Orb of Power

Webfic Writing Challenge: Flash Fiction involving two friends fighting over an "Orb of Power."

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Two young faces were squished against the glass display case, both wide eyed and gaping. “Holy crud!” said Bryan. “Is that what I think it is?”

“The Orb of Power!” said Krystie. “Only a 1,000 copies were ever printed!”

Before them, resplendent on its little plastic stand, was a single card. Beneath its transparent protective sleeve, the card glistened with a reflective sheen, illuminating the dark purple boarder with highlights of golden shine. On the top half of the card, a picture of an old man in flowing white robes was ringed with a halo of silver reflection, holding aloft a shining bronze orb. Below was a grey box with a simple text: “When the Orb of Power enters the field, all opponents are unable to attack its wielder directly.” Below, more text was italicized: “Even the eternally anguished armies of the Deep Hells could not bare to bring harm to the one who stood in the shadow of the Orb. Its simple radiance held even the most embittered hearts in awe.”

Scrawled across the card was a scribbled autograph, unintelligible to the unlearned, yet instantly recognizable to any half-way dedicated player of the game. Signed by Salvador Amano, creator of The Majestic World Collectable Card Game. The Orb of Power had been released as a bonus at a recent convention, and now fetched unreasonable prices on eBay. To see a physical copy at their very own local comic store set the two kid’s hearts afire.

“DIBS!” cried Krystie.

“Hell no! I saw it first!” said Bryan, scowling.

“Did not!”

“Did so!”

“Did not!”

“Did so!”

“Did not times infinity!”

“Did so times infinity plus one!”

“Your mom times infinity plus infinity!”

Bryan faltered for a second. “That… that doesn’t even make sense!”

But Krystie was already flagging down the shop owner, not waiting to see Bryan’s reaction. “I want the Orb of Power card! Please please please please please I saw it first me me me!”

Old Harold sighed and rolled his eyes, “You kids aren’t even going to be playing that game anymore by next month. How many other cards are collecting dust in your closet?”

“I don’t care, I want it now!” said Krystie, pouting and crossing her arms.

“Hey, man, I saw it first! I want it!”

“Well, I want it more, which is why I got to the owner first.”

“It’s worth at least one hundred dollars, you know,” said Harold. “Collectors item and all that.”

That gave both kids pause. They pulled out their wallets and frowned at their meager ten dollars each. Their parents were not likely to give either of them a sudden ninety dollar allowance increase.

They glanced at the card, crestfallen for a moment, then shrugged. “The Majestic World sucks anyway,” said Bryan.

“Yeah,” said Krystie. “Let’s get some Dark War cards instead!”

“Alright!”

Harold sighed, dragging out the longbox of cards, the poor Orb of Power already forgotten. Kids these days...

Tabitha's Defiance

Webfic Writing Challenge: Write a story using only dialogue, 1000 word limit.

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“Tabitha.”

“Lord Luc.”

“Why are you here?”

“Is it true? All this is just a game? This whole war, these witch hunts, the Final Day? Is it just a game to all of you?”

“…”

“Well?!”

“Tabitha, do you know what eternity is like?”

“What? What does—?”

“It’s agony. The agony of endless ennui. We’ve existed for so long, infinity doesn’t even seem a fitting descriptor. Much of that time, we were insane. There was only us, and the prison that is our universe. It was only when we discovered the means to bend our universe to our whim, that we finally saw the salvation to our pain. For eons, we toyed with the fundement of our prison, until one of us, none remember who, learned how to make worlds. But even that grew dull after a time. It was not until another one of us discovered how to make life, that things finally became truly interesting.”

“So it is all a game. Just entertainment.”

“Yes. And this calamity you wish to stop. The end of the world. It’s just our way of wiping the slate clean, and starting over. All of us gods, we’ll switch roles around. I look forward to playing one of the Tricksters next time. Being the Lord of Justice gets dull after a while.”

“Fifty years. Fifty years, I dedicated to you, Luc. Fifty years I fought against the forces of Savic, believing he was the ultimate evil of the world. But it’s all of you. Millions of people suffering and dying with your names on their lips, and you both, you all, don’t even give it a second thought do you? You’re all just acting. All of us in the world, we’re just your props.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t… I mean you… you create us… you raise us… you develop our worlds… don’t you care? Even a little damned bit?”

“If we didn’t, we wouldn’t do it at all. We’d be making something else. But no game has thrilled us more so than this little role play we’ve devised. Alas no session can last indefinitely, or the boredom eventually sets in again. That’s the worst part of it. No matter how wonderful a creation we make, even something that may enthrall us for a billion eons, it all eventually goes to rust, even our love for it. Nothing, it seems, is truly eternal. Nothing but us, and the horror of infinity ever clawing at the edges of our sanity.”

“…”

“Tabitha, do you understand?”

“How many know?”

“Once every few Cycles one of you finds out. Sometimes they sympathize and accept the inevitable, as we do. Some, however, seek to defy it. But they cannot do what we ourselves are incapable of. Even our greatest creation has never been able to exceed us, and free us from our prison of existence and need.”

“I see.”

“So what will you do, Tabitha? Will you accept your role, as I have accepted mine? Or will you try to do the impossible?”

“…”

“Well?”

“…”

“What’s that you have there, child?”

“You say this universe is your prison. So you’ve never been able to leave?”

“No. We would have, if we could.”

“And nothing has ever come into the universe, from the outside?”

“The many dimensions and planes you know of are our creation. Our definition of ‘universe’ is broader than your own perception.”

“I know what you define as the universe. I’m asking you, have you ever encountered something from outside it?”

“No. What are you getting at child?”

“Do you know what this thing in my hand is?”

“No.”

“You don’t recognize it at all? You can’t just tell, with all your divine intuition?”

“I… cannot… What is that thing?”

“I think, my former Lord, that I know what choice to make.”

“What are you—hrk!”

“I’m going to break your Cycle.”

“I--! What is--what is this--?”

“Eternity’s end.”

“Impossible! Impossi…hck… ch-child… this won’t… stop anything… the Final Day is coming… all you’re… going to do… is prevent the world… from being reborn… hhhhhhh…”

“…”

“…”

“…I know.”

A Little Trip

Webfic Writing Challenge: Write a story involving a person with a disability, 2000 word limit.

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With a solid kick, Jast dislodged the door of the all-terrain, six-wheeler truck, sending it flying a few dozen feet away. Getting a good foothold on the edge of the door frame, he leaped away from the toppled vehicle, his prodigious strength sending him arcing through the air. Twins hunks of metal and wire trailed off his shoulders, throwing off his weight more than he expected. He tried to land on his feet, but his trajectory was already spinning at an awkward angle. Only a quick curling of his torso allowed him to avoid face planting into the ground. Instead, he used his momentum to hit the ground in a roll, somersaulting twice, then thrust himself onto his feet. His landing left a bare streak in the thin layer of mud that caked the ground, leaving some plastered on his back.

After he’d steadied himself, he looked at his trashed vehicle, now about thirty feet away. He looked up to see the rugged cliffs on either side of him; the narrow gorge he’d fallen in was at least a hundred feet deep. The bright noon sun was just overhead, illuminating the dull tan and grey layers of the rock, and the dark brown mud of the gorge’s bottom. It wouldn’t be long before the sun moved on, leaving the gorge in deep shadow.

As Jast’s his eyes trailed down the rock wall and back to the truck, he noted that around the six-wheeler, several large chunks of logs had all but shattered upon impact with the ground around the vehicle. He sighed. What had appeared to be a solid natural bridge, over grown and half-covered in earth, had in fact been a log bridge so old and rotten, he doubted it would have held half the weight of his vehicle.

He glanced to either side of himself. He was more or less okay; his natural body was superhumanly strong and durable. He could have dropped down from the cliff and landed on his feet without a problem, but being thrown around the truck as it banged off the sides of the cliff had sent him spinning. While it hadn’t done much to hurt him, the experience had once again proven that his robotic arms were less durable than he was. They hung limply at his sides, the left arm dangling only by some cords, the right noticeably bent, the delicate gears and pistons crushed out of alignment. Don’t let the comics fool you; cyborg tech had nothing on good old fashioned invulnerability.

Having arms was useful, though. It meant not always having to use his feet as exceptionally clumsy hands. They would have been great for helping him scale the sides of the gorge. He glanced back and forth, looking for the shortest distance between the two rock walls. He noticed a spot that seemed a bit narrower than the rest, where only fifty feet separated them.

He glanced at his right arm. It was still powered, even though it refused to move; the com-link built into the forearm should still be working. He knelt down, positioning the limp prosthetic along his right knee. He pushed his nose against the small panel and nudged it up, then bumped a small button beneath.

Static sounded from the tiny speaker next to the button. Jast scowled. Shaking his head, he stood up and went to the truck, stopping at the windshield. He looked inside until he spotted a piece of bright red just behind the seat. Lacking a more graceful option, he kicked the windshield solidly, shattering it. He swept the crumbling glass away with his foot. Kneeling down, he waddled into the truck’s cabin, leaned down, and used his teeth to grip the red cloth. A solid yank pulled his travel pack free.

Shuffling back out of the truck, he spent another half a minute wriggling his right arm through the straps, then tying it securely to that side. Then, he returned to the narrower part of the gorge. He stood at one end, took a breath, then dashed to the other wall. About halfway into his run, he leaped as high as he could.

He managed a good twenty-five feet high, and his boots planted solidly against the wall. Unfortunately, its rough surface, the mud on his shoes, and the lopsided weight of the pack made him slip as he tried to push off. He tumbled to the ground, belly-flopping onto the thin layer of mud over hard earth. Invulnerable or not, the force of the blow knocked the wind out of him.

After several agonizing moments of breathlessness, he managed to gasp and cough some air in and out of his lungs, until he could breathe normally again. Rolling onto his feet once more, he was now utterly drenched in the dark mud. Sighing in frustration, he took a moment to collect himself, then tried again.

After the third failed attempt, he had the idea to kick his boots off, hoping that he could use his toes for an extra grip, When that didn’t quite work out, he used his feet to scrape a line of the ground free of the thin mud, then scraped the soles clean on the rock face before trying once more. Even then, his strongest kicks landed him well below the apex of his leap.

By the time he finally landed on the grassy top of the gorge, the shadows had already swallowed its bottom. Jast lay on the ground, breathing heavily. He wished his strength was as considerable as his durability. Then maybe he could have just leaped over the whole damn thing. With a small huff, he rolled onto his feet again. Glancing around, he assessed his location, and let out an irritated groan as he saw he was back on the side of the gorge he’d started at.

Well, at least now his com-link worked. Taking a seat beneath a nearby tree, he made the call to headquarters, and waited.