Darren sat on the edge of a small cliff, basking in the light of the full moon, with his eyes turned up towards the endless stars. Some ways behind him, the rest of his squad sat near the warm glow of a bonfire, sharing drinks and stories, their laughter echoing through the plains. It was quiet tonight, a welcome change from the front lines. Lost in his own thoughts, he barely noticed the footsteps approaching from behind.

"Darren, what are you doing out here? Come join us by the fire, mate." He recognized the voice; Pierre, one of his mates from training.

"Just thinking," Darren replied.

Pierre took a seat next to him, arm resting on one knee, the other leg dangling over the cliff. He swirled the drink around in his mug, giving Darren taunting eyes.

"Not even for something to grease your guts?"

"Not really in the mood for alcohol, Pierre."

Pierre sighed. "Come on mate, out with it. What's going through your head?"

It was a long minute before Darren replied. "I just want to go home."

"We all do, lad," Pierre said. He let a moment of silence pass before speaking again. "You know, I've got myself a lady back home, and a little girl cooking up in her belly. I'm going to miss her birth. I know that Mikael over in fourth company has a whole family and a half, he's on what, nearly seven kids now? None of 'em are getting any younger." Pierre chuckled. "You're not alone out here, Darren. And besides, this war is practically a farce. We have those elven bastards on the run. They can’t touch a single one of us with that magic of theirs. It'll be over before you know it, and we’ll be home with crowds singing our praises. Everything will be alright.”

Darren twiddled his thumbs around. "What if it isn't? What if they figure out something that can actually hurt us? Or what if they hire regular armies, or make pacts with other nations?"

"Unlikely, mate. There's nothing to be scared of. You're leaning way too hard into this." Pierre stood up, and patted Darren on the shoulder. "You should come over with the rest of us," he said. "Ease up a bit every now again, won't do you no harm."

Darren heard him walk away, but he stayed and watched the stars. His last thoughts were of his mother, of his home back on the farm, and of his friends at the lake. He didn’t even notice himself drifting off..

When he next woke, it was still dark outside. His body itched from the grass he slept on and ached from the armor he forgot to take off. He heard noises from the camp, and at first, debated turning over and falling asleep again. Something was off, though. It wasn't for many moments more before he realized that the noises were screams and shouts.

Darren clambered to his feet, fumbling for his sword as he ran back to the camp. Strange colored light broke through the night like flashes of lightning; hues of blue, green, and yellow illuminated the tents with each boom. It was an ambush! Had to have been, the Elves must have been following them, waiting for the right moment. Their magic didn't affect him, he reminded himself. There was nothing to fear, so why was he shaking so much? He tried to steady himself as he set foot into camp.

In the center of camp, near the fire, his squad was surrounded by Elven warrior casters, each armed with shields and staffs. He could see Pierre's face among them, twisted between fear and excitement.

"Your combat magic can't hurt us," someone said from his group. Darren guessed it was his captain. "You might have us outnumbered, but you can't hurt us. Turn and flee, before we fell you like the trees of your precious forests!" He was right, and Darren should do something to help them. His hand rested on the hilt of his blade, but he couldn't move an inch. His legs felt rooted to the spot.

The elves did not reply. Instead, one of them came forth, from where Darren couldn't see. This one was holding a long staff, Darren couldn't tell what kind. He had never heard or seen something like it before though, and this new elf wasn't wearing the standard military outfit he was forced to memorize. The elf raised the staff, and pounded it into the ground. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, Darren had the strangest sensation that he was moving upwards. Until he looked down, and realized he was.

The ground beneath him appeared as though it were bulging right where he stood. He stumbled backwards, and just in time; with a great rumbling noise, much like the sound of tree roots being torn out of the ground, the bulge burst out and rose into the air, surrounded with a faint purple light. Darren saw other mounds of dirt and rock had been lifted into the air.

"Oh, what is this, a show? Come on now, you can't hurt us, so just run," someone else declared. The balls of earth continued to rise in the air, but they stopped once they were about twelve feet high. The elf with the staff raised it again, and stomped it into the ground once more. Suddenly, the mounds of dirt flew at unbelievable speeds, so fast Darren couldn't track it with his eyes, directly at the soldiers in the middle of the circle. Dirt flew everywhere, and Darren averted his eyes, but the moment passed. He looked up, and saw what was left of his squad.

Blood and guts littered the space where they once stood. Bodies had been crushed beneath the weight and speed of the mounds of earth. Bones jutted out, limbs bent in all wrong directions, heads were torn off. He could see Pierre among the dead, his face ruined and caved into his skull.

Darren took a step backwards, and then fell on his bottom. No, no, no, this wasn't possible, they were supposed to be immune to magic, why did this happen? Shouts came from within the circle of elves; one of them had noticed him, and with a quick flick of the wand, sent a golden shard of light straight at him. Darren screamed as it connected, wincing and shutting his eyes. Nothing happened. It seems in the recent display of human demise, both he and the elves forgot that humans can't be harmed by conventional magic.

He didn't have time to think. Instead, he jumped to his feet, turned and ran, his legs finally finding their purpose. Rays of light and magic continued to pass around and through him, and though none of it affected him, he flinched each time he heard the magic being cast. He continued to run, not daring to look back, not knowing where he was running towards, just trying to put as much distance between himself and the elves as possible.

Then, he heard a familiar sound. One that wasn't the sound of magic. The sound of dirt tearing free from the earth. In the next moment, pain coursed through every fiber of himself. He was on the ground, buried under dirt with noodles for limbs. His back felt wrong, twisted and bent. Tears flowed out of his eyes. His last thoughts were of home, as the night swallowed his life.

Gorgluot gazed through the pressurized window at the strange craft. It came from some primitive sector of the galaxy; Gorgluot's ship was simply passing through when the ship's scanners identified the strange craft.

"Captain?" one of his lieutenants asked. "What do we do with this?"

Gorgluot ignored the question, scrutinizing the shuttle. It was extremely primitive, requiring fossilized fuel to achieve flight. Its reserves seemed to have expired by the time Gorgluot picked it up. Discovering a new, intelligent species was always fascinating to the scientific community, so much so that the sizable reward for such a discovery was posted on Gorgluot's quarters. He had made some discoveries himself, all very unique, but this... This took the cake.

A small, fur covered creature wandered the inside of the pressurized chamber, sticking its maw into various corners, sniffing the air. They had sampled the atmosphere within the shuttle and simulated it inside of this chamber so that they could observe what creature piloted it, perhaps even make contact and discern its planet of origin. When this being came out of the craft, Gorgluot immediately thought that he had made some money. However, despite all their attempts at communication, the thing never responded. Gorgluot stretched a tentacle in frustration. The small, four legged thing laid down on the floor of the ship, emitting some sort of high pitched squeal.

"What's it saying?" Gorgluot asked the lieutenant. His lieutenant sighed. "We don't know sir. Our translators aren't picking up any speech patterns." The captain grumbled. "Perform a magnetic scan, I want to know what its brain is like." "We did, captain. Its intelligence is, well, sub optimal." "Then how did it achieve space flight!?" Gorgluot's eye stalks floundered in anger. "We have no idea captain."

Gorgluot made a hissing snorting noise. Closer interrogation would be required. "Ready my suit. I shall speak to it myself."

Some periods later, Gorgluot entered the airlock, and then the atmospheric chamber itself. He was much, much larger than the monstrosity before him, but there was always something to be cautious about. "Greetings creature," Gorgluot said in his native tongue, hoping that the thing will interpret it as speech and respond. Instead, the little thing ran over to Gorgluot, its rear tentacle stiffly oscillating, maw agape. Is it attacking? Gorgluot shambled backwards, expecting an attack. The creature reared its fore appendages upwards, placing them on Gorglout's suit, and echoed a sharp, staccato roar. The captain glared down at it, its maw open and internal tentacle hanging out. The thing’s elongated maw was... Actually rather endearing. Gorgluot tentatively reached down, and stroked the body of the creature with a tentacle. The small thing yapped again, and its rear tentacle oscillated faster. Gorgluot’s sensors warned that the creature's vitals were spiking, indicating it was becoming excited, or agitated; that was up to the interpretation of the user. Gorgluot decided excitement, as he scuttled down to continue engaging contact with the furry creature, this time on its level.

Inspired by a comment to a YouTube community post.

Post in question. gl finding the comment.

Social Anxiety Disorder. That’s what the psychiatrists said it was. I didn’t believe them. I didn’t need to believe them, because I knew what I had. I’ve always had it.

I don’t remember much from when I was little. Mostly just a general feeling of uncertainty, like I had no sense of self growing up. The pieces I do remember are vivid though. Once, I walked into a classroom filled with people I had never met before, and my condition struck me as a massive wave. I was paralyzed, barely cognizant of my surroundings. Someone walked me to my desk; I hadn’t realized, not even after the visions stopped. My parents, bless their souls, tried their best to help me in every way possible. Doctor visits, brain scans, psychological wellness exams, the whole nine yards. Nobody ever figured it out. How could they? Nothing like it had ever existed before. It shouldn’t be possible. I shouldn’t be possible.

And yet here I am, 30 years later. Sitting alone in an office filled with whatever bobbles and curios people saw fit to give to me, mostly crystals or semiprecious gemstones and the like. Thought to harness good energy. It’s all bullshit of course, but whatever helps the weird people that walk in my door. Rarely do I get the Joes and Janes walking down the street; most of them think me a quack, and I don’t blame them. What I have really does seem otherworldly.

A knock at the door shakes me from my ruminating. I swing my chair around, facing the wall behind me.

“Come in,” I say, shutting my eyes.

The door opens and closes.

“Hey, sorry. I don’t have an appointment, but your sign says you take walk-ins?”

A woman. Probably early 20s.

“Yes, I do. Have a seat at the chair.”

“Uh, ok.” The chair scrapes along the ground as she pulls it back and takes a seat.

Silence.

“So, uh. You’re like, a holistic doctor, right? But for therapy or something like that?”

“Yes, indeed I am. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on in your life?”

“Well,” she says, her voice skeptical and questioning. “I’ve been going through some things lately. My… my mother died a few weeks ago, and my girlfriend said she couldn’t handle me how I was and left. It’s been a rough month, and I kind of just wanted to talk about it.” The words came out mostly smoothly. Her voice didn’t shake or waver. She’s said this before.

“Hm. Let’s do an exercise,” I reply. “I want you to close your eyes and count to 20. While you’re counting, focus on your breathing.”

Silence. I wait, until I hear her sigh. Her breathing comes out rhythmically, in and out. Only now do I turn and face her, eyes open.

I’m sitting in the rain at the bus stop, still staring down the dark road. It’s been an hour and 40 minutes, and there’s no sign of one coming. They were supposed to stop at 10 on weekends, there should have been one by now. I’ve called mom, dad, even my bro and no one answered. No less than four unread texts in each of their inboxes. I curl up. They’ve forgotten me again. I’m no one to them, not worth remembering, not worth thinking about. I’m just a burden to them. Of course they would forget me. I burst into tears, thankful for the rain. Why am I always alone?! Why?!

The memory stops, and I’m in the office. The girl in front of me still has her eyes closed. Two ear piercings on her left ear, a grayscaled flannel with black arm sleeves. Hair tied back into a pony tail. No makeup, no lipstick, just a normal person. Yet behind that I know what she feels, because I’ve felt it, as vividly as I feel this moment now. I don’t even know her name, and yet I know everything about her.

I focus on my breathing along with her, filing her memory away into a vault. When she opens her eyes, I smile. “Ready to begin?”

Fire and flames climbed the throne room walls. There, at the foot of the throne, amidst the smoke and screams, stood the Demon Lord. Clad in dark armor, broken metal adorned his helm like a twisted crown, and at his feet, bound in ropes, lay the princess. The Demon Lord bent lower, running his gauntlets through her long golden locks, gazing into her fearful eyes. Even amidst the fall of her father's kingdom, she retained her beauty. The Demon Lord stood up, hefting the young princess onto his shoulders. He had what he came here for. Even so, he expected to see the king here. The bleeding body of the only knight protecting her was a rather disappointing foe. The whole of the castle set aflame by his armies of infernal hell beasts, and this was what was left to protect the princess? The king was strangely absent. Had he fled alone, abandoning his castle and keep? Bah, what a bigger fool than the Demon Lord originally thought. Heavy footfalls made their way out of the throne room, prize in hand. Outside, valiant soldiers and knights fought desperately to hold back the onslaught, but nothing could be done for them. It did not concern the Demon Lord; he swung his sword, and casually cleaved a knight stupid enough to try and take him on. Before long, he was mounted on his horse, riding back to the Forsaken Lands, his home and kingdom.

Two weeks have passed since the Demon Lord's raid on the castle. He sat on a throne made of obsidian and bones. It was all very cliché, the Demon Lord felt, but appearances matter. In any case, the preparations had been complete; the king had finally returned to his castle, the princess lay bound in chains on the stairs to his throne, and the mystic was ready to connect the Demon Lord to the king. He waved his hand, the mystic waved theirs, the crystal ball glowed, and the fog cleared, showing the image of the king on his throne. Doubtless the king saw the Demon Lord's own visage, as though he had once again come to their castle.

"King Jyr," the Demon Lord spoke, his voice more a collection of rattles emulating human speech.

"Demon," the king replied, a hiss in his voice.

"You know what my demands are. You know what I am capable of," The Demon Lord began. "You bore witness to the destruction I can cause in the short period I visited. You have no knights you can spare, no soldiers to sacrifice. Give up. Cease this useless resistance."

"We will never surrender to you! You hold no power over us," the king spat back.

"On the contrary, I hold immense power over you." The Demon Lord chose now to play his hand. He hefted the princess, and drew a knife, pressing it against her neck. "I have your daughter." Her face was bruised and cut, her hair cut short and ragged. Up until merely a few hours ago, the princess had been treated fairly. The Demon Lord wished to draw the ire of the king, and so this was a necessary maneuver, and it worked.

"What have you done to my daughter, you fiend!" He could almost taste the rage pouring from the king's face.

"You wish to have her back. Your people wish to stop fighting. I wish to conquer your lands, and the lands beyond it. Surrender. Tell me the location of the God Blade. Do this, and you shall have your daughter returned to you, your lands will suffer war no longer. We will all receive what we wish to have.

The king brooded over this. To do one, would forsake the other. It would not be a simple choice, but the Demon Lord knew what the king would choose.

"Keep her," he decided upon. The Demon Lord could hardly believe his words, and it seemed the princess couldn't either. He would betray his daughter to protect his land? "You will not have the sword. You will never conquer our land!"

"Very well," the Demon Lord replied. He threw the princess away, her screams filling the chamber. "Know the weight of your decision." The Demon Lord motioned for the mystic to shut the connection off. He stood, and walked to where the princess had been thrown. There were tears in her eyes. The Demon Lord had seen her afraid, had seen her forlorn, had seen her beaten, but he had never seen her betrayed. He brought her face close to his helm. Though there were tears there, there was something else. Hopelessness.

"You heard his words. He has forsaken you," the Demon Lord emphasized. "He has traded you for the security of the kingdom. You have no desire to be here. Jyr will change his mind. I just need you to endure a few things in the meantime." He walked away from her shivering bundle.

Two months passed since the first communication. The Demon Lord refrained from contacting the king, but had mages amplify the volume of her screams and pleas, such that they could be heard even as far as the castle itself. Each time she cried out, each time she begged for mercy, the Demon Lord knew that the king could hear it. Some days, he would simply leave her be, letting the imagination of the king run wild. Finally, he had decided to contact the king once again.

"King Jyr." Same process as the last communication.

"Demon Lord!" It seems the king was in some sort of meeting.

"Surrender to me. Give up the God Blade." The Demon Lord did not care for platitudes. He hoped the king had been tortured enough.

"We will never surrender!"

The Demon Lord was disappointed. The king had stubble on his face, bags under his eyes. If he did not suffer from the sounds of his daughter's torture, then what did he suffer from? "Your daughter still lives, only barely. I take it you have heard her suffering?" He brought the princess into view again. This time, there was more to be said for her time spent in the Demon Lord's company. Scars and healing bruises were outlined by fresher cuts and wounds. There was no life in her eyes anymore, no emotion. The Demon Lord could almost hear the king's next words.

"I have," he said. "And so has half my kingdom. My citizens cannot get any rest with you broadcasting it into the night."

Of all things he expected, this was not one of them. He had not been taken by surprise in many centuries. "Do you not care for her? For her suffering? She is your flesh and blood, your kin, your daughter."

"You will not have the God Blade, no matter what you sink to." The king picked up a sword, and presumably swung it through the vision he saw, cutting the connection between them. The Demon Lord was left with nothing but to look at the poor girl, the princess with the lifeless eyes. Even so, tears again ran down her cheeks, tears that he had not seen in two months. At first, he thought he had acquired a useful bargaining card, but now he has nothing but a broken woman. If he kills her, and the king is merely acting, then the Demon Lord has lost a valuable asset. If the king is not acting, then this has been an immense waste of the Demon Lord's time. He gazed at the princess while he pondered his next course of action.

"Do you know where the God Blade is? Tell me and all this will stop." The Demon Lord had asked her before, but he figured that she did not know. As he guessed, the princess shook her head. Ah well. Nothing to it then.

"Servants!" He called out, as he threw her again to the floor, but with no accompanying screams. "Bring her to the top of the tower, where the best lighting is. Mystic, prepare another communication, but this time in the sky, as large as you can make it."

Thirty minutes later, the wind was rushing past his armor. He stood there, near the princess, who was now unbound. The mystic opened the connection. He could see himself in the sky, standing atop the tower. A small number of other mystics were there as well, amplifying the power of the first. Other minions accompanied him, three of them in flight, circling like vultures. Without a word, the Demon Lord walked over to the princess, and backhanded her to the ground. She curled into a ball, whimpering from the pain.

"It will soon be over," he spoke only to her, as he stomped on her leg, shattering her bones. Screams filled the empty air, amplified by mages again, broadcasted to the sky for all to see. "Citizens of the kingdom!" He shouted. "Behold, the consequences of the actions of your king!" His minions slowly moved in, armed with clubs and dull knives. They began kicking, punching, cutting, beating. "Watch as your precious princess dies a most brutal death alone, and wonder when the king will sacrifice you to save himself." The Demon Lord stepped back and watched as the flying minions swooped down and started pecking her flesh off of her while she still lived, watched as the minions broke bones and stabbed skin, watched as they mercilessly tore her to pieces. Eventually, her screams stopped, but the minions continued, until her body was no longer recognizable. The Demon Lord gave them permission, and then the minions started feasting on her corpse. He descended into the tower, leaving the broadcast on. He'll contact the king again once he's had time to digest his consequences. In the meantime, he would have his spies search for anyone else close to the king, and work on capturing them.

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