only worked flawlessly when higher-ups were involved. Perhaps this was the case with Earth’s comms as well.

Without hesitation, Ryo made a decision. Turning to Elysira, he said, "You go check on the princess. I’ll find the plant lover."

Both Elysira and the guard stared at him, momentarily speechless. Seeing their surprise, he added, "What? I think I know where to find him, that’s all."

Before they could respond, Ryo was already running, disappearing into the corridors and leaving them behind.

Nathan's perspective:

Under a massive tree with vines tangled in its canopy, Nathan sat cross-legged, leaning against the trunk. In his lap was an old book, both his hands gripping it as his mind struggled with the contents. Over the past three months, Nathan had abandoned botany entirely, redirecting his focus to the cultural aspects of the Irisians. This shift had meant spending more time in Caladris’ library than wandering the forest above the dome.

Though he didn’t mind being a 'library rat' deep down, he knew this sedentary work wasn’t for him. To compensate, he had taken his reading outside, settling under the shade of the tree while the dangerous blue light filtered down around him, adding a small thrill to the normally peaceful activity.

The book he was reading wasn’t about Irisian history or culture, as his studies usually were, but about something he had once dismissed as trivial—their language and names. His newfound interest hadn’t stemmed from the translator’s shortcomings, but from a conversation with Amara. They had been discussing names for their child, and it struck Nathan just how little they knew about each other's languages—especially when it came to names.

By Amara’s choice, the gender of their unborn baby was kept secret, known only to him and a few humans. Something about Irisian succession rules and elder politics that only Amara truly understood. But ever since Reynolds had revealed the gender to them, the topic of boy names had become a focal point in their lives, leading them to some unconventional methods.

Nathan’s first idea had been to immerse himself in books, hoping to find a name that sounded good in both languages. But he quickly discovered that replicating many of the Irisian phonemes—especially the clicking sounds—was beyond him. They then tried Am...

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1gf8rfd/deathworlders_should_not_be_allowed_to_date_ch_56/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Lanzen_Jars on 2024-10-29 23:12:58+00:00.

[Chapter 1] ; [Previous Chapter] ; [Discord + Wiki] ; [Patreon]

Chapter 191 – Who better to do it?

“Oooooh, this is so exciting!” Nichola nearly squealed and bounced in place for a moment – a gesture that everyone around her now knew had a core of genuineness to it while also being hammed up a lot for the camera that was filming her.

Simon kept a good distance and made sure that she was in frame at all times, even as he gradually circled around the group with his equipment to show off a bit more of the scale of the event he was capturing to the audience.

Together with Nichola, a good part of the allied running mates in the ongoing election had gathered together in front of a large air-lock's door, waiting for their opportunity to welcome a new guest of honor.

And around them, a large, protective bubble of soldiers – both local and human – had formed, constantly busy and at attention in order to manage the multiple crowds of people who had come together in order to also observe what was the beginning of yet another one of the slowly increasing number of truly historic events for the Galactic Community.

Naturally, people had come here with very different expectations for and feelings about the event itself.

In recent times, many of them – but James especially – had quite often found themselves in front of large crowds sending very mixed signals, of course. However...this was on a different scale. Even when compared to James' inauguration, which by all rational measures was absolutely the far bigger deal, this gathering of people somehow completely overshadowed it in magnitude.

It had gotten to the point where some of the local organizational authorities had some very serious doubts about the capacities of the Council Station itself – especially in case of something emergent happening during the event. To combat the issue, what equated to a small fleet of medical and material support ships had been called in from the surrounding coreworlds, which were now standing by, ready to provide assistance in case something with the enormous crowd should indeed go awry.

The massive outcome of people baffled most, and everyone could only assume that it had to do with the people who had been whipped into a frenzy by...certain parties in the meantime, which had led to what the media generously called 'increased political mobility'.

And, well, 'mobility' was right in a way. As he looked around, following Simon with his gaze as he circled around the group, James could see the difference between the crowd that had been there for his ascendance to the Council and the one that had flooded onto the station now with his own two eyes.

Previously, the crowds had been generally made up of the locals keeping the station running as well as the people hailing from close by planets just taking a day-vacation in order to witness his speech firsthand, with only very few people coming from further away if they could afford it time and money wise.

But now, it almost seemed like any 'geographical' borders had been erased, leaving the Community Station as a home for what was well and truly the most intermixed population of people James had ever witnessed.

No matter if standard-, core-, or deathworld; its population could be found among the crowd. In fact, James was actually sure that he had seen at least one person hailing from each of the high-class deathworlds among the crowd at this point.

Another difference was that, back after his own arrival, the local security had still refrained from separating the people of different orientations within the crowd, trusting civility to win out in this place dedicated to peaceful politics where other spots in the galaxy had long started keeping different factions in the crowd apart in order to avoid chaos.

However that, too, had all gone out the window now, and the securing forces were very hard at work to make sure the different political camps stayed within their dedicated areas. And those different camps didn't just consist of 'the people with them, the ones against them, and neutral ones' this time.

Instead, many different, dedicated groups could be readily identified almost at a glance now, all bringing their own thoughts, biases and ideologies with them.

The ones who had been physically separated the furthest from each other were the people who had rallied around the Acting-Councilman Cashelngas, who didn't seem to leave the house without signs or other indicators proclaiming their 'fear the predators' rhetoric anymore – and the resisting movement which had seemingly been founded specifically to combat them on the battlefield of ideas. The members of that one were even easier to make out, of course, as they all had their faces splattered with – luckily rather unconvincing – fake blood.

James still cringed a bit at that specific choice of expressing their gripes.

However, although those two groups had to be kept the furthest away from each other, they were by far not the only ideologies which had found themselves observing the occasion. Others James could spot based on signs or snippets of speeches he heard from their leading figures included, but were likely not limited to:

Those who believed that predators and deathworlders were welcome in the galaxy, but drew the line at 'unnaturals'.

Their exact opposites, who believed people should give augmented individuals a chance and understood the want to be relieved of serious ailments through unorthodox procedures – who however very much thought that predators and deathworlders needed to be controlled.

Some people who appeared convinced that the entire conflict was merely a fabrication for the press while James and those he allegedly opposed were actually colluding behind closed doors and only putting on this whole act to try and make the large political changes they planned easier to stomach for the general populous.

And a rather colorful group of people who used the ongoing conflict as fuel to lobby for their ideas to blow off the election and disband the Council and Community entirely, leaving the galaxy in a free for all that would decide the new leadership and rules based on the right of might.

The oddest part about that group was that it strangely did not appear to be populated with high-class deathworlders or otherwise dominant species who one would expect to come out victorious in such a scenario, leaving James to wonder just where exactly the appeal behind it was for them.

In the meantime, Simon had finished his slow, panning circle around the group standing isolated at the center of the enormous crowd, and James could see how the young man fully zoomed in towards Nichola once more, just in time to film her slightly cheekily waving at the camera teams of other news-organizations, which of course all had to wait behind the protective line of soldiers.

She certainly enjoyed having the first privilege to be directly on the scene, and she had absolutely no qualms about showing it – even if she did keep an absolutely sweet expression on her face as she did.

Besides the two influencers, James' accompaniment for today of course consisted of the usual suspects, who obviously were all just as eager to meet Curi again as he was. Also present were Fynn, who expressed great interest in finally meeting the mysterious cyborg; Admiral Krieger, who saw it as her duty to welcome the long lost refugee – and also secretly had a couple of private matters to discuss with them sooner rather than later; Ajaxjier, who came as an obvious choice, considering she was the other Council-Candidate with obvious augmentations; and finally Mougth, who was always right there standing by whenever an emotional rock to lean on might be needed.

Suddenly, his gaze was caught by an indicator-light above the airlock. The last few minutes, it had shone with a large, very intentionally obvious indication of danger. However now, that light extinguished, leaving the indicator dull and lifeless.

The atmosphere in the dock had been reinstated. Which meant the shuttle could now be safely disembarked from.

James' jaw clenched slightly out of unexpected nervousness. He really didn't know why he suddenly felt so tense about Curi coming through that door. After all, it was just Curi. Not exactly someone he was worried about meeting. Yet somehow, it still felt so...weighty.

His head snapped up a little bit as a more physical weight suddenly pressed against his shoulder, and just a slight shift of his gaze immediately informed him that Shida had allowed her body to drop and lean against him ever so gently, her ear closest to him twitching lightly as she, too, stared at the now extinguished light.

The expression on her face was forcibly neutral, however with how close they were standing to each other, James could very much see her lower lip subtly trembling as she tried to suppress expressing further emotions.

It seemed that, wherever that weight he felt may have come from, he was at least not alone in feeling it.

To comfort both her and himself, he wrapped his arm around hers and took her hand in his, as they more or less patiently waited for the door to finally open.

Meanwhile, the sign th...

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1gf8drc/a_job_for_a_deathworlder_chapter_191/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/KyleKKent on 2024-10-29 22:18:17+00:00.

First

Weight of Dynasty

The first thing they hear when they walk in, Cali’Flynn has a permanent invite and she’s allowed to bring friends so long as she doesn’t bring any troublemakers, is a bit of laughter from the kitchen.

“It’s more embarrassing. I’m out of practice.” A man’s voice says that Cali’Flynn recognizes as Arden’Karm, but changed. Cali’Flynn rushes through the entrance and as she hits the dining room it’s a big crowd of all of The Karm’s greatest hits and her non-band besties!

“Girls! Is he really back?”

“He IS! He’s making dinner with mom! Cheesy meat dumplings!”

“They’re more than just meat and cheese girls, it’s multiple meats! We have slabs of grazer steak, lanwrack, shellfish and normal fish too!”

“No bird meat Mother Karm?”

“Is that Shar’Uran? Is the whole band here?” Valari’Karm asks stepping out of the kitchen. “You ARE! Goodness, I was planning just two more batches but we may need three.”

“Or four, this one is more a loss than a... uh... whole band?” Arden’Karm announces loudly and clearly. Whatever happened to him must have been good for his confidence because he already sounds stronger.

Then he pokes his head out of the kitchen and Cali’Flynn gasps at the sight of him. It IS him! But he’s changed! The baby fat is GONE and his face is weather beaten and his eyes have a glint of something strong in them. The last time she’d seen that was when the Five Flyz had performed at the birthday of Tryti’Margat. Their biggest gig at the time and the security of the palace had been intense and omnipresent.

“Whoa! What happened to you?! Weren’t you a little cuddler in the pictures?” Jaan’Yavar asks.

“Pictures?”

“I have a picture of you napping in The Big Chair.” She says nodding to the living room where the back right corner is completely taken up by a large, overstuffed and well loved recliner chair. It’s the size of a small bed with three times the padding at minimum. It is THE napping spot in any Karm household and so popular that the family had recreated the damn thing so every Karm family home had one. This one was a copy of the original which had been broken decades ago, it wasn’t even the original dark green colour and instead a medium brown. But still a favourite and well loved place.

“Right... anyways, I’m kind of out of practice so I messed up a chunk of the first batch. So we have a little under half a batch.”

“You just made a small mistake.” Valari’Karm says and he shrugs.

“Small or big, it was my mistake. I overstuffed them and they burst through the pastry shell.”

“So... is anyone going to explain what happened?” Hrana’Ilar asks.

“It turns out it wasn’t a kidnapping or anything else. Little brother needed space and was really, really bad at saying it.” Gatha’Karm says before huffing and giving him a bit of a stink eye. One Arden’Karm returns with a frown.

“I TRIED telling you. But even when I shouted before you rarely heard me. Just talking? I couldn’t even hear myself with how much everyone talked.” Arden’Karm says. “Not that it matters now. I got the space I needed to figure out how to handle things and can just get space again whenever. So problem solved.”

“Did you get taller?” Cali’Flynn asks to stop any arguments.

“No, but I’m standing taller.” He says stepping out into the doorway, carrying a tray full of meat dumplings, most of them had burst open and had a savoury smell wafting out. The weather beaten look isn’t just on his face, his hair is longer but only so much as it can catch the wind and move, his arms are defined and he seems to have forgotten what sleeves are used for because he’s clearly torn them out of his shirt that is resting only lightly on a broader and stronger torso.

He moved with a grace that suggested he had been spending a lot of time moving and balancing and all and all.

“Delicious.” Lali’Yavar says in a husky tone. There are some snorts as the comment clearly goes right over Arden’Karm’s head as he looks down at the tray then shrugs.

“I suppose even the burst ones would taste pretty good. Who wants a burst dumpling as an appetizer?” Arden’Karm says to the amusement of the room as he confirms that tougher, stronger and more confident or not, he’s still an innocent little cutie. Everyone raises their hand, including his mother. “Oh! Uhm... there’s not enough. You’re going to have to share.”

They’re fine with that.

•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•

“How by the ancestors does a dust storm somehow match with a forest? Is he conjuring the dirt that it’s sitting on? That’s sitting on the forest? Is it even really a forest if it’s just a massive collection of grasses, bushes, flowers and the occasional tree?” Queen Margat said nothing as her head secretary ranted at the sight in front of her. Every head of staff was here, from the cleaners to the accountants to security and literally everyone else. If they were in charge of people then they were in the room with her, watching the collection of data they had gathered about The Lush Forest and it’s first sorcerer. The formerly missing citizen Arden’Karm aka Dare’Kemka, a consistent and now no longer mysterious contestant in nearly every sharpshooting contest she hosted over the past few years.

All told the young man, barely more than a boy, had won nearly fifty thousand credits off her in prizes over a few short years. Everyone had loved the idea of a mystery man competing and had been waiting to see if he would do something else dramatic, maybe when he won and they had all awaited with baited breath.

Now he was the first Soben’Ryd Sorcerer, had upgraded his concealing cloak and veil to wear The Lush Forest wherever he went, could conjure dust storms at will and still kept his excellent shooting skills.

“It’s not dust. That’s grass. Or rather the seeds of grickle grass. It gets blown on the wind and the first lick of water it gets causes it to grow like mad, flower in a week and if it’s pollinated then the leaves sprout all sorts of ‘dust’ which are actually more seeds. If Soben’Ryd wasn’t so dry then the stuff would be absolutely everywhere at all times. The only things it won’t grow on are complete solids and barren sand.” Her head groundskeeper says and Queen Margat nods. “If he has grickle grass as part of his forest, then we’ve already lost any security. It’s already here, it’s already in every garden and no matter what, every day begins and ends with plucking more of it out and mulching it.”

“And if that’s accurate than his accuracy with that coilgun becomes even scarier. I’ve read the Fire Blades reports. He’s aiming at weapons and isn’t missing. Each of those shots are on tiny, mobile targets at a great range. If he can get into the gardens, then he can put coilshot into more or less every room in the palace at will. Not even the basement’s safe, it has several passages that lead into the outer gardens and we have to assume that if he can talk to plants then he’s going to know about them.”

“Is this how the nobles of Serbow feel? Their innermost sanctuaries and homes all but open to potential enemies?” Queen Margat mutters to herself. “Is, Duke Hart’Ghuran still on Soben’Ryd?”

“Yes Milady, he’s officially extended his business trip due to a roaring success in setting up trade agreements. He has also gained legal custody of a gaggle of peasant children. From the looks of it he intends to set up the personal guard and servants of his heirs early. Effectively rear them into the role. From the looks of it, combined with his known and stated political situation, he’s very concerned about loyalty and is taking the long and slow route to guarantee it.”

“I see. It’s a wise move and usually works. And when it doesn’t it grabs a lot of attention.” Queen Margat notes as the video is rewound and a frame by frame playback shows the supersonic shot leave the coilgun and the dust storm part in front of the shot BEFORE the mach cone or bow shock could. It was very deliberately before the bullet could, by the time it was about three fourths of the way to the cloud.

“The sheer reflexes it would take to do that...”

“Or he’s triggering the clearing as he fires and it takes that time to open then close. Either way, he’s got complete battlefield control and is firing into his control zone. You would need either a skilled Adept or Princess level combatant to survive that level of danger. The only reason we don’t have a body count was because he didn’t want one. No other reason.”

“The Fire Blades are no joke, and White Sparks Squadron is their best inner city attack team. They scout an area and then hit it hard and fast. He intercepted them perfectly. Distraction, disarming and then disengaged with the targets. Which means that the idea that the forsts pass knowledge might be a reality. Considering that a hundred well trained soldiers made such a connection more or less simultaneously. I think we may need to treat any sorcerer as elite combatants as well.”

“Because they weren’t already supremely dangerous. Call Duke Ghuran. I need to speak with him about this. Again.”

“What on any world would someone with that kind of power do? Who is this man now that he can’t be stopped? What happens when a boy becomes an Adept?” The Captain of her Guard states and Queen Margat shudders at the thought.

•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•

“So you then just start gently pin...

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1gf766d/oocs_into_a_wider_galaxy_part_149/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/GoldenSheppard on 2024-10-29 22:12:39+00:00.

Okay. So. I Had A Thought.

We've achieved interstellar travel and venture out into space. We have First Contact. All are very excited. As we talk to these SHINY NEW ALIENS!!!! there is a pause in the conversation. The aliens ask "What did you do during your Great Pause?" All the humans look at each other in befuddlement. The translators and cultural liaisons from each species furiously converse for a few moments which becomes minutes. Nearly half an hour later, the Alien and Human teams go back to their respective leaders. The Aliens looking horrified, the Humans looking sheepish with one looking quite smug.

Human Leader asks the interpreter to fill them in so they con continue this groundbreaking conference that is being transmitted to the entire human race. The interpretation lead looks like they want to blame their kid brother for something before looking up and admitting "Well, the Great Pause is the time during which a previously space faring race is planet bound while they wait for space debris to form rings so it is safe to go into space."

The Human leadership all look at each other. Humanity had known of the issue. It had, in fact, been AN ISSUE since exploring space had begun, but Humanity had just YOLOed their way into space, knowing that the initial push outwards would be extremely hazardous. The push out into space had been pioneered by the prison industrial complex, sending lifers and death row inmates into the first great pushes out to the initial orbital colonies, knowing there was a high chance of death. It took fifty years of this before there was enough of a foothold in orbit to begin cleaning up space to make it safe for the average citizen.

The idea of a "Great Pause" was anathema to the Humans. Space was there to be EXPLORED, how could they stay ground bound? Admittedly, in retrospect, it significantly changed how crimes were punished on Earth fr the better. Seeing flights go up with such a high mortality rate, slaughtering people who were just hoping for a chance at freedom was the push that humanity needed to make large reforms to the Justice system.

Had they Paused though? Reaching out into space was the push humanity needed to unite. Had they allowed themselves to stay ground bound...

"Friends, I apologize for the translation issue. While I am sure all of the Humans are familiar with this story, allow me to explain to our New Friends the history of Space Exploration..."

Over the next ten minutes the leader paints a fairly sterilized picture of the Push to Space that has the Aliens looking over at the humans horrified. Well, the Human Delegation thought, we've fucked the pooch here. Maybe our next first contact will go better.

It did not go better.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/ralo_ramone on 2024-10-29 21:34:31+00:00.

Chapter 164

The pack of orcs guided us through the Farlands, always going north. We followed the same path I had taken with Elincia during our herb-gathering expedition, but instead of going west and sticking to the mountain, we turned to the east, deeper into the Farlands. Little One guided us through hidden paths through the forest and the mountains. Soon, I realized the orcs had a road network. Some roads were wide enough for carriages, and others were little more than animal trails.

We covered more distance in a single day than we had in an entire week. From time to time, Little One stopped and whistled. His calls were always answered with similar whistling. There weren’t permanent structures along the roads, but I noticed concealed surveillance stations—mere wooden platforms—near the treetops.

I wondered how many orcs were out there.

After a while, Little One dropped his guard and focused on speed. Until then, we had traveled silently, attentive to the slightest changes in the wind and suspicious sounds from the thicket. No undead, chrysalimorph, or even stingers intercepted us. The Monster Surge receded, and the orc lookouts had noticed the change. I hoped my victory against the Forest Warden and the Lich gave us enough time to settle.

Wolf, however, grew restless.

“We are getting close to Umolo,” Little One said.

“Many of us have Classes,” I pointed out.

“The tribe will honor Chieftain Dassyra’s decisions even if you accept the System,” Little One shrugged.

The answer didn’t reassure Wolf.

Little One guided us up the rocky hill between the mountain ranges, and when we reached the top of the road, the orc settlement appeared before our eyes. Rising from the rock was Umolo, a walled citadel cut in the mountain’s slope. A grid of tents extended like a fan into the valley from the inner wall. At first, I thought it was a war camp, but I was wrong. Wide roads separated each district and allowed the flux of carts and people around the settlement. Each district had its colors and symbols. The mountain behind the citadel had been cut into terraces, and farmers tended to the winter crops as far as the eye could see.

Umolo wasn’t a tribe but a city. Diagonal roads cut through the grid of tents, connecting wells and fountains. There were markets, workshops, plazas, and stone fortifications, but other than the permanent buildings, everything looked like nomad settlements struck together. At least five hundred orcs had to live within the stone walls, and another thousand camped outside.

“Umolo, the Cradle City,” Little One said with a grimace of displeasure, and we continued walking down the slope.

“It’s beautiful,” I said. Unlike Farcrest, with its broken streets and putrid puddles, Umolo was clean and organized, almost like a color wheel in the middle of the Farlands.

“Umolo only swells this much when danger roams the forests,” Little One replied. “Umolo is not a city for warriors but for the sick, the old, and the scared. Don’t let the Greyfangs hear you saying something like that, though.”

It didn't take an anthropologist to know that hiding behind walls did not align with the values of the orcs.

“Who are the Greyfangs?” I asked. I needed to know what to expect from Umolo.

Little One let out a long sigh.

“Greyfangs are the guardians of the city, the descendants of Umolo and his tribe. Don’t mess with them. They are the elite among the elite,” Little One said, but he silenced me before I could continue asking questions. “Don’t ask more. We are close to the city, and there are ears everywhere.”

Our group descended the rocky path into the plains. There were ten of Dassyra’s scouts, the four kids, the two elven warriors, and me. We were quite the troupe. I trusted Dassyra to shelter us, but I didn’t count on this many tribes being pent up in the same place. Even if Dassyra wanted to help us, others might be more reluctant to accept System users inside the walls.

Not an hour later, we reached the city. Umolo’s wall was made of stones of various sizes and shapes, all fitted together like a massive puzzle. Some of the rocks had to weigh hundreds of tons. Even with the orcish strength in the equation, the construction seemed impossible. The wall was built to last. Not even the assault of an Iceshard Matriarch would make a dent in its surface.

As we approached, I noticed the remnants of a massive battle.

Squads of warriors piled mountains of undead monsters while orc lumberjacks were cutting the remnants of Forest Warden roots. Despite their muscular bodies, they were having trouble. Several Shamans were blessing the axes to cut through the more hardened parts of the root system.

“An undead attack?” I asked.

“Yes. Last night was difficult. Not only undead but Saplings and Hornets too,” Little One replied.

The amount of monster corpses was astounding.

We continued walking along the wall under the curious glances of the orc workers. A detachment of orcs clad in full metal armor guarded the gates. The iron plates were thick as a finger, several times heavier than what medieval knights wore to battle. Their helmets resembled demonic orc faces, with tusks curling over their heads. They wore gray wolf pelts draped over their shoulders. Their cleavers were so thick and heavy that they seemed to be able to cut a horse in half without much effort.

The armored warriors towered over their fellow orcs; none were less than two and a half meters tall. There were at least thirty of them. Such a unit would’ve wreaked havoc during the human middle ages.

“Who’s there?” The Greyfang captain broke from the formation. His voice sounded like a rock falling into the deepest gorges. It echoed inside my rib cage.

“Chieftain Dassyra’s son and his bodyguards from Farcrest,” Little One replied, pulling the banner of the teal moon.

The Greyfang captain examined us, his eyes shining through the slits in his helmet. Wolf remained still, enduring his glance. Then, the Greyfang captain turned towards Hallas and Pyrrah. “The elves aren’t from Farcrest. They are wearing royal armor. Where is your Gilded?”

Hallas stepped forth and performed a courteous salute, unfazed by the Greyfang’s presence. Hallas was a tall elf, but the Greyfang captain almost quadrupled him in bulk. Pyrrah shifted nervously.

“Our Gilded fell battling the Forest Warden, but our assignment remains: eliminate the Forest Warden. We joined forces with the human warrior Robert Clarke and defeated one of its Vessels not a day ago.”

His words seemed to catch the Captain's attention.

“So, the Forest Warden is producing vessels already,” he said.

With a wave of his hand, two armored soldiers broke from the formation and disappeared behind the gate. Then, he turned to me and laughed deeply, like a mountain splitting in half. He pressed his fingertips against his forehead in some sort of ceremonial salute.

“Umolo smiles at the mighty. The gates of the city are open for Chieftain Dassyra’s son. Open the gates!” the Captain said; however, the armored soldiers didn’t break formation. “As per our treaties, the warriors from Farcrest can rest and heal their wounds, but they can’t stay. We don’t deal with Corruption.”

The gates opened, and the Greyfangs let us through. I felt their glances stuck to my back until the gate closed behind us. I let out a sigh of relief, and for the first time in days, I let the exhaustion enshroud me. My shoulders felt heavy, but we still had a long way to go to Dassyra’s camp.

Up close, the city was even more impressive. Tents stretched in all directions, with their work benches and drying racks tidily arranged before them. Everything was like Dassura’s outpost but multiplied by a hundred. Multicolor banners and flags marked the districts where orcs of the same tribe camped. As the orcs cleaned the mess from the Forest Warden’s attack, we walked down the road. There were whole blocks that had been reduced to rubble by the root system and huge tents where healers tended the wounded warriors.

“I should help them,” Wolf muttered.

“We will have time for that later. Let’s settle down first,” I replied.

The words of the Greyfang captain still echoed in my mind. We don’t deal with Corruption. Still, Byrne had spent a lot of time in Dassyra’s tribe, and he was a Scholar. If the orc society had exceptions to the rule, we would have to exploit them somehow.

We traversed Umolo to the north. The grid system allowed us to cross the city in a few minutes. The orcs cast curious glances at us but let us through. Tents needed patching, weapons required fixing, and there were more wounded than healthy orcs. The northern part of the city seemed to have received the worst part of the attack. Wolf walked behind me, almost making the group drag.

“Don’t be nervous, Wolf,” I said near his ear.

“I know this was my idea, but I shouldn’t be here,” Wolf replied.

“Dassyra is your mother, and these are your people regardless of your Class,” I said. “No matter what happens next, this was our safest and best bet. We did what we had to survive, Wolf.”

“I don’t think I can get us a place here. Not with a Class,” Wolf said without much conviction.

“If something goes wrong, I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.” I patted her back.

“Thanks.”

The orc’s demeanor changed when we entered the area with the teal moon banners. Many stopped working to greet Little One, offering drinks and snacks. The orc troop dissolved instantly as the scouts j...

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1gf66i0/an_otherworldly_scholar_litrpg_isekai_chapter_164/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Proximal_Flame on 2024-10-29 21:28:20+00:00.

My patrons voted for it, so here it is. Another chapter of The Last Angel: The Hungry Stars. It was SFDebris who first pointed it out in his reviews: during a heist movie, if the audience knows the plan, then the plan will go horribly wrong. If the audience doesn’t know the plan, then the plan works perfectly. I wanted to try and do a hybrid approach, where the audience learns of the plan piece by piece and sees how it is accomplished. Things aren’t going horribly wrong or perfectly for the cast; they’re accomplishing their goals, but their losses are mounting.

And, like Echo said, all of this so far is the easy part.

Below is a snippet from the chapter as one more part of the plan is put into motion, and we see the League’s reaction to it. For the full scene and story, check out the links above and enjoy!

~

The first warning was the flashing of the hazard lights around the inner airlock doors followed by warning klaxons.

“Alert. Uncontained fire hazard detected. Emergency venting initiated. All personnel withdraw to designated safe rooms immediately. Alert. Uncontained fire hazard detected...”

As those words echoed through the cavernous hangar and the orange flashes of alert lights cycled like prison watchtowers, evacuating engineers and dockworkers, advancing security teams and armsmen details all looked up in horror as they realized what was about to happen,though they didn’t know the full scope.

Across the bay, every door, hatchway and access panel that could be remotely controlled was opening, cowering administrators and hidden hangar staff glancing at each other in confusion as their requests for information went unanswered and their link connections fragmented. Each of them would learn soon enough what was going on, most too late to do anything about it but scream, their voices swallowed by the roar of air cycling through hallways, chambers and bays with hurricane speed.

Aboard Wolfssegen, Commander Briem was trying to hack into the hangar’s controls and override the orders. Three ships. Three Observers and three cyber-specialist teams. They should be able to-

“Commander!” Lieutenant Commander Walstrom, Wolfssegen’s Computer Warfare chief,said. His expression was strained with the frantic admission. “They’ve severed the wireless access points to the hangar’s systems. We’re trying to route around them, but-”

Ottie didn’t need to hear the rest.*We don’t have the time.*Her hands balled into fists. Warnings of imminent cerebral-cyber connection disruption pulsed in her mind. She wanted to do something about them, but the surge of fear and anger that came with her sudden realization was too strong.*They knew where to hit us.*This wasn’t a random terrorist assault or some desperate, vindictive flailing from defeated infiltrators.This was calculated and planned, and whoever was doing this, they weren’t done yet.

“Security Team Barton is ready to deploy,” Sackton put in hurriedly. “They can take a portable extender and get us back in contact with-”

“No,” Briem told her,her voice barely more than a whisper. She glanced at her confused second officer from the corners of her eyes. “It’s too late.”

~

My Patreon / subscribestar / website / twitter

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/DropShotEpee on 2024-10-29 20:59:59+00:00.

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | [Next Chapter]

Ash the Gunslinger walked through the dense fog with heavy hesitation and a heavier purpose.

Beside her uneasy pacing was the idiotic swordsman, beyond her wary gaze was the haunted manor, and behind her was a dying man. Lune noticed we were being followed and stayed to keep us safe. I could have insisted on staying instead of playing dumb.

She could have, but didn’t — and if given the chance to do it over, still wouldn’t. Ash refused to be involved with the Holder Clan, Hunters, or any of that weird shit. Keeping her mouth shut was the best she could do. But her friend was being haunted – she was sure of that. 

And she hasn’t done anything wrong except being born in that cursed family, she thought bitterly. 

There were very few things that would have made her relieve the bedside stories her mom had told her. 

Fucking crazy, Ash thought, wincing in annoyance. Every single one of those fucks–nuts. I’m not getting involved with this shit. Much easier to play dumb. 

Granted, a large part of it wasn’t playing. She really had thought as a child that her powers had come from some magical and hopefully hot fae. Her mom had, however, already crushed those dreams long ago though, with words that now sent worse chills down Ash’s spine than the cold fog ever could.

‘Let tell you,’ Mother had said, in an icy voice, ‘about your terrible father, and the more terrible things he killed.’’

Her mother’s tales slipped and lingered like smoke, gone before her next breath, and forever in every breath that followed. She spoke of laughter without humor, screeches without mouths, and deaths without rest. Ghosts didn’t just haunt you—they hollowed you, turned the world strange.

As her mom fell silent, Ash saw her fingers tighten around two slips of paper, each wrinkled, as if they’d been clutched a hundred times before. Each had a different number hastily written. Lifelines, paths, or chains—Ash couldn’t tell which, and opted for neither. She would call upon no one, no matter what happened to her!

Yet her mother yapped on.

‘If you ever wish to become a Hunter,’ the woman had said, tapping at the first paper. ‘The head of your father’s clan–they’ll be thrilled to know you inherited their technique. Should you want to use your talents to save lives, this is the number to call.’

Ash could not see any reason for her to go for that choice.

Hell, why would anyone?

Gambling her life away to die in obscurity fighting Ghosts making no money. Yeah, wow, her mom had such a great point! Or, alternatively, she could use her skills for fame, bending rules as needed to claim an Olympic Gold and coast for the rest of her years. Much better.

Ash chose her sport very carefully–something big enough she could make a living out of, even if it involved turning that one medal into some social media influencer gig,but nothing that was popular enough to warrant scrutiny. That left out the hugely popular ones like soccer, tennis, and the common fuckery of ballsports.  

It wasn’t just that she hated attention, it was also that those more popular sports had fans who were downright obsessive and would probably have footage of her supernaturally manipulated shots uploaded online in no time. Not that they would immediately conclude she was cheating since they couldn’t prove it…but at that point, the Ghosthunting people would come knocking.

Ash would’ve given almost anything to avoid dealing with those fuckaloos.

Lisa, unfortunately, wasn’t one of those things.

Even in that wretched town that passed down prejudice down like heirlooms, Lisa emerged as something of a mutation in her bloodline. Her kindness was alien, an instinct her upbringing couldn’t have instilled within her - and that, in turn, made her a stranger in her own house.

All because she refused to pick on a new reason to hate someone every week, Ash remembered fondly. When I first moved here, I… Even to herself she dared not recount those times. What she managed instead was, If not for her, I would have killed myself. It was a frank thought, if incomplete.

Well, or killed like a lot of people, then gotten arrested, then probably gotten myself killed in prison, Ash conceded to herself. But whatever, the only reason I’m here now is because she kept the worst of this fucking town away from me. 

And it wasn’t just Ash that Lisa’d kept safe. As the town’s fading population attracted newcomers from all sorts of places, Lisa’s relatives were among the first, and far from the last, to immediately declare every stranger an enemy based on ill-defined reasons.

This worsened her relations with her family, naturally.

It was bad enough that Ash had been glad when she heard the Heir-to-the-Throne, Lisa’s uncle, had been killed. 

Oh no, the cruel rich fucks that liked to bully people out of a town, the same rich fucks that tried to run as a medieval kingdom were being murdered–what a fucking tragedy! Hell, the hardest thing at the time had been not to celebrate too openly.

But then the deaths continued to happen and the realization slowly dawned that they were happening in order of inheritance…which meant Lisa’s turn would come next. 

And that led Ash to looking at the second crumpled piece of paper she’d been left with.

‘This number,’ her mother had said, ‘is the one you call if you need help from a Hunter but have no interest in actually hunting anything. Be…warned, though, he might still try to make you go to the Frozen Castle. He was a bit of an eccentric guy last I talked to him.’

Once Ash would have died before calling that number. With Lisa’s fate hovering over her head, however, she didn’t so much as hesitate.

Not because she was above anxiously agonizing over her decisions, but rather because she was so good at doing precisely that. 

It was a lot easier when you just didn’t give yourself time to regret things. 

Which soon led to that now cursed call–

“That’s goddamn right!” Ash yelled at her phone as if it were to blame for everything. “Just–just get it sorted, okay? I don’t care how–and don’t let the Hunter idiots find out! I don’t want to be involved with them!”

‘Yay, yay, I gotcha!’ Borna responded, nearly singing the words. ‘I will throw you some of my people to deal with it, easy. No ghost, no context, no problem—they won’t even know what I’m gonna make them do. Ah, but full disclosure, I’ll tell them to drag you back here, though.’

“Let them try,” was her response. “That said, are you sure sending ignorant, uninformed guys is the best way to handle this? Feels like they’re likelyto fall short on that one.”

Borna’s answer came out still as if in a song, but the note was sharper, higher–a melodic electric guitar now. ‘My disciples are stupid, but they don’t lose.’

At the time, Ash had been filled with doubt. Today, though…she was quite glad they were stupid. They were being attacked by someone–maybe the one guilty of the murders–and the brooding-bad-boy had volunteered to stay behind to die heroically while they investigated. 

Which worked perfectly for her. It probably would’ve worked less well for the swordsman, but he was too dumb to have figured things out. Even now, as they neared the manor, he was still whining, ignorant of the gravity of the situation they just walked out of.

“Man, Lune is such a dick sometimes,” Caster whined. With a lazy flick of his foot, his boot cracked against the grimy ice, fragments skidding away. “Can’t believe he just left us to do the investigation by ourselves.”

Ash shook her head, playing along. “Yeah. He’s your senior in this ghosthunting shit right? Kinda rude to leave the hard part to you!”

“Damn straight, like super rude! Cold-hearted, goddamn. Gonna die of boredom at this rate.” Caster slouched, his mouth curling in a near-pout. With a sigh, he sank into a crouch, hands resting on his knees, looking every bit the picture of misery.“I mean, okay, this isn’t really the hard part, but c’mon–it’s not the fun one. And he’d be much better at this than me with his lie detecting thing so this is stupid! Guess he’s the guy who’s having it the roughest in the end, but man that’s still selfish!”

The Gunslinger gave pause. “What…what exactly are you getting at?” Sudden unease filled her. “Didn’t he say he just had to make a few calls?”

Caster looked up at her, eyes lighting up in confusion. “I mean, yeah, dude did say that. But words aside, he’s fighting someone isn’t he?”

Time slowed down to a crawl for Ash. Shit. He noticed that too? Was he playing dumb from the start? Was this a plan to have me admit I know more than I’m letting on? She drew a deep breath. No. I have no reason for thinking he knows that much. I’ll just play along for now. “Huh, you think he’s fighting someone back there?

Caster rose with an easy, unbothered stretch, brushing a stray fleck of dirt from his sleeve as if he had all the time in the world. “You don’t? I mean, you felt that Haunted Blood closing in right?”

Stay calm. Keep cool. “I’m even newer to this shit than you,” Ash said, lifting an eyebrow. “Don’t go lecturing me about what I should’ve noticed, hotshot, especially if you weren’t paying attention earlier. Already said I’m...

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1gf5cs9/gods_ghosts_and_the_gunslinger_chapter_12/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/MrIzuarel on 2024-10-29 17:42:24+00:00.

Chapter 99

The day when we decided to get the wolf arrived. I instructed half of my girls to clear the space and the other half to place the engineer traps. Unfortunately, I could not use the hunter traps to lure the boss to us as we needed him to lose the third blade somehow before the real fight began. The hunter trap would most likely not do that trick.

At the same time, I was ready for sacrifices because making him lose that thing would not be easy.

A bunch of warriors came with me, and once we were close enough, we all used our acid skills to attack the wolf from afar. I wasn't sure how the wolf would react, but I hoped for the best.

He got hit by two of the acid balls, which was already good since he had a 90% evasion skill. Immediately, that boy threw his blade at us...

Not gonna lie, I was killed in that attack. Cut clean in two.

Four of my warriors were also killed in the same slash, but one of the surviving ones managed to grasp the blade before it could return to the owner. She managed to teleport with that strange biological blade to our dungeon and let it fall to the ground.

While the blade was successfully extracted from the equation, the rest of the warriors started to lure that wolf to the prepared area.

This was the reason why hunter traps would not be useful in that part of the plan. Since we had already started the hostilities against the boss, the hunter trap had no effect on him.

At the same time, some of my girls activated a few of the hunter traps far away from us. This caused the other monsters in that area to leave us in peace during our little battle. Their mission was to lure as many as they could until the boss died. Each of them had hundreds of traps waiting to be used.

I was forced to wait for a while until my resurrection cooldown was over, then joined the battle. Once outside, I could see the ingenuity of my girls. They were aware they could not use weapons as equipment, but somehow, they managed to use them as part of the traps.

Every time the wolf made a movement, explosions erupted from about ten percent of them. Some  were slowing the wolf down, but the exploding ones lunched daggers, swords, knifes, and other bladed weapons around that hit everything around like shrapnel.

Regular weapons were already a nasty thing during a battle, but these were weapons we had collected from dungeons and treasure chests. Some of them had really repugnant enchantments cast on them. Forget about burning or poison. These bad boys had enchantments like necrosis, parasite, and despair on them.

What exactly this meant for the victim of these enhancements will forever stay secret between me and the Geneva convention.

I could see how my girls managed to get the boss to run over the traps and injure himself. At the same time, I saw how some of them collected the weapons that didn't stick to the boss and replaced the traps and shrapnel. Thankfully, the weapons reacted to my girls, putting them into the inventory, or else it would have been a pain to do it manually.

I wanted to participate, but I was not in a position to do so. My main purpose in this operation was to replace the fallen girls who fell victim to the boss or the flying weapons.

Yes, the weapons also harmed us. I was far enough to avoid most of them, but even with the distance between the boss and me, some of the weapons landed close to me, and I was far enough that I barely saw the boss.

That's when I realized that most of these weapons had interesting shapes and designs. Each of them had some kind of hook or intricacy that would stick to the body of its victim unless carefully extracted. A wolf would not be able to do that.

After about half an hour, the girls dragged the boss away from the battlefield they had created and went to an open field.

At first, I was uncertain about what was happening. The field showed traces that someone had dug up every centimeter and then closed up again, but I could not understand why. Only after the boss suddenly started to burn did I realize.

My girls had buried more weapons underneath the surface, blade upwards. This wasn't a field with explosives, but the boss would step on them hundreds of times during the fight.

I was confused about how they had managed to prepare such a space, but then I remembered that we had waited for quite a long time before attacking this boss. Preparing this space was possible during that time.

I could see the many debuffs being applied to the boss, but they weren't strong enough to be truly fatal to such a monster, but I didn't notice what the girls were doing.

The girls were dragging him in a flower form over that field, passing as much as possible over the center of the field. I could see they were trying to force something to happen, but I could not see it.

At various points of the fight, the boss tried to run away, but even for that eventuality, the girls were prepared. They tossed potions towards the places the boss tried to escape. Those potions were filled with poisonous gas, and the boss, being a wolf with a sensitive nose, avoided the gas like the plague.

I thought the fight would drag on for hours as we were barely making a dent on that bosses health, but then it happened . The boss passed the center of the field again and screamed horribly. At the same time, his body flashed white. It was a weak and dull flash, but something had changed in him. He felt to the side and had problems standing up again.

I could see all my weapons in his belly and legs from where I was standing. I was surprised about how many weapons that boss had endured during that fight, but I was uncertain about what happened to him exactly. Then I observed how his fur slowly turned white.

Curious about what was happening, I came closer and used my system to get a good grasp on the matter.

○○○○○

Petrification: (37 seconds)

○○○○○

I was stunned about this. Then I remembered that I had only one weapon, which had such an enchantment, and that weapon was consumable. I had found a club that was barely more than a stone and a stick tied together inside a heroic grade treasure chest. That weapon was a one-time-use called "Cavemen's favorite fossil," and my girls had used this on the boss.

No wonder my girls had constantly dragged the boss over the center of the field! The weapon had been buried there.

I was stunned by what I was looking at, but the timer was slowly ticking and more and more of the body turned white and stopped moving, then the time ran out and the debuff changed from "petrification" to "petrified". That debuff had no timer, so it was a permanent change that the boss would not be able to get rid of without help.

Seeing how the boss was defeated without being dead, I ordered the clean-up of everything. The traps could not be collected anymore after deployment, but that was acceptable.

Once we were ready to depart, we killed the boss and collected all the rest of the weapons stuck to his body. While I was uncertain what I should feel about this, I was happy that we had won. Maybe I should look into creating more of such measures to fight the spider at some later stage.

First / Previous / Index / Next

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/MrSharks202 on 2024-10-29 17:05:57+00:00.

Justice demands flesh. It always has, I'm just the physical incarnation of that brutal fact.

They keep me chained up in the back room of the precinct. I'm their fucking hunting dog, a cannibal monster designed in the pits of hell to find criminals, born to inhabit this horrendous ability. They think I hate being chained down here, being used like a pawn. They use my crimes as blackmail for my skills. They think I'm a hostage, but I live for the hunt. The carnal passion of pursuit, the bottomless pleasure of a successful hunt, and the kill -- oh the lovely kill. I am alive only to kill.

Yes, justice does demand flesh, and I am the reaper that hunts it. Memories are locked behind sinew and blood, and only I have the jaws to extract the truth.

I know exactly when it's time. I can smell the fear fester in the air. It's a boiling aroma that drips down the walls of my cell, pungent and hot. They hate me, all of the officers look at me like a Lovecraftian horror -- and they should.

The lights crack on in the hallway and I can see the shadows of footprints from under my door. It's a crowd, must be a big case. They swing open the entrance and I'm greeted by the usual frowns and scared, beady eyes. A collection of officers ready to let lose their cursed dog of war.

The captain is sweating. He wipes his forehead with a labored motion and scowls. "Get ready Hound." He shines his flashlight on me and reveals my rabid state. "You hunt tonight."

He's a tall man, stoic with his emotions and convinced that I think he isn't scared of me. He's better than most at hiding it, but I can smell it. I've known the whole time, he reeks of fear.

Beside him are the usual assortment of hot-head deadbeat cops who think they're cool for being on a case with the Hound. Some of them ask for cases like this, all in the hopes of being right where they are now, looking at me, gawking. They cluster in tightly next to each other just like sheep, timid before the truth. They don't even realize how strong their prey instinct is. On the inside, they themselves are wishing that they didn't take the case. I can see how they look at me, with my massive features and dogged appearance, they think I want to eat them too. Maybe I do.

Finally I see some new faces, young cadets who probably showed some sort of promise so they were thrown onto the case to see if they'll break when dealing with the Hound. I am their test, and they're failing. One shudders at my sight, another has no reservations of just looking away. Meek, all of them. Man has lost the predator that buries itself in our chest.

I stand up and walk towards them, towering above all of them. "Who are these supple ones?" I say while stroking the face of one of the young cadets, taking a large whiff of his ineptitude. "Are they my treat after I catch the killer tonight?" I see them shake, glowing with abject fear in their eyes as they glance over to the captain for help. What stupid things.

"Enough of that." The captain huffs. He fixes his belt and keeps his voice stony. "We have to hurry, we've got a couple bodies in the locker for you to eat."

This is the hard part, the part that I dread everyday. Cold meat, it never gets easy. I would rather the flesh of a freshly killed body, still beating with blood and sizzled in the horror of their own demise. The taste is repulsive, but the act of tearing flesh from bone makes my soul rattle with ecstasy. I am alive when my world is dead.

"Hurry Hound, we think the killer has someone as we speak."

I see the cadets looking at me with wide eyes. They'd never seen me do this, they'd only heard stories of the Hound's 'gift.' I'll make sure they see it clear as day. I sink my teeth into the cold leg of some long-dead woman, making sure that those pups see the ferocity and animalism of my bite. I lift my chin into the air and let the velvet liquid stream down my neck, staring at those cadets and letting them see the satisfaction I get from becoming feral.

With another bite I black out, I'm sent back into a cold room, tied up to a chair and screaming for help. Before me stands a man, short and strange looking. He's wearing rounded glasses and smiling the toothy grin of an arrogant man. He burns my feet with a iron rod and I see his face twist in sexual pleasure, he wants me to keep screaming so he does it again. Over and over he abuses me so that he can feel pleasure, his eyes roll back and I see the demon inside of him, I see what really makes up his demented soul.

I'm out of the delirium, falling to the ground out of exhaustion. Dying dreams are mentally taxing.

"Eat the others," The captain demands. No one else has the backbone to tell me to continue, only the captain understand what real morality is -- Necessity. "We have to find him."

"No," I say while rising to my feet, dizzy and swaying. I can feel the wicked grin glimmer across my face as cold blood drips from it. I take my hands and run it along my neck, collecting the ichor and taking another lick of it. "No, the fool made on vital mistake... He let her get a smell of him."

This is it, this is the dream, the delight! I'm dashing across the city, running with feet that move without my telling, bounding like the winged angels of heaven. Everything about it is autopilot, all instinct. I feel the blood that was born to hunt pulse in my veins with hot fervor, my sight tunnel visions into blurry streaks that pass by on my way to the killer. Nothing matters to me in these moments besides killing, I can smell him in the air and it invigorates me. My muscles pump for action and my jaw is grinds from excitement. I am in heaven.

Behind me I can hear the cop cars desperately trying to keep up, they're buzzing across the streets with horns ablaze telling people to get out of the way. They think I'm heading straight to the killer, but they do not know. In an instant I turn off into an alley and disappear, dashing through passage ways and through buildings, quickly I angle away to loose them. I can hear the shouting voices from my belt. Hound! What are you doing! Wait on us! 

They'll catch up eventually, they're tracking me, but all I need is a minute. This moment will be mine, this kill I will keep.

I arrive at the warehouse, his stench is everywhere and it inflames me. It's a tall dark building with busted windows and swinging chains. He's in there, I know it. I prowl around the sides so he doesn't notice me, knowing that I have only a little time before the cops catch up. The hair on the back of my neck raises up, my fingers curl with anticipation. I am close.

Inside I see him, working ruthlessly on some poor sap tied up to a bed. He's doing the same thing he did to the lady I ate, torturing them for his own perverted pleasure. I see the eyes roll back, I see darkness, real and hopeless darkness. I can't help myself.

I plunge from the edges and latch onto him, dig into him. It is an incredible, ruthless bloody slaughter as I tear his skin to shreds. I hear his shrill screams and it's music to my ears, a symphony that makes my soul shudder with electricity. His fear, it permeates through every inch of the room and it's the most delightful thing that I've ever smelt in my life.

He's screaming why why, who are you? Please stop. But I do not care. I rip into him and start consuming him, feeding from him in the most delightful manner. I listen to the screams with more pleasure than you could ever imagine.

The cops are here, they're yelling at me to get off of him. They're pulling and yanking at me but I am not done, right before six men get me off I rip out his heart. I pull out from his wretched chest a lump of pulsing flesh, a useless device for a man so twisted. They watch in horror, unable to stop me as I dig my teeth into it, twisting and shredding. I stare at the man as I eat his heart, watching the life leave his eyes. There was no light there to start, I simply watch darkness become emptiness.

The captain is yelling at me. He's telling me how they needed him alive, and how they cant make him serve justice now. I look around at the young cadets, the sheep who see me covered in live blood. They cower when they turn to see the mangled mess of what was once the killer. They see the real me, the real Hound. They see the animal, man's rightful and ancient state.

They will go home tonight and they will feel sick, something in them will stop them from eating, stop them from sleeping. They will shake it off as just trauma, just the PTSD of being a cop in the hard streets. But that's not why they're sick, that's not why they won't be able to sleep well for weeks. What they see in me is the truth. They see that it is not me that is an animal, but them. I am a human, fully actualized and realized, the universe's ideal predator. I do not shy away from the ferocity that swells in my chest. They see that what they are is weak, prey. They go to bed and they fear the fragility of their own soul, and pray that whatever is in their chest goes away.

Cowards.

The captain yells into my ear, telling me that I can't just kill like that, that justice has to be served. He tells me that I've done a bad thing, and that they won't let me out for a long time now. But the captain, I know him. He has accepted parts of the dark truth. As he screams at me, as he throws his fists and spits with rage, he is happy. He wanted the criminal dead like I did. I am his vessel for passion. If he could've done the same thing, I have no doubt he ...

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1gezpo9/cannibal_detective/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/MrIzuarel on 2024-10-29 15:41:31+00:00.

Chapter 98

I was pleasantly surprised to easily find the boss of the area. Right after finding him, I noticed a lot of things, but two of them stood out.

First, the wolf boss was way smaller than the spider, even though he had a higher level. And second, he had far fewer health points.

These two facts about this boss told me everything I needed to know about monsters that managed to swallow divine crystals.

I came closer and had a better look at him.

An "blade wolf," which was not that bad looking. Unlike the small fries here, he actually looked like a dark grey-blue wolf. The only parts that deviated were a few small silver blades at his joints and two bigger ones at his shoulders. He was also carrying one of the larger ones in his mouth. That blade had most likely fallen off him at some point, and now he was carrying it like a stick.

I had found him when he was out hunting and didn't know why he used the third blade until I saw him decapitate a bear in one swing. He then proceeded to eat as much of the corpse as he could until it started dissolving into black smoke. He then inhaled that smoke and marched on.

Point taken.

I silently followed him to his hideout.

If someone asks why I hadn't been attacked by the boss, I was flying high in the sky, far away from his reach.

Once he arrived at a large cave, I saw many of those blades he grew on his shoulders laying around. Those were clearly bodyparts he had lost, similar to how deers lost their antlers. But why didn't they just disappear?

While I was left wondering what the differences between him and me were, I observed the boss more.

The crystal icon showed me what I needed to know.

○○○○○

Whirlwind

90% chance to avoid attacks

○○○○○

Great. He didn't have that many health points compared to the spider, but with that buff, he was just as annoying to kill as the big one. I followed him for a few days and was certain of two things.

First, I didn't want to fight him near his hideout. The blade he was carrying around behaved strangely, and I clearly didn't want to fight him where he had dozens of them laying around. The other point was that he had no other special attack other than the blade.

For a short amount of time I was uncertain if I should take that monster with me to my dungeon and trap him inside like I did with the chicken, but that experience was something I didn't want to live through again.

After some thoughts, I decided to make it very easy on me. Unlike the spider, he only had one blade he could use to attack from a distance. If I could separate it from him, then we could let acid rain down on him without fearing him.

This was a good idea, but it could be improved even further.

Traps! Those small devices created through the engeneer job were quite useful in such cases. In the case of the spider, they were nearly useless, but the wolf here actively left his home to hunt. That meant I could lure him into a hellhole made of hundreds of deadly traps.

I enjoyed that idea.

To be precise,  I had already found out about the differences between the traps inside the game and the real world.

I had access to two types of traps. Traps for dungeons, which were elaborate and very dangerous, didn't affect the creator and his allies.

And traps for outside. These traps were weaker and cost fewer resources. In both cases, their numbers were limited in the game, but not here...

The traps for the dungeon still had their hard limit, but for some strange reason, the regular traps had lost their limitations.

When I finished the first floor of my dungeon, I decided to plaster the place with as many traps as I could. I had, except for the spots where my farms would be, put on every centimeter half a dozen traps. Anyone breaking in my dungeon with a trap dismantling skill would leave after seeing what waited for them a few steps ahead.

And now I had the opportunity to create a death floor here and lure in the boss. Even if the traps were inferior and only 10% of them would have an effect on the boss, if I created enough of them, then the fight would go in my favor.

There was only one problem with this. I had to keep the other monsters away from my killing floor, or else they would accidentally trigger them. I looked at my traps. I had only access to two types. Explosives and slow. Both types of traps required some wood and metall. Explosives needed additionally some stones to create black powder and slow needed alchemical ingredients for glue.

I almost wished I could use the other traps like bleeding, poison, confusion, or blinding traps that the engineer specialists could do, but I was already happy with these two.

I looked at the components of the traps and made a very large list of everything we needed, then started to collect everything.

I was not idiotic enough to immediately deploy the traps or else I would need my girls to protect them, but seeing how the items piled up in front of me made me realize that I needed to start working on the second floor of my dungeon. ASAP.

I had the idea of creating an underground maze for the next floor, then slowly transforming that maze into an alien/ant colony as the players progressed. It would not only be a maze on the horizontal plane but also in the vertical plane as the intruders would have to move up floors to continue their invasion instead of a constant descent of floors.

In my mind, there was nothing more frustrating than to try and understand a three-dimensional object when you only had two-dimensional representations.

Since I had nothing better to do than also hunt inside dungeons, I joined my girls in their regular runs.

Forget about being aggressive. My girls took the "no chill" attitude to the next level and decimated everything after preparing their ambush with my hunter traps. That too could be an interesting way to lure the boss into the killing floor...

After learning from the experts in ambush, I returned to my regular duties. Since my girls were now regularly fishing, I didn't need to force myself to do it, so I focused my attention on obtaining buffs again.

I was surprised by how slow I was collecting the buffs compared to how fast the numbers of my girls grew. If that went on like that, only the smallest portion of them would end with that buff...

First / Previous / Index / Next