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Guardian"Oh my gooooooooods, why couldn't they make a dryad do this job!?"
The Shadowgel paced along the floor and walls of her designated spot. How long had she been doing this stupid job? Like five thousand years? After counting the grains of sand on the ground three times, memorizing the exact texture of the entire wall of rock encircling her area and mastering every technique her species could perform without another being, she was just about bored enough to dig to Felarya's core and destroy whatever was making everyone immortal.
Even she was boring now. Sure, she could split into multiple bodies, but that didn't make her less alone, just able to form a pyramid and various othe geometric shapes.
Nobody knew or cared about the cave behind her. Déméchrelle hadn't been heard from in practically forever, she had been here so long she had forgotten her own name, and worst of all, she couldn't do anything more than wander about half of the cave's first floor thanks to being tethered in
Salvation"Oh, Lord who watcheth over us; there is a great evil approaching. Against it, we cannot hold thine holy land."
The aged priest lead the humble townsfolk in prayer. Though their home had defended itself well in all attacks preceeding, the forces bearing down on them were unlike any threat they had ever faced. So they prayed.
They prayed for protection. For a champion. For someone who could be their light in the darkness.
They got a knock at the door.
Heavy oak parted to reveal a youth wearing clothes that wouldn't be invented for centuries. A strange young man in a suit and tie. Brushing a sheaf of his brown hair aside, he stepped inside the church. "Did somebody order a savior? 'Cause you should know they've been short on those lately."
"Who art thou?" the priest demanded, "Explain thyself!"
"Wow, I...didn't think that speech pattern actually existed-ANYWAY!" the Stranger clapped his hands, sending an echo throughout the cathedral, "When you gathered together in prayer, you sent out a
Captain Electrode"Fourteen quarantines, two corruptions and a deletion in seventeen cycles!" Professor Ulus exclaimed, "Chip, your performance is remarkable!"
"It's just a training program," the just-now rematerializing champion retorted, "I can't help but have memorized the basic mechanics of it by now. Real enemies would be much harder."
The professor frowned. "Nonetheless, magnificent work," he responded, cracking open the control panel before him, "I'm going to tweak the system to a higher difficulty level. I think you're ready for it."
"That's what I've been trying to tell you this past week, Cal. If you take it easy on me, I'll never get better, and I can't afford to lose..."
"Yes, that's nice,"
After pausing for a moment, he decided to put his assistant to a test. "Cal, can you explain how the Virals operate?"
Ulus took a deep breath before rapidly replying "The Virals are a self-replicating and gradually self-improving clan of autoexecuting programs designed by unknown beings for unknown reason
A Stranger's potentialGazing out over the Mindscape, the Stranger ran a hand through his loose brown hair. It was exactly as he had imagined it would be. Of course, it would probably have been that way no matter how he imagined it. It was more of a concept than an actual location.
To him, colours rippled across the void like Aurora Borealis, each hue a manifestation of joy, sorrow, love, pain...electric intensity pulsed through the world, causing the cables on which he rode to glimmer their default purple-blue.
He could tell that for him, the Mindscape was illustrated by the Northern Lights combined with the typical sci-fi depiction of firing synapses, but that seemed apt enough that it didn't bother him. He had plenty of other things to be bothered by, anyway.
A swirl of colour caught his eye. Intense, rapid...conflicting emotions. Always a signal that someone could use help. Its nexus was off...how strange. Subconscious centers in the Mindscape loosely corresponded to a person's physical location. But nob
GandianThe young Gandian took a long swig from his can of Space Soda. To think, just as soon as his project works, it shows that he's been lagging behind...what were they called? Which planet was he headed towards, again?
With a faint green glow, he atomized the emptied can and checked his course. Ah, yes, that mostly blue planet. Covered in water, yet all of the energetic life seems to be on land. It was tempting to think of them as being backwards, but they must have some valuable secrets or he wouldn't be on this journey.
Haunted by doubts, he unfurled his blueprints and rechecked his work on his "Telescouter". It was hard to choose between being relieved or concerned, but everything had been in order. Somewhere on that planet merely two days ago, power completely dwarfing that of the ex-strongest being in the universe had flared up, and only needed to be flared up for a few minutes.
Nobody really knows what happened in the Namekian crisis; at least not in detail. What looked to be a routi
Alias(es): Agent [Null], Solon
Age: Special case.
Gender: Identifies as male, technically genderless.
Species: Executable program. Possesses notable similarities to the Agents from The Matrix.
Weight: ~158 lbs
Build: Natrually tall and thin, with a moderate amount of muscle adding width.
Eyes: Cycling green, golden and black.
Skin: Caucasian, minimal tanning.
Nationality: Unknown; speaks with a Canadian accent (which is more of a point between American and British speech).
Currently lives: A isolated server apparently located in space and over a century in the future.
Languages known: Virtually any, coutesy of a database of all Earthly languages and cryptology programming.
Profession: Quite literally a Free Agent, apparently working on expanding his personal database and offering aid to select humans.
Sexuality: Unknown; has displayed none.
Religious/Philosophical beliefs: While he follows logical operations to every applicable situa
StrangerThere was no way to outrun it. There wasn't even a way to name it. The girl's chest heaved as she sprinted with an ever-decreasing everything in a futile effort to get away. Despite her slowness, despite pushing through air that felt like water, she was always ahead. Just ahead of it.
Until she tripped.
For a moment, her heart stopped.
Then a streetlight came to life. In its light, she saw a hand. It looked soft and slender. The kind of hand that withdraws, not offers itself. Without another thought, she took it, and was pulled to its owner.
She felt fabric. It was somewhat soft, perhaps part wool. She knew fabrics well enough to know for sure -she was a designer, after all- but was far too busy trying to gather her bearings. She could make out the form of a suit...
"Quick, in here," a male voice instructed as she was pulled into an alley. She ran with the stranger, rather than against. Anything was better than what was coming. Anything.
They hurried through a door and in the next inst
five hour energyi suppose
last week was only an aftershock
of the earthquake you were before.
this place used to vibrate
with metal strings and melodic,
testimonies to life,
emitting coffee-scented moods
and the burn of it too.
i had memorized the
sounds of silence,
i couldn't help but relish it.
no longer had i known
the sounds of folk
and scent of mocha-
you became nothing more
than an echo of the laughter
i so desperately needed to hear again.
then the echoes got louder,
bouncing ferociously off the walls
to be made manifest
i walked into your room
expecting exactly what i found-
an unmade bed,
and an empty beer
(the one that you insisted you needed
just days ago).
i pressed my nose
into the pillow
for incense and cologne and starbucks
to penetrate my mind
and thinking fervently
i already know
what a clean sheet smells like."
how strong an aftershock can be,
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More