Don't have one.

"Father," Eleanor whinged.

"Quiet," the elder said. "Let the man speak."

"A farmer from the nearby town was bitten," Levi said tersely. "His family hired me to investigate."

The elder clicked his tongue. "Eleanor, have you still not learned to control your hunger?"

The vampiress scowled. "Why should I restrain myself, father? I'm stronger than humans, better. Why should I not take what I want, when I want?"

"Then the least you could do is leave no trail, foolish girl," the elder said, a hard note entering his voice. "Not only you were overpowered, you also led a hunter to our home."

"I would've had him," she insisted. "With Fiona at my side..."

The elder eyed her tattered dress, then her sister's bleeding shoulder, and arched an eyebrow. The vampiress gritted her teeth and ducked her head. The elder chuckled.

"Neither of you is a match for him, as you could tell if you put aside your pride for but a moment." He clapped his hands. "But enough recriminations. Let's discuss the matter over dinner." He shot Levi a glance. "You will be our guest of honor, of course."

"I'd rather not," Levi said stiffly.

"Please, I insist," the elder said. "My daughters will serve you; perhaps the experience will teach them some humility. Hurry along and make yourselves presentable, girls."

Eleanor and Fiona rose to their feet, and glaring venomously at Levi, edged out of the chamber. The elder's lips curved up in amusement. Laying a hand on Levi's shoulders, he guided him out into the hallway.

"I am called Abraham. May I know your name?"

"Levi," he said curtly.

"This farmer you mentioned, Levi—has he died?"

"Fortunately not. He's still weak, but he will recover."

"That's a relief," Abraham said. "I will send appropriate compensation, of course—say, ten gold pieces. Will that settle the matter?"

Levi pursed his lips and nodded grudgingly. To a farmer, that was nothing short of a fortune. Besides, he could tell at a glance that this vampire was far too powerful for any lone hunter to defeat.

"Splendid. I always try to reach an accord with the locals. I find that it prevents bigger problems in the future."

Abraham led him downstairs and into a resplendent dining room with a large table. Taking a seat at the head of the table, the vampire motioned to his right. Levi hesitated before sighing and taking a seat.

"You seem strangely cordial given my profession," he remarked.

"Levi, please. You eliminate weaklings who give in to their bloodlust. A worthy mission if you ask me." The vampire flashed his fangs. "I personally ended more than a score of such failures. Not every Embracing is successful."

"Such as with your daughters?"

"Oh no, Eleanor and Fiona are purebloods. The apples of my eye, those two."

Levi's mind reeled at the revelation; such vampires were extremely rare. Before he could ask Abraham as to how such a thing came to be, the door into the dining room swung open. Eleanor and Fiona wheeled in a cart laden with plates of food and dusty bottles. They had changed into flowing gowns, the former's dark burgundy and the latter's midnight blue, and appeared rather peeved.

Their father coughed meaningfully and indicated Levi with his gaze. The sisters exchanged glares and hissed whispers, elbowing each other furiously. Fiona seemed to have won, because she grinned and approached her father to pour him what Levi hoped was wine. Eleanor's shoulders slumped, and she came up to Levi and practically shoved a plate of steak and vegetables before him.

"Where are your manners?" Abraham chided. "Pour our guest some wine too."

Eleanor rolled her eyes irritably but did as asked. As surreal as the experience was, Levi found himself enjoying it on some level.

"Thank you," he said, his lips twitching.

The vampiress huffed and looked away. Levi smelled the wine, then took a small sip. He was no expert, but it was damned good, he could tell that much. He eyed the steaming steak, then sent Abraham a suspicious look.

"Fresh veal from the nearby farmers," Abraham assured.

Levi carved off a small piece and took a bite, his eyes widening at the rich flavor. Even at the capital he didn't get to eat this good. Eleanor watched him eat with a hungry look on her face, but when he glanced at her, she quickly averted her gaze.

"Is the meal to your liking?" Abraham asked.

"It's sumptuous," he admitted.

"I'll pass your compliments to the kitchen staff." Abraham smiled. "Who are, of course, well treated and generously paid."

Levi nodded, a little frustrated at how easily the vampire had predicted his question, and took another sip of the wine.

The vampire leaned closer. "Tell me, has either of my daughters caught your eye?"

The wine went down the wrong pipe, and Levi broke into a coughing fit. Glaring at the smiling vampire, he wiped his lips. "Very funny."

"I wouldn't jest about this. You're a capable man; should you desire either of my daughter's hand, you will have my blessing."

"Father," Eleanor cried, stomping her foot. "Stop talking nonsense."

For once, Levi found himself agreeing with the bloodsucker. "I can't see what you stand to gain from this."

The vampire spread his hands. "My daughters are unruly, wild. Why, my younger still sneaks out at night to chase deer in the forest! They're not century-old fledglings anymore; it's about time they settled down."

Levi snorted. "And it doesn't bother you that I'm human?"

"I myself have married humans three times, and in the end, only one of my wives chose to be Embraced." A melancholic expression crossed Abraham's face, and he looked down at his glass, swirling the wine. "I find that building bonds like that helps us immortals stay... grounded."

"Well, thank you for the offer," Levi said dryly. "But my answer, begging your pardon, is absolutely no."

"Excuse me?" Fiona piped up, crossing her arms. "Any man should be ecstatic about an offer like that."

Eleanor rounded on her. "What are you talking about, sister?"

"He thrashed you even more thoroughly than Cousin Lyra when you insulted her dress. I can't help but be intrigued." She circled the table, swaying her hips, and laid her cool hand on Levi's shoulder. "Maybe I should take him for myself. See what he's made of."

Eleanor gaped at her in stunned disbelief, then seized her wrist. "Don't touch him," she hissed.

Fiona arched a manicured eyebrow. "I thought you hated him."

"Doesn't mean I'm giving him for you to play with," she retorted.

"If he's going to choose, it should obviously be me." Fiona grinned as she touched her shoulder. "He already penetrated me."

"Oh yeah?" Eleanor said, tapping her foot. "He ripped my dress and chased me through the woods!"

Had Levi been drinking, he would have choked. "That's quite enough," he said, looking warily from one crazy vampiress to the other. "As soon as I finish this splendid meal, I'm departing for the town to deliver the farmer's compensation."

The sisters frowned at him, then locked eyes with each other. Some silent communication seemed to pass between them. As one, they turned to their father.

Abraham laughed heartily. "Now now, Levi. It's late, and these old roads are treacherous. You simply must spend the night."

"Thank you, but I really can't—"

"Oh no, I insist," the elder vampire said, his crimson eyes gleaming. "I'll have the servants stable your horse and draw you a bath. It's the least I could do for the trouble my family has caused."

The sisters turned to Levi and smiled eerily similar fanged smiles. He swallowed. Lord, give me strength.

The vampiress bounded from tree to tree, her tattered dress fluttering like a black banner. Levi urged his horse faster and raised his heavy crossbow. Aiming at her back, he let loose a hawthorn bolt.

The vampiress leapt aside at the last moment, crashing through the branches and the undergrowth with a scream. Bursting out onto the road, her pale skin scratched and bleeding, she hissed furiously, but Levi's well-trained horse didn't spook. Whirling around, she fled down the road. He gave chase, winding up his crossbow.

The trees thinned out, and a grand mansion loomed ahead, its windows shuttered. The vampiress raced up the gravel path and practically crashed through the ornate front door. Levi rode up the path and sawed the reins, considering the mansion.

Her lair, then. The vampiress didn't seem very powerful, which meant she wasn't old enough to have built such a stately mansion for herself. Perhaps she had stolen it from some local noble. Levi was just passing through the town when he heard of the attack, so he wasn't well-versed in local history.

He dismounted, patted his heaving horse, and approached the ajar doors. Silence and darkness beyond. He loaded a bolt into his crossbow, patted the vials of holy water hanging from his bandolier, and entered.

Despite the gloom inside, he didn't light a torch, relying on his hearing until his eyes adapted. His steps echoed loudly on the marble floor. Paintings and gilded tapestries hung from the walls. Whoever built the mansion certainly didn't lack wealth.

A creak drifted from upstairs, then a muted laugh. Was she luring him into a trap? The nerve of the creature.

Lifting his crossbow, he walked up the stairs and down a hallway toward the source of the noise. A set of double doors barred his way, light filtering from underneath. He kicked them open and strode inside.

The large chamber beyond was furnished with silk settees, soft rugs, and piles of embroidered cushions. His quarry reclined on a couch by a large fireplace, and she wasn't alone. Another vampiress stood by her side, willowy and graceful, her long hair platinum blonde where the other's was raven black.

The first vampiress jumped to her feet and splayed out her taloned fingers, but Levi could see the fear in her eyes. The blonde laughed throatily.

"Is this the hunter who reduced you to this pathetic state, Eleanor?" she asked, looking him over. "He doesn't look like much. You must be losing your touch."

The other hissed. "Careful, sister. He has weapons I've never seen before."

"Indeed?" The blonde eyed his crossbow with distaste. "No matter the weapon you wield, you made a mistake in coming here, hunter."

Levi trained the crossbow at her chest. "We'll see about that."

Her beautiful face twisted, and she leapt at him like a bird of prey. He pressed the trigger, releasing a deadly bolt; the vampiress twisted mid-air, and it sank into her shoulder instead of her heart. Screaming in agony, she collapsed to the floor.

Levi didn't have time to finish her off because her sister sprang at him with a snarl. Winding back his arm, he walloped her with the heavy crossbow, knocking her back.

Trembling, the blonde pushed herself up and yanked out the bolt with a scream and a spray of blood. She exchanged a glance with her sister, and the two circled him to catch him in a pincer. He backpedaled and pulled a vial of holy water from his bandolier.

Suddenly the sisters froze where they stood. Levi glimpsed a fanged smile on the face of the one called Eleanor before both of them sank to their knees and bowed their heads.

"Father," they murmured reverently.

Levi whirled around and saw a third vampire in the doorway; even with his honed senses, he hadn't heard him approach. His heart plummeted as he studied the tall, well-dressed figure. There was a palpable aura of power about the vampire, the sort that came with centuries of not merely surviving but thriving.

Levi's fingers tightened on the vial, his mind weighing potential avenues of escape and discarding them one after another. This would be his last battle.

The elder vampire stepped into the chamber and considered his kneeling daughters. Then he heaved a sigh. "I'm really quite sorry for the trouble," he said in an embarrassed tone. "What have they done this time?"

I hear you. Maybe the backstory could be that people aren't immortal but are meant to have Biblical lifespans of 900+ years like Methuselah.

I leaned toward the mirror, inspecting my face under the harsh bathroom lights. Ever since Olivia had half-jokingly said that I wasn't aging, the thought kept niggling at me. My power wasn't immortality—it was immunity to others. If I was indeed not aging, the conclusion that followed seemed too ridiculous to pursue.

A clang from the living room made me frown; I lived alone and wasn't expecting guests. Stepping out of the bathroom, I killed the lights and walked warily toward the source of the noise.

Stepping through the doorway, I did a double-take. Before the ajar window stood a well-built, sharply dressed man with a handsome face everyone on the planet knew. My momentary panic was quickly replaced by giddy excitement.

"Holy shit," I exclaimed. "Universal Man? What are you doing here?"

He smiled, but it didn't reach his icy blue eyes. "Have a seat, Tom. We have a lot to talk about."

I hurried to the couch and sat down, not even questioning his ordering me around in my own home, or wondering how he knew my name. "Let me just say, it's an honor—"

He raised his palm as if to silence me, and a frown crossed his face. "So it's true."

"What is?" I asked, bemused.

"Your power—it blocks others. How... irritating." Shaking his head, he reached into his jacket. "Well, no matter. I read your friend's memories so I came prepared."

"My friend?"

He drew a gun, and I froze, more stunned than scared. Universal Man could crush concrete and lift cars without breaking a sweat. What would he want with a puny little pistol?

"What's going on?" I laughed nervously. "This is a joke, right?"

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry." The gun sat awkwardly in his hand as he leveled it at my chest. "I never encountered anyone like you before. I never would've even known, had I not picked up your friend's thoughts. You're far too dangerous to be left alive."

I swallowed. "Olivia? What did you do to her?"

"I merely ensured she wouldn't remember the past few days. Much easier to deal with than you."

"I don't understand," I said in a trembling voice. "How am I dangerous? My power's so minor they gave it the lowest classification—"

He laughed, a high, chilling sound. "The idiots. Tell me, why do you think I have all these abilities?"

"Y-you're special, everyone knows that. The pinnacle of human evolution..."

"A convenient excuse. One power per person; the rule hasn't changed for millennia." He glanced down at his other hand and clenched a fist. "Mine is to take from others. Their powers, even their lifespan. Take from everyone... except, it seems, you."

"The whole world is growing old because of you?" I exclaimed, half-rising from my seat. "That's absurd! People have been dying for ages—"

His face rippled, shifting to another man's, then a woman's, his body following suit. "How long—do you think—I have lived?" asked an ever-changing voice.

I laughed because the truth was too much to bear. Gunshots rang loudly in my ears, and my chest suddenly burned. I slumped back, my eyes bulging out as I found myself unable to draw breath. The monster's icy eyes, the only feature that wasn't changing on that shifting face, watched me with detached satisfaction.

His strict master wants him to stick to the recipe while he wants to experiment.

I'm rooting for them.

What an original and beautiful take on the prompt. It's less about the mystery and more about people just trying to live.

The party had experienced its fair share of setbacks, but Bridget had never seen an adventure go to hell so quickly. In hindsight, they had bitten off more than they could chew in trying to infiltrate the lair of a dragon.

First, Kaz couldn't resist pulling at a bejeweled scepter and set off a cascade of gold coins that woke the dragon from its slumber. Then Jorg immediately raised his enormous battleaxe and attacked, only to get swept into the wall by its tail and croak on the spot. The only silver lining was that the dragon didn't seem inclined to attack the rest of them, pacing across the lair and growling under its breath as it was. If anything it seemed... panicked.

Elein the Druidess looked up at the dragon thoughtfully. "I don't think it wants to fight us." She took a step toward it, and before Bridget's disbelieving eyes, the enormous creature recoiled. "I'm casting Commune."

"Don't waste a spell trying to communicate with the beast!" Kaz sputtered, his gaze flicking between the dragon and the exit, a throwing dagger in his trembling hand. "We should get out of here while we can."

"Shut up. It's your greed that got us into this mess in the first place." Bridget took a deep breath and nodded. "Do it, Elein."

Elein raised her staff, a string of elven flowing melodiously from her lips. All at once, the dragon's growls turned into a frantic, girlish voice.

"So squishy, why did the human have to be so squishy," she blabbered. "Am I in trouble? Stupid Nedreya, of course you are! You'll be hounded by dragon-hunters to the ends of the world, all because you freaked out instead of staying calm like mother taught you!"

The party exchanged wide-eyed looks.

"Noble Nedreya," Elein began.

"Aargh! You scared me. Calm down, calm down. Don't want to accidentally squish more of them." The dragoness took a deep breath that ruffled Elein's long hair. "You understand me?"

"All of us do." The druidess paused for a moment. "Am I to understand that you wish us no harm?"

"Why would I wish harm upon perfect strangers? You simply scared the stuffing out of me!" Tears pooled in Nedreya's enormous golden eyes. "Why would you do that? Why barge into my home and aim your sharp weapons at me?"

Elein shifted guiltily, opening her mouth, only to close it again and look at the others for guidance. Kaz just shrugged.

"We can talk about that later," Bridget hedged. Approaching Jorg's corpse, she laid her hand on his forehead. "His soul hasn't gone far. I should be able to recall it."

"T-the human's going to be all right?" Nedreya asked, leaning closer.

"If I work quickly. A moment of silence if you will."

"Yes, of course! I'll be quiet as a hare in its lair. Ooh, it rhymed!" The dragoness winced. "Sorry, you asked for silence. Please perform your magic. I'll watch quietly. Um, sorry again."

Bridget exhaled slowly and closed her eyes. The dragoness's agitated babble faded away, as did the rest of the world, as she briefly touched the unfathomable being of her god. Cracking open her eyes an indeterminate time later, she saw that Jorg's broken bones were knitting, and life was returning to his glassy eyes.

"He's returning," she said, sitting back wearily. "You two, please hold him down before—"

Jorg's head jerked up, his gaze flicking around wildly, then centering upon the dragoness who was watching the resurrection with bated breath. "Foul dragon!" he cried, bolting to his feet. "To arms, my friends!" With a roar, he hefted his axe and leapt at the dragoness.

"Jorg, don't!" Elein cried, stretching her hand toward him.

"D-don't point that thing at me!" Nedreya squeaked, falling back on her haunches.

"The beast fears me!" Jorg laughed, raising his axe for an overhead blow.

"Eeek!" Closing her eyes, Nedreya blindly stomped her clawed foot as a delicate lady would at a cockroach.

There was a wet crunch, then sudden silence. The dragoness raised her bloodied foot and stared. "Not again! Why does this keep happening? Ugh, I've got human all over me! Get it off, get it off!" She shook her foot, spraying blood and gore over the party.

"Goddammit," Bridget muttered, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

Cute.

> receive a +2 to your armor class when within 30 feet of her

Is that a real bonus for married characters in D&D? I never played.

Nebiros looked down at the youth from his lofty heights. Shabbily dressed, lanky, unkempt hair almost reaching his shoulders. He didn't look like much, but perhaps there were hidden qualities to him. Certainly there didn't seem to be much fear in his eyes. Or much of anything else.

"Ah, you must be the sacrifice," Nebiros rumbled. "Are you perhaps the fairest among the villagers, meant to be displayed in my lair? Or their best scholar, meant to discuss philosophy with me?"

The youth scratched his head. "Uh, what?"

"Not the latter, then," the dragon said, sighing. "What kind of a sacrifice are you meant to be, pray tell?"

The youth looked up at him with dull eyes. "Iunno," he mumbled. "You got anything to eat around here?"

"Anything to eat?" The dragon's voice gradually rose into a thundering bellow. "You stand before me and have the gall to give me demands?"

"Well, yeah. Wossmater?" The youth picked his nose, fished out a booger, and looked it over, impressed. "I'm hungry."

In his centuries-long life, Nebiros didn't often find himself speechless, but this was one of those times. He sat back on his haunches and exhaled a puff of smoke. "Do you even realize where you are, boy?" he asked in a defeated tone. "Who I am?"

"Sure. Yer that big bad dragon, right?" The boy nodded sagely. "Everyone knows."

"And yet you're not afraid of me?"

"Not much point, is there?" the boy said, glancing around the gloomy lair before losing interest. "You could probably crush me underfoot if you wished."

"Indeed I could," the dragon said, a little mollified. "What did the villagers even tell you before sending you here?"

The youth's face became animated for the first time. "Oh man, they were all like 'Get off your behind, boy, and be useful for once'." He rolled his eyes. "Parents, man."

"I see," Nebiros grumbled. "Perhaps I shall have words with the village elders about the quality of their sacrifices."

"Whatever. How about some food first?"

First part: big sad

Second part: big happy

Tim hurried down the brightly lit corridor toward the security door into the observation deck. Slapping his access card to the keypad, he stepped inside. Professor Fowler stood before the observation window, dressed in a crumpled white coat, and beside her hovered a pinch-faced man in a black suit.

Tim approached. "You wanted to see me, professor?"

"I did, Tim." She gestured at the stranger. "This is Director Wang, head of research. He came to personally oversee our experiments."

Director Wang looked him up and down and sniffed. "That's him, then?"

"Yes, sir," Professor Fowler said quietly. "Out of all my assistants, I believe him to be the most... suitable. Director, are you sure we must—"

"The board is pressuring me for results. I'm sorry, but there's no other way. I'll deal with any fallout."

Tim glanced between the two of them with a polite, somewhat confused smile.

Professor Fowler sighed. "Tim, it appears that the time has come for the next stage in our research. One of us is to go inside and observe Subject Zero's reactions."

Tim's eyes widened. "Go inside?" he said with excitement. "But you always told us it wasn't safe, professor."

She winced and directed her gaze to the observation window. Subject Zero was currently lurking deep in the jungle of reinforced concrete and steel pipes that made up the enclosure. The walls were dented and cracked from the creature repeatedly ramming them with no apparent damage to itself. "There is, of course, a certain risk..."

"The knowledge we will gain far outweighs the risks," the director interjected. "Son, you've been chosen to be the first person to make direct contact with an alien. It's quite an honor."

"Wow," Tim said, wide-eyed. "Is it really okay? I'm only a junior assistant."

"I'd say that's perfect," the director said with a strange glint in his eyes.

"Then... then I'll do it," Tim said, peering at the window with excitement. "Oh man, I can't wait. I always wanted to see it up close."

The professor sent the director a strange look, as if telling him, you see?

Director Wang produced a pen and a sheath of documents in small print. "Just a small formality first, Tim. Sign these papers, and we can proceed."

He shrugged and scrawled his signature at the bottom without reading.

The director cracked a smile. "Excellent. Go ahead and prepare to enter. We will observe from up here."

Tim nodded and set off toward the hermetic hatch into the enclosure with the other two in tow. The professor borrowed his keycard, touched it to the keypad, and punched in a code.

"You're now authorized to enter and exit the enclosure. Tim, for what it's worth, I'm..." She trailed off and looked away with a complicated expression.

The director cleared his throat. "You're doing something truly important," he said, patting him on the shoulder. "Your family will be proud."

"I'm an orphan, sir."

"Indeed? You chose well, Fowler."

"Yes, sir," she said stiffly.

Tim tilted his head in confusion. "Pardon?"

"Never mind, never mind. Good luck, Tim. Your courage is an inspiration to us all."

Smiling at the praise, Tim entered the small airlock and rolled on the balls of his feet as the hatch behind him closed. Then the one in front lowered with a hiss of equalizing pressure, revealing the mess of gleaming steel and concrete. Tim inhaled deeply. A faint spicy scent he couldn't place lingered in the recycled air.

He walked into the enclosure, his steps echoing on the hard concrete, then glanced up at the observation window. The professor averted her gaze, while the director pursed his lips and motioned him onward.

He faced forward and resumed moving, squinting at the shadows cast by the jutting pipes and broken pillars of concrete. The environment was said to resemble the one Subject Zero had been found in. Tim's clearance level was too low to know the details, but rumors said the creature had been retrieved from the alien vessel they found orbiting Jupiter.

Soon he made out the contours of Subject Zero, and gasped, coming to a halt. It was the size of a hippo, six-legged, and covered head to toe in something like white fur that covered its sensory organs save for the enormous black nose—or the alien equivalent of one.

The said nose twitched, and Subject Zero swiveled its head toward him. Sliding off the pipe it had been hanging off with two legs, it landed on the ground with deceptive softness. Its hind legs coiled powerfully, and it sprang toward Tim like an oncoming truck.

He lurched backward, but an instant before the collision, the creature extended its middle leg to grab a pipe and spun around with dizzying speed. Pushing off it, the alien leapt toward another pipe, then onto a pillar. Tim watched in awe as it bounced around him almost faster than the eye could track. He hadn't seen the alien this excited since they tried offering it some apples.

At last it landed before Tim and slowly approached with a strange rhythmic gait, its enormous nose quivering. He froze, uncertain; it only now occurred to him that the professor hadn't given him any specific instructions.

Well, she always told him that he needed to show more initiative. Shrugging, he reached for the creature's nose. It let out a puff of air and recoiled.

"It's okay," he said softly. "I won't hurt you."

The creature paused, then slowly extended its nose toward his hand until they made contact. The nose was cool and slightly damp. Making a strange chuffing noise, the alien took a step back and lowered its stance. Then it lunged at Tim, swept his legs from underneath him, and threw him high into the air.

Tim screamed before he crashed onto its soft back, the impact driving the air from his lungs. It bent down, then threw him into the air once more. This time Tim managed to land on his knees and elbows and grabbed handfuls of wiry white fur. The creature made that chuffing noise again and bounded off across the enclosure.

Tim's screams turned into whoops as they barreled around at breakneck speed, the alien frolicking like an animal who was finally allowed to stretch its legs. After the exhilarating ride that left Tim dizzy, it finally stopped. Raising its shaggy head, it tapped the concrete floor with its front leg.

"Oh, you poor thing," Tim murmured. "How long have you been locked in here?"

The creature chuffed and patted out a rhythm with its legs.

"I'm sorry," Tim said. "I don't know what I can do to help."

It pattered toward the hatch and lowered itself to the ground.

Tim frowned. "I don't know if you will fit," he said, "but let's try."

Sliding off the alien's back, he approached the hatch and pressed his card to the keypad. The door slid open. He yelped as the creature shot past him in a blur, somehow squeezing its enormous bulk through the door as if it were made of liquid.

Behind the thick glass of the observation window, the professor and director were gesticulating and yelling, but Tim couldn't hear a thing. He gave them a cheery wave and squeezed into the airlock, fighting his way through the forest of white fur toward the inner door.

"Just a moment, buddy," he gasped out when the creature let out a pitiful whine. "Hang in there."

Fumbling around blindly, he finally touched the card to the keypad. The hatch opened, and with a series of chuffs, the creature burst into the observation deck.

Tim followed suit. He was surprised to see that Director Wang had fallen onto his behind, while Professor Fowler stood pale and shock-still, the creature looming over them.

"I think you tricked me," Tim accused.

Director Wang swallowed. "Son, I can explain—"

"What is there to explain? Do you think I'm stupid? You"—he pointed at Professor Fowler—"you knew how cuddly Teddy was but you never let any of us play with him before!"

"I... what?" She exchanged a wide-eyed glance with the director before shaking her head. "Teddy?"

Tim shrugged and came up to the creature to pat its shaggy flank. "I think the name fits."

"Tim," she said weakly, "do you think you could get Subject Zero back into the enclosure?"

He crossed his arms. "Its name is Teddy."

"Very well," she said, swallowing. "Could you please... take Teddy back?"

The director nodded mutely, not letting his fearful gaze of the creature looming above him.

Tim's brow furrowed. Teddy turned its shaggy head toward him as if to tell him something. "I don't think it wants to," he said, nodding. "It's not nice to keep him locked up in there."

The director drew himself up. "Now listen here, you little—"

Teddy let out a snort and smacked the floor between the director's legs, leaving a huge dent. The man squealed and clambered backward.

"Oops! Teddy is sorry. This place is just too cramped for him." Tim patted the creature's side. "Come on, buddy, let's get out of here."

This time no one tried to stop them.

"The fleet is in position, sir."

Admiral Matthew nodded, not moving his gaze away from the green-and-purple planet on the display. Even from high orbit, the enormous honeycomb cities of the V'raal were visible, gleaming in the light from the binary suns. The sight was both alien and beautiful.

"Hail them one more time," he said.

"Yes, sir," the communications officer said. "Hailing across all channels."

The planet on the display was replaced by a tall winged humanoid with grey skin who glared at Matthew with large compound eyes. The resemblance to Earth insects was, of course, coincidental; the instinctive revulsion could be overcome.

The alien's lips moved out of sync with a synthesized voice. "Humans. So you show your true colors at last."

"I'm Admiral Matthew aboard flagship Arthra," he said. "We come in peace."

"Your fleet encroaches upon our home," the alien hissed. "In my name as the High Queen, we will fight to the last!"

He sighed. "We do not seek to destroy you. We wish to trade. To exchange ideas. Haven't we had several decades of successful communication?"

The queen made a clicking noise that the computer failed to translate. "Such things inevitably end in the destruction of one of the species involved."

"You've been betrayed before," he said, nodding. "So have we."

"Then you understand what kind of place the universe is. We all clawed our way to the top of our food chains. We do not suffer rivals."

He spread his hands. "Even so, we would take the risk. We would be your friends."

"Friends? You say that even as your fleet draws closer!"

"We only came because you stopped responding to our signals," he pointed out. "Anyone would get concerned when their closest neighbors fall silent."

The queen's translucent wings fluttered, raising her off the floor. "You should have had the sense to stay away. We do not wish to communicate. We do not wish to trade. And if you don't leave, we will destroy you!"

The transmission cut off, and all at once, the bridge erupted into action.

"Orbital defense platforms are locking onto our vanguard."

"Missile launches detected from the surface—"

"Numerous combat craft launching from the second moon!"

Admiral Matthew sighed and slumped back in his chair. "So be it."

The battle was as brutal as it was short. The kinetic weaponry of the V'raal was impressive, but the human ships boasted laser armaments developed in collaboration with the Abetti, antimatter reactors bought from the Gerurians, and superalloy hulls invented on Earth. In less than a day, the planet's orbital defenses were reduced to a cloud of rubble. Still the aliens stubbornly refused to answer any attempts at radio contact.

"There's no choice," Matthew said. "I'll have to land and speak with this High Queen directly."

"Are you sure that's wise, sir?"

He shrugged. "We can't convince them of our intentions if I don't do this much. Prepare the landing shuttle."

In short order he sat strapped in alongside a squad of grim-faced marines. The shuttle shook as it broke into the planet's thick atmosphere. He turned to watch a screen on which the hive-city the first transmission had come from was steadily growing larger.

A siren blared, and the shuttle veered sharply, the straps cutting into his chest.

"They're firing at us!" the pilot exclaimed.

"Steady, lads!" Matthew yelled. "Arthra has orders to provide support."

A pink energy beam lanced down from the skies like a finger of god, and a mushroom of smoke erupted on the surface. Another beam followed. Matthew closed his eyes and sighed.

It was a bumpy ride, but they made it in one piece, setting down on a field before the smocking wreck that was the hive. Matthew pulled on a breathing mask. The marines' sergeant offered him a gun, but he waved it down.

"Stay behind me," he said. "Weapons hold unless I say otherwise."

The sergeant appeared dubious but snapped off a salute. The hatch opened with a hiss of air. Matthew tilted his head up at the scarred wall of the hive looming ahead and grimaced. If only the fools had listened.

He disembarked, his steps springy under the lower gravity. Movement by the hive's wall caught his attention. A V'raal lay trapped under debris, one wing broken and oozing silvery blood, chest laboring for breath. Waving back the marines, Matthew slowly approached and did a double take when he recognized the queen.

She flinched as his shadow loomed over her and shielded her face with an inhumanly slender hand. He stooped and heaved off the debris with a grunt. The queen froze and stared up at him with her prismatic eyes.

He extended his hand. "Let's be friends."

She considered his hand as if it were something poisonous, then let out a defeated hiss. Slowly, she raised her trembling hand to clasp his.

The Nanoha approach to friendship.

> It was a warm day, perfect for a long and unpleasant conversation on a porch

Made me laugh, what a character.

Free desalination plant!

I wrote something similar a while ago.

Max trudged up the stairs to his apartment and fished the keys out of his pocket. Dawn was just breaking, and he was sore and tired after a night of hunting renegades. He unlocked the door, came inside, and slung off his jacket along with the bandolier of hawthorn stakes and vials of holy water. The apartment was quiet and dark, with blackout blinds lowered over every window. Hopefully Clarice was asleep. He was too worn out to deal with her antics.

He kicked off his shoes and made a beeline for the fridge. Reaching past bloodbags that had expiry dates scribbled with a permanent marker, he picked up a cold can of beer and cracked it open.

He lifted the can to his lips, only to pause as he felt a presence behind him. It hadn't been a creak of a step that alerted him, or a sound at all—just a faint disturbance in the air, but that was enough for his honed senses.

He took a deliberate sip of the beer even as he reached for the silver stiletto concealed behind his belt. In a smooth motion, he whirled around and slashed at the level where a person's neck would be.

Clarice leapt back with a hiss, baring her elongated fangs. She wore a figure-hugging black dress with wide sleeves and an obscenely short, ruffled skirt with fishnet stockings underneath. His eyebrows rose. Vampires had a strange sense of fashion, but even so, her outfits had been getting increasingly ridiculous lately.

"Late night?" she asked, her mellifluous voice betraying no anger at his sudden attack.

"Right back at you," he said, stepping slowly away from the fridge. "What are you doing out of your casket?"

"I wanted to see whether I needed to start looking for a new roommate," she said, stepping sinuously in the opposite direction. "But I see you haven't had your throat torn out just yet."

"Fat chance of that." He didn't lower his stiletto as they slowly circled each other. When he reached the counter, he took a sip of his beer, never letting his eyes off her, and set the can down. "I eat your kind for breakfast."

"Mindless mongrels who gave in to their bloodlust." Her fangs flashed white in the darkness. "Don't compare them to me, ruler of the night."

"So, what?" he asked, reversing the grip on his stiletto. "Has the ruler of the night finally decided to show her true colors?"

Her smile widened. "Just keeping you on your toes."

Their eyes locked for a long moment. Then Clarice lunged, long pale fingers with black nails thrusting at his neck. Max dodged aside and countered with a slash of the stiletto. She somersaulted backward in a swish of black fabric and landed in a crouch on the sofa. With a manic grin, she sprang at him.

Grunts and gasps filled the room as they fought, his steps heavy on the laminate floor, hers light as if she weighed nothing at all. She danced around him, lashing out with lightning-fast jabs, while he kept his center of gravity low and looked for opportunities to retaliate.

She was the first to score blood, leaving three thin scratches on his forearm. Leaping backward, she met his eyes and licked her claws. Her crimson eyes glowed in the darkness.

"You're delicious," she crooned.

He beckoned with his free hand. "Come and get more if you dare."

She laughed and launched herself at him in a flying kick. He caught her leg and flipped her over his shoulder, his muscles screaming with strain. Her head rebounded off the floor, a gasp escaping her lips. Pinning her down with his knee, he grinned savagely as he pressed the blade to her pale throat.

She met his eyes for an instant before her body exploded into a swarm of bats. They battered him with leathery wings, tangling in his hair, clawing at his shirt. He sprang to his feet and slapped them away, but as soon as he got rid of one, two more took its place.

Swearing, he staggered up to the window and gripped the chain of the blinds. The bats caught on and surged away from him with a flurry of clicks. With a victorious smirk, he tugged the blinds open, flooding the room with morning light.

There was a loud screech, and the bats coalesced back into a naked and furious vampiress. She took cover behind the sofa and poked her head out, her eyes narrowed against the light. Baring her fangs, she hissed at him. He raised his stiletto and stepped closer.

The doorbell rang. The two of them froze and blinked at each other. The doorbell rang again, followed by a series of insistent knocks. Max groaned.

"Truce?" Clarice said, arching an eyebrow.

He lowered the stiletto. "Truce."

"Let me handle this. You're terrible with people." She half-rose from behind the sofa before glancing down at her bare front. "Mind handing me my clothes? And close the blinds already."

Max sighed. Stooping, he gathered up her dress and underwear and tossed them in her general direction. Ignoring her indignant outcry, he lowered the blinds and flicked on the lights. The knocking on the door persisted, now accompanied by muffled yells. Clarice got dressed and went to answer the door, while he ambled back to his unfinished beer and took a long draught.

"Good morning, Mr. Sziller," Clarice said in a honeyed voice. "I see... Sorry about the noise. Screams, you say? Well..." She giggled throatily. "That was just me and my boyfriend."

Max choked on his drink and broke into a coughing fit.

"Yes, of course... Sorry again, Mr. Sziller. Have a good day."

Clarice returned to the living room, her black dress slightly awry and her pale cheeks still flushed from tasting his blood. She linked her hands and stretched them high above her head with a sigh of satisfaction.

"What?" she asked.

He wrenched his gaze away and drained the remaining beer. "Just thinking of the best way to exterminate you."

She laughed. "Oh, please. Had it been night, I would've had you, bloodbag." Prancing past him, she opened the fridge. "Another beer?"

He grunted in agreement and caught the can she tossed at him with more-than-necessary force. "You wish, leech."

She took out a bloodbag for herself and raised it to her mouth before glancing at him. "Want me to go away so I don't offend your delicate sensibilities?"

He snorted. "I've seen worse, trust me. Help yourself."

He found himself watching with a sort of queasy fascination as she sank her fangs into the bloodbag and drained half of it in one go. Her pupils dilated, and the flush on her face intensified, extending down her neck.

She exhaled slowly through her nose, then rummaged in the fridge and produced a carton of eggs and a package of bacon. Max stared as she put a pan on the stove and turned on the heat, the bloodbag still stuck between her lips.

"What are you doing?" he asked incredulously.

"Wha' it look like?" she asked around the bag. "Cookin'."

"But your kind doesn't eat normal food," he said slowly.

She rolled her eyes, pulled the now-empty bag from her mouth, and smacked her lips. "It's for you, idiot. You can't live on a diet of beer and chips."

He shook his head. "Why?"

She bustled around the stove, not meeting his eyes. "Can't have you weakening and dying to some rando in the streets. You're mine to drain when I so choose."

"Should've figured it was something like that," Max grumbled, making sure his stiletto was nearby before cracking open his second beer. One of these days...

A bunch of well-meaning blessings, and one curse of literalness to twist them.

<3/3>

It was a long mint-green corridor that evoked the feeling of a hospital. She hesitated.

"You'll regret it," the voice said gleefully.

"Piss off," she muttered before stepping out. Anywhere away from that... thing.

She started walking, her footsteps echoing down the corridor. The light fixtures above flickered. There were no doors, no windows. No way but forward.

She wasn't sure how long she walked down the seemingly endless corridor, but at some point she heard a thud ahead. She paused and squinted.

"Hello?"

The thud repeated, and a segment of the corridor ahead plunged into darkness. Then another, the darkness reaching for her like a living thing.

Amelia squeaked and raced back. Some primal part of her knew that she mustn't find herself outside the light.

She jumped into the elevator and jabbed the button for the 15th floor.

"Look at you, Amelia," the voice jeered. "You rejected my goodwill, and where has that brought you? Back to me."

"Move, please, move!"

"Tell me you're sorry."

She cast a frantic glance at the encroaching darkness. "I'm sorry, please, get me out of here!"

"Of course, Amelia. You needed but ask."

She sobbed with relief when the doors closed, shutting off the darkness. The cheap elevator music sounded sweet.

"I did well, didn't I?" A petulant note entered the voice. "The polite thing would be to thank me."

"Thank you," she said, her pulse racing. "Thanks so much."

"That's right," the voice said, breathing heavily. "No reason we can't be friends."

She shivered and closed her eyes, feeling as if it was lurking right behind her. The elevator mercifully stopped, and the doors opened to her floor. Hardly believing her luck, she stormed out.

"I'll be seeing you soon, Amelia," the voice said.

"Over my dead body," she muttered.

<2/3>

Amelia giggled nervously. Someone must've called it from the upper floors, that's all. She glanced at the buttons and did a double take. Since when did the building have twenty floors?

As she was puzzling over the buttons, the elevator dinged to a stop. The doors parted, revealing a man in a tweed suit carrying a leather briefcase.

"Going up, ma'am?" he asked.

"Yeah," she murmured before her brain caught up with her eyes. Behind the man was an opulent lobby with marble columns and chandeliers, but before she could get a better look, he stepped in, and the doors closed with the same swiftness they had behind her.

She sighed and rubbed her eyes as the elevator resumed moving. Must be losing my mind. The gentleman who had boarded pulled out an honest-to-god pocket watch on a chain and checked the time. Sensing her gaze, he smiled and tipped his bowler hat to her.

She smiled back shakily. The elevator soon came to another stop, and the doors parted to an unfamiliar hallway stretching into the distance.

The man made to get off before exclaiming. "This isn't the Sunrise Hotel!"

"This isn't my apartment building either," Amelia said with trepidation.

The man whirled around and jabbed the top button, but the elevator didn't budge. Amelia tried the emergency call to no effect. They stared at each other.

"Amelia," she said, extending her hand.

The man clasped it. "Frank. Frank Walsted."

She eyed the hallway and swallowed. "For better or worse, this seems to be our stop. Shall we?"

"I suppose we must," he said, lifting his briefcase like a shield. "You better stay behind me, just in case."

Amelia usually had little patience for chivalry, but she was willing to make an exception. "Lead the way, Frank."

The sapling is a curious thing, with broad silvery leaves the likes you had never seen. An internet search reveals nothing remotely similar. You shrug, put it under a grow light, and water it sparingly.

It burgeons, stretching upward not by the day but by the hour. Within weeks, its roots have cracked three increasingly larger pots, and its canopy has almost reached the ceiling. With some trepidation, you replant it in your backyard and meticulously cover its roots with mulch. Winters are tough around here, and you aren't sure the strange tree can survive.

It does, and even in the deepest winter it never loses its silvery leaves. And when snow melts and the ground thaws, it grows a single pale fruit, like a cross between an apple and a peach. The strangest thing is that you had never even seen the tree blossom.

You watch the fruit swell and darken into a rich golden color until one morning, when you come to check up on it, it falls from the branches. You put it on the kitchen counter, where it stays for weeks, never rotting, filling the house with a sweet scent.

Eventually you give in to your curiosity and have a taste. Just a nibble, in case it's poisonous. Its flesh is juicy and tangy and sweet, the most delicious thing you ever tasted, and before you know it, you devour it all. You wait anxiously, but nothing bad happens. If anything, you feel better than before—light on your feet and full of energy.

The tree continues to grow, and you fear what the neighbors will say, but when you wake up one day, instead of the boring suburban landscape you find your backyard connected to a grassy plain with a forest in the distance. When you walk around to the neighbor's house, you find it still there, with its owner oblivious. You wonder if you're going insane.

Then the first visitors come. Their clothes are linen, and their ears are pointy. "Keeper," they murmur, and bow respectfully. "We come to pay respect on behalf of the Autumn Queen."

You gape and sputter in confusion. The visitors don't seem offended. They sit in silence in the tree's shade for many hours, then lay baskets of fruit and honey and bread at your doorstep and leave. They are but first of the many. You become used to them and even exchange small talk. The Southern Tribes are gathering to select a new warchief, apparently, and undead have been spotted in the Barrows. Huh.

The tree's roots reach the house and begin twining around it with surprising gentleness. As months turn into years, the house becomes entirely incorporated within the roots. The darnedest thing is that water still flows from the faucets, tasting strangely sweet, and the shower has hot water. Electricity's gone, but among the tribute you find glass globes that light up when touched, and you trade another fruit for a group of stocky bearded crafstmen to build you a fireplace.

Years have passed since you picked up the sapling, but when you peer into the mirror, you find your face unchanged by age. The grassland is no longer the only place the tree connects to; there's a range of tall mountains, and a beach before a vast ocean, all open for you to enjoy the bounties of. And as the tree's silvery canopy rises toward the skies, you wonder what other marvelous worlds it will open.

Adam's heart hammered in his chest as he tiptoed through the dark hallways of the abandoned factory—except it was quite obviously not abandoned. Bare lightbulbs hung from tangled wires overhead, casting flickering light upon machines full of gears and springs, tanks of murky liquid, and stuffed animals with too many limbs.

Most of the machinery lay silent, like mangled corpses of mechanical beasts, but the closer he got to the factory's heart, the more movement and noise he encountered. A steam generator, humming and throwing sparks. A pump, pushing thick red liquid through translucent pipes. Refrigerators crammed to bursting with things that didn't belong outside a body.

A fragment of a melody drifted down the hallway. Singing—that was Mabel singing in that hilariously off-tune way of hers. He followed the song and soon emerged into the factory's main floor. It was lit brightly and filled to the brim with fantastic machinery, but that wasn't what drew his gaze.

Mabel, clad in an overlong lab coat that hung from her skinny frame, bowed over a large table upon which lay—he swallowed—what looked like a corpse. She was humming happily as she stabbed metallic rods into its joints. Her hair was mussed up as if she had just gotten up, and her eyes were baggy and bloodshot behind her thick-rimmed glasses, yet they burned with that fervent energy that had drawn him to her in the first place.

He held his breath as he crept closer. His foot nudged something—a dusty bottle labeled XXX—and it fell over and rolled along the floor. Mabel jerked up and swiveled her head, raising a metal rod in her sleeve-covered hand. Once she saw him, her eyes went wide, and she quickly hid the rod behind her back.

"Adam!" she gasped.

He swallowed, frozen on the spot. "H-hi."

"What are you doing here?" She belatedly interspersed herself between him and the table as if to hide it from view.

"I just wanted to know. Where you always disappear to, what you need all those... materials for." He ran a hand through his hair. "So I followed you. I'm sorry."

She pushed her glasses up her nose. "Did you tell anyone else?"

He shook his head mutely. Mabel exhaled with relief. Letting the metal rod drop to the floor, she kicked it under the table. She looked at him, then away, and fidgeted.

"I was going to tell you," she muttered, not meeting his eyes. "Eventually."

"I can't believe you managed to keep all this a secret," he said, looking around. "From me, from everyone. This is... this is just..."

She clasped her arm with her hand and worried her lip.

"Totally metal," he said, turning to her with awe. "Are you trying to reanimate that thing?"

Mabel's eyelashes fluttered in surprise before a hesitant smile blossomed on her pale face. "You can tell?"

"Only the general idea," he admitted. "I've never seen machinery like this."

"Would you..." She blushed and scuffed the ground with her foot. "Would you like to see how it works?"

He looked her in the eye. "I'd love to."

She threw her hands up, causing her overly long sleeves to flap, and cackled. "Excellent! Follow me, assistant. First, we need to find you a lab coat."

Adam grinned as she hooked her arm around his and dragged him off, her eyes burning with excitement. Time to reanimate some corpses.

You see the question coming from a mile away. It's a wonder the interviewer had held out so long; his gaze had been flicking toward and away from your horns the entire time. There's a thin chain around his neck, and you'd bet a dollar to a dime that there's a crucifix hanging from it. One tends to notice such things when they get spritzed with holy water as often as you do.

"Just one last question." The interviewer gestures vaguely. "Your, ah..."

"Horns?" you say, making him wince slightly. "What about them?"

The man swallows, gathers his courage. "Any relation to Lucifer?"

"None whatsoever."

"I see. Would you terribly mind..." He ducks behind his desk and pulls out a Bible. "Would you mind touching this for me? I don't mean to insinuate you're not honest with me, it's just..."

You lean forward and lay your palm atop the faux-leather cover, then lift it. No burns. The interviewer exhales and slumps back in his seat.

"I am sorry about this," he says in a tone much warmer than before. "It's just that our company deals with Celestials sometimes, and employing someone related to the other place might cause all sorts of awkwardness."

You fake a smile. "No worries. I understand completely."

"Good. Excellent." He eyes your horns again. "But if it's not Luciferian heritage, may I ask..."

You suppress a sigh. "Dragon."

"Good lord! How did that happen?"

You fake a smile. "My grandfather was an adventurous man."

"I... see." The interviewer shakes his head. "Sorry, I bet you get questions like that a lot. We'll call you back tomorrow, all right? Thanks for your time." He rises and extends his hand over the desk.

You get up to shake it, and that's when it hits you. A wondrous smell-that's-not-a-smell, reaching out to some primal hunger slumbering deep inside you. Your fingers come short of touching his hand and instead close upon his fancy cufflinks. Your breathing quickens as you roll the decorated metal between your fingers. The man stares at you, then tugs at his sleeve, but you don't let go. Can't.

"What are you doing? Hey. Hey!" He yanks his sleeve free and glowers. "What's come over you, man?"

"I..." You shake your head as reality crashes back on you. "I'm so sorry. It's just—I couldn't help it, they're so nice, gold, genuine gold—"

"Whatever." The man motions roughly at the door. "I think we're done here."

You mutter an apology and flee, clenching your fists. Damn it, blew it again.