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The Lost Bureau (and other stories)-original fiction

Mark Poe

The majestic cock
Writing Champ
I think you have Isekai as a genre fairly covered, even though ... is it Dungeon Core kind of power? Because that's was somewhat popular among self-insert powers,
I have no clue (which is why I'm really vague on the details of the magic), and I never heard of Dungeon Core. It's probably a hodgepodge of a bunch of influences I seen/read over the years.


Well-known member
I have no clue (which is why I'm really vague on the details of the magic), and I never heard of Dungeon Core. It's probably a hodgepodge of a bunch of influences I seen/read over the years.
It's a genre of its own, almost, perhaps fringe one, but certainly popular to a certain extent. Instead of protagonist being better himself, he ends up being an immobile dungeon heart of sorts like in Dungeon Keeper, builds maze, spawns monsters, and generally cause trouble.

Mark Poe

The majestic cock
Writing Champ
It's a genre of its own, almost, perhaps fringe one, but certainly popular to a certain extent. Instead of protagonist being better himself, he ends up being an immobile dungeon heart of sorts like in Dungeon Keeper, builds maze, spawns monsters, and generally cause trouble.
My god, those fucknuggets can't even bothered to move their lardasrses nowadays?!? XD


Well-known member
My god, those fucknuggets can't even bothered to move their lardasrses nowadays?!? XD
You can't when your ass is frozen in the crystal. :p
Besides, it's option that doesn't come with ladies (because you are crystal, you don't have ... well, right tools) so it only looks fair to have localized reality warping powers. :p

Mark Poe

The majestic cock
Writing Champ
You can't when your ass is frozen in the crystal. :p
Besides, it's option that doesn't come with ladies (because you are crystal, you don't have ... well, right tools) so it only looks fair to have localized reality warping powers. :p
Point taken.

Actually now that I think of it, that does give me an idea for a short story, mainly how the various nations goes around disarming the various isekai dungeons...


Well-known member
Point taken.

Actually now that I think of it, that does give me an idea for a short story, mainly how the various nations goes around disarming the various isekai dungeons...
You have something you can test The Bomb at, at very least. Usually, they either come into setting that doesn't have The Bomb and needs to deal with Dungeons all adventurer style, or setting does have The Bomb, but Dungeons gets one too as they tech up accordingly to whatever poor sod that dies on their premises.
misc story 1

Mark Poe

The majestic cock
Writing Champ
Special thanks to @beast_regards for reminding me the whole dungeon subgenre thingy.


Spec Ops: Dungeon Crawlers​

(S.E. 410s)

The group of heavily armed orcs silently entered the deceptively delipidated gate at the bottom of the mountain. Decked out in full body armor (which in another world perhaps would look over-the-top cringy, but this world so far was still mostly oblivious to the joys of FPS gaming culture) and armed with submachineguns, genrades, demolition explosive charges, and a couple of rocket launchers even. They weren’t the usual armed band of murder hobos: they’re the government’s special force of murder hobos.

They entered the dungeon not for glory, loot, or even slaughter, but for duty. They are the Republican Dungeon Crawlers: Mundock’s special force operators. Trained by the legendary dragon slayer herself (who honestly cringed at what the force has become in the public’s eyes, but there’s nothing she could do about that), the task force first enter the public’s eyes through their superb performance in the Republic’s intervention during the infamous Incel Rebellion, where their skills in fighting in confined spaces came in rather handy in minimizing casualties and collateral damage. They were active for some years before that, however, their founding occurred almost as soon as the necessary technologies were readily available.

Their job, their original purpose, was to hunt down the dungeons and end them entirely. Unlike the regular adventuring parties who enters them for loot and fame, when the Crawlers enter, the dungeons die. That’s when things go right anyways. When they go wrong, the next team follows up and hopefully does better than their luckless predecessors.

And yes, the dungeons were are in a sense living creatures,at least the ones in which the dungeon masters were an integrated part of construct itself. Other were more akin to the residences of which the dungeon master resides in. In the end it doesn’t matter as they entrap adventurers and the desperate to their lair, the classic honey trap.

The endless stream of those seeking fame and fortune flocking towards the dungeons meant that many villages and even larger settlements grew up around them, catering to those who were about to gamble their lives for the big payoff. As with many other economic trends in history (the mining rushes of Ironi comes to mind), it’s rarely the schmucks who risk their life and limb who wins, but the bastards who surrounds them who profits in the end. However, things rarely flow out from the dungeons, except for suffering and loss.

Which was why the dungeons must be destroyed, they being a blight on the land, draining the finest of people and spitting out their remains (sure, they generally attract the foolhardy, but that doesn’t describe every member of every adventuring party, much less those who accidently ended up entering them). They have no place in a modern world, at least that’s what the governments of the modern nation states agreed on. With the recent collapse of the human empire the was open season on the countless dungeons within their former boundaries.

Of course, each country have their preferred way of dealing with the infestation of dungeons. The dragons prefer to blast the entire areas surrounding suspected dungeons, while the elves prefer their witch’s brew of chemical weapons and simply “quarantine” areas, leaving the problem for future generations. The orcs, or more accurately, their governments at the urging of their isekai communities, decided upon a more “hands on” approach to solving the problem.

Which brings back these orcs entering the dungeon, already knowing they have forfeited their lives. Even with the best training and equipment that government money could buy, attrition and casualty rates among the Dungeon Crawlers were the highest among all of the Republic’s armed forces. They may have modernity and technology on their side, but they’re facing against forces with decades, if not centuries of experiences in handling intruders, and far more willing to kill.

Yes, in fact the point for the usage of such spec ops teams to deal with dungeons was the opportunities to extract the cores of said dungeons, or their dungeon masters. Sure, most of them by this point being completely stir fry crazy and insane but there’s always the chance of rehabilitation, or failing that there being ways to extract some use out of them, whether knowledge, materials, or mana. Idealistic and practicality doesn’t necessarily have to be mutually exclusive after all.

The orcs moved into the tunnels without a word, their only communications being the occasional sign language and their body language. The walls (and floor, and ceiling, and probably everything else including the very air itself) have ears, and eyes too, which was why the sign language was also in code.

It didn’t take long for the first orc to die, when a bolt of lighting literally cooked him alive in his armor. He was the point man. Even before his last screams faded away the rest of the team merely silently reorganized the formation, there was no time to mourn for his loss. They all knew the risks.

The deaths continued as the team ventured furthered into the dungeon. There were the usual traps such as false floors, sudden spikes, random pits, but as they entered deeper the traps also became more sophisticated, incorporating more modern technologies such as explosives, electricity, and chemicals in the air that turn unprotected people to corpses soon enough.

They were ready for those too, it was all the horrors of modern warfare, condensed into one seemingly endless labyrinth. Grimly they continued, losing members here and there, when chance worked against them and all the preparation in the world was found wanting. Acceptable losses in the grand scheme of things, but no less tragic.

The group was less than half of its original numbers by the time then seemingly reached an dead end. Then the walls started to move in, ready to crush them.

For any traditional adventuring group, this would be end, their death all but assumed (unless the mage in the group has a teleportation spell handy). The orcs however calmly took out a number of explosive charges and placed them on one of the walls. The resulting explosions did exactly what it was supposed to do, mana enhanced explosives (plastic explosives still being a few decades away, so magic once again had to step in the gap) blowing a large hole cleanly through the wall. The team quickly and efficiently walked through the hole.

It wasn’t the treasure room, that was the right turn a couple of turns back. But then again they didn’t entered the dungeon for mere trinkets.

The room they stepped into was dazzling with light, in contrast with the usual dark settings of the dungeon themselves. The orcs were momentarily blinded by the sudden change in lighting conditions, but for once they could afford a momentary lapse in guard.

They made it to the control room. From their perspective, it seems to be filled with crystals, glass, and diamonds. To an isekai’s perspective (if the group had any, but that would be impossible as few could match their pace, and those who do being far too important to be spent of mere dungeon crawls), it was obviously filled with control panels ripped straight out of JRPGs. Thankfully, the Dungeon Crawlers were all briefed on a number of potential control rooms they may encounter, as well as potential forms that dungeon masters could take in.

The isekai in control of this particular dungeon was a still a human, or at least something that resemble a human enough to pass as such. He had just enough time to turn around in surprise before the team commander pulled out his revolver and fired.

His shot rang true, the rifle caliber round (the main reason why Dungeon Crawler prefer revolvers was due to their ability to accept much heavier rounds than their newer semi-auto counterparts, number of rounds being less important, suppression fire was where the submachineguns came in) hit the right elbow of the isekai DM, instantly taking out much of his right arm in a shower of blood and gore. The isekai went down hard.

As the DM collapsed in spazzing pain the team rushed forward, two of them stabilizing the downed isekai with stasis kits while the rest headed for the nearest wall, planting more explosives to get their exit started. Still moving smoothly with hardly a sound, they worked like clockwork, years of training mixed with the bitter experience of numerous prior operations meant that there was no need for words.

With little fuss or [additional] mess they bundled up the now unconscious isekai DM, and with another series of explosions blowing another hole in the control room they made their way out of the dungeon as quickly as they entered.


As the follow up teams and specialized personnel made their way into the now declared ‘deactivated’ dungeon the remnants of the spec ops team took a well deserved break at a nearby grove of trees. The commander of the team was in deep thought, while another took out a pencil and sketchbook, one of the few personal possessions he had on him, and begin doodling absentmindedly. Still in silence, the surviving members each cope in their own ways.

Another dungeon destroyed, another nearby human village soon to be left withering on the vine, another sample for the scientists and magis back home to pour over. Not bad for the loss of only a dozen or so orcs. Acceptable losses in the eyes of the government.

Doesn’t necessarily make it any less painful for the individuals who had to live through the losses, but they’ll cope, that’s what they signed up for after all, they are professionals.
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misc story 2

Mark Poe

The majestic cock
Writing Champ
Blood for ore, the wages of destruction​

(S.E. 410s (latter half of the decade))

The maze of trenches snake through the already sickly lands as far as the eyes could see. The weather today was cheerful and sunny, cleared of clouds or other obstructions, which only served to highlight the devastation brought upon the lands by the hands of sapients over the decades. The pockmarked holes, the thick layer of grey ash and soot covering everything in sight. No signs of life in sight, not a plant, not an animal. Not out there, where only the embrace of death awaits.

For the thousands of orc soldiers huddled in the trenches (and the hundreds of thousands more in the rest of the trenches on the continent, it was another day like any other. Wake up, cook breakfast, fire off some munitions from the artillery, and stand around and wait, popping off some more munitions in the meantime at the general direction of the enemy.

Then they fired back, the the air was filled with the whistling of incoming shells. Everyone wearily hunkered down and wait for them to land, and land they did, with suitably loud explosions.

After the dust cleared, the soldiers scuttled back, clearing the debris, the walking wounded hauling away the bodies (or more accurately, what little’s left of them) of their comrades, and the rest generally return to their posts, back to the mind rotting boredom of staring at the endless sapient-made wasteland in front of them, the endless fields of sickening grey and browns. Thankfully, on that occasion the bombardment was not followed up by an enemy charge. On those occasions there were the screaming hordes of scuttling rats and their orge allies, even as machineguns take their inevitable tolls they took the war to the next level, a war to the knife (and shovel, and even fists and claws).

The rest of the day was much of the same: stand watch, eat chow, fire off munitions, avoid enemy munitions, and sanitation. Oh gods the cleaning, the filth, the stench, the ash and soot, they cover everything and get into everything. If nothing else that was a battle doomed to be lost before it even begun, but like every other battle it must be fought to the bitter end regardless.

Night time only brought a new world of horrors, for the dark, and there was no lights to banish it, lest it attracts enemy artillery, brought out the horrors of a twisted nature. Seemly emboldened by the lack of night vision of sapients, they scuttled forth to prey of the weak and the stragglers, and all through the night there was the scattered screams of the odd unlucky sods who just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Death never sleeps. The bullets and shrapnel never stops flying. In this mortal made hell, the finest art of industrial warfare, the soldiers make their way to sleep, of either the natural variety or the more permanent type.


Another day, another little war, another thousands of soldiers returning to their families in caskets, and tens of thousands of more only as a letter, for there wasn’t enough of their bodies to be shipped back. When will it ever end? For what purpose? Why, why? Why?!?

Then again, perhaps it was better that the fodder on the ground could not see the bigger picture. Else they would have realized that they are not the ones turning the handle of the meat grinder, they were the meat going in.

All this effort, all this suffering, all this death. At least it was not all for nothing, for they held the line so that the endless appetite for ore that the old continent has could be sated. The flowering of youth of a continent sent to die in the land of death so that the motherland could replace the blood of people with the steels of industry, all the while lining the pockets of the rich and powerful.

Pretty shit trade for everyone all in all, and the deal was getting worse all the time. Half a century ago conquest was as easy as clearing the wildlife, even a few decades ago a few regiments could hold down a town and the surrounding lands from any possible threats. But now? The trenches haven’t moved more than a dozen kilometers since the end of the Incel Rebellion back on the old continent, and that was over a decade ago, despite the millions of troops poured in by both the Republic and the Union. More and more were sent each year, as if feeding the endless maw of the beast of Ironi was ever going to work.

Then again, it wasn’t if there was a choice in the matter, too much blood has already been spilled to simply quit now. The mountains of dead demand vengeance, or so the living said. Not that anyone tried to ask the dead themselves, it wouldn’t be too hard, there being necromancers still around after all, just no one really want to have anything to do with them. More importantly and relevantly to the beancounters, too much have been already invest on the continent to abandon all that now, not when the natives were fast catching up.

If anything, the technological advancement of the natives of Ironi was even more impressive than what transpired back on the old continent. Within the space of half a century they went from sticks and stones to guns and artillery. Sure, they have the harsh teacher of bitter experience during all this time, but so did the old continent, and the old continent had isekais…

… perhaps? But impossible, or was it? Does it really matter either way?


For the average orc in the trenches or the mines, it doesn’t matter. The politicians and even the generals are worlds away, and the endless scuttling hordes so near, and death and suffering ever present.

For millions, they are in the living hell, a hell of their own making, prodded on by those profits off their suffering and sacrifice. The gods of the old have been replaced by the modern gods of industry and modernity, but the demands on the mere mortals were as cruel as ever.

The struggle continues, with no end in sight.
misc story 3

Mark Poe

The majestic cock
Writing Champ
The elf’s arithmetic​

(S.E. 230s)

It was another ordinary day at Processing Camp Number 013, a camp that history will remember in infamy. Although it was little different from all the other two dozen or so camps that dotted along in the lands that was formerly known as the territories of the Kingdom of the Ram, the location of Camp 013 was on the sight of a village of little note, some place called Woolville? Not that it matters as there was no traces of the former village in sight.

The dawn of each day was announced through the whistle of the incoming trains, on the clock, as reliable as the flow of the ancient rivers themselves. Passing through the huge gates, of which on top of was emblazoned with a large sign that simply stated the following:

Arbeit macht frei”​

Words no one native to this world knew. However the camp commander was told by an isekai that the phrase was thematically appropriate for the purpose her work and the purpose of the camp, and so these words would become as infamous in this world as they were in another world, under such different yet so similar circumstances.

As the trains pulled to a stop at the center of the camp, where the lines of golems were patiently waiting, to carry out their never changing orders of unloading the supplies & equipment (mostly a large number of cans that even the golems handled with the utmost of care) and herd the new arrivals to their last destination, their sunken eyes showed nothing, there is nothing noteworthy left of their souls, and soon their bodies will join those.

From the cattle cars spewed forth the huddled washed masses of humans, now merely shambling husks, skin stretched over bones. There wasn’t much of anything left at this final stop.

Perhaps among this batch were a few actual incels and isekais, perhaps not. It was all irrelevant though as they were herded like cattle through the few steps between the cars and the first of the large grey buildings. A few stumbled and fell, of which the rest paid no attention. Those were quickly dispatched by the few camp guards next to the golems, who simply shot them with their pistols, not even bothering to see the results of their handiwork as more golems silently dragged the still twitching bodies to a building in the distance, from its numerous chimneys arise thick, gresy smoke in all hours of the day and night.

As the reminder humans were herded into the building, which was bare of all furnishings save for a couple of desks at the other end, long lines of sullen figures waited waited to be processed, although not a word was said, all those in the lines knew what awaited them. Especially the iskeais, after all, the original Holocaust was rather well known back on Earth. Not that the knowledge matters much, their will to resist has been broken a long time ago, those who remained unbroken in spirit were already broken in the flesh and buried in unmarked shallow graves dotted all over the lands of the former Empire of all Mankind..

After the paper came the the tattooing, for those lucky ones selected for extermination through labor, their last bit of energy and mana to be extracted to further fuel their oppressors. As for the rest they were simply herded to yet another large building. Something about remote mana extraction, the guards said. No one believed them, but once again what the victims believed was irrelevant. Once that building was filled to capacity, the doors were locked, and for those huddled masses inside so was the last of their hopes and dreams.

15 minutes, it was all it took for the generous dose of zyklon b to do the work of the grim reaper. Then the doors opened again, and the golems silently waddled in, clearing out the hundreds of bodies, men, women, children. The old, the infirm. It matters not, now only corpses to be shoved into the crematoriums.

Just then the next train arrived, right on time to deliver the next batch of victims.


It was nighttime, the gas chambers finally closed for the day although the crematoriums continued their grim work through the night. The camp commander was reviewing the reports.

2,625 total liquations, including 63 children under the age of 12. Reasonable rate of work. After all, this is one of over two dozen of such camps, and if everything goes well then the lands will be suitably depopulated in a few years, freeing up the scourge of the so called incel threat… forever. At least in the elven controlled lands, perhaps then will the orcs and their isekai populations see the wisdom of their grand plan.

Which was the reason for all these reports and records, this will be the crowning jewel of achievement in the history of the Imperial State, and this little camp was only the beginning.
misc story 4

Mark Poe

The majestic cock
Writing Champ
Behold, the bringer of light! (not the good kind)​

(S.E. 240s)

It was a bright, cheerful, and sunny day in the rather unremarkable village of Cadfield (after all, crushing poverty and endless suffering still being no strangers to many parts of the old continent since the beginning of history), but the village is not important, at least not for anything besides intrinsic values (which of course being useless ever since the dawn of the modern age). A formly simple hamlet that swelled to a sprawl of slums and suffering from the horde of refugees fleeing the for the horrors of modern warfare and genocide. It was only too unfortunate that there was no hope at the end of the journey, only more suffering and misery awaits. Then the incels conquered the place, and a whole new darkness engulfed them.

Which made the large elven army some kilometers away all the more unusual. Standard operation among for a place such as Cadfield was firebombing followed by dispersion of chemical agents, ‘burn and salt’ and it was known, tend to deprive the incels of their power up fuel, if nothing else. Collateral damage being a feature rather than a flaw.

The amassing of troops wasn’t something short term either, if the amount of rail lines snaking towards the frontlines was any indication. They were staying for the long haul, or even more, since it was much more rolling stock and infrastructure than necessary for a mere 15 divisions.

Even more usual was the mass of foreign news crews, military attaches, and other riff raffs milling around, all cordially invited by the fuhrer herself to witness ‘the coming of a new age’. Big fucking deal, the Union already detonated their first nuclear device almost a decade ago, and the republic a couple of short years later. More chemicals in the air that turn the friggin people dead in various new and horrible isn’t going impress anyone these days. Of course no of those weapons have been used in anger, even as the situation in Ironi reached its desperate conclusion for the colonial powers. There are some demons that really shouldn’t be released.

Then came the blast of a train horn, much louder than most, and all assembled turned towards the set of 4 parallel tracks. Slowly making its way forward was a massive railroad cannon, one that bears a certain, probably all too intentional resemblance, to another large and impractical gun from earth’s sordid history. The massive beast of steel and steam, as if it was the embodiment of the might and power of the Imperial State. Probably its stupidity and wastefulness too, given that everyone including the dragons were working on strategic missiles and rockets ever since the first nuke was detonated, if not before that.

The nice thing about having the technological developmental history of another world was that a lot of spots could be avoided. The bad it about it was that things were advancing much faster than most could possibly comprehend. Giving arseholes better weapons just meant higher body counts in the end.

“Be careful, she’s fragile.” One of the Republic’s military attache sarcastically quipped, eliciting a few awkward chuckles. He was of course correct, as just because something being over 2,000t (metric tonnes) doesn’t mean it’s most easily broken or damaged, and for all its size and mass, railroad guns were notorious fickle and limited.

“May I have your attention please.” A major of the Lasce Imperial Army said, “On this day you will witness a game changing weapon. This day is to be remembered.”

“Sure honey” One of the reported muttered from the crowd, not really believing the cheap rhetoric.

“Please zip up your protection gear and put up the masks.” The major continued, looking at her pocketwatch, “We are about to set up for the countdown. Brace yourselves.”

Sirens loudly began to blare, a fanfare signaling the start of doom for tens of thousands, who for the most part were still blissfully unaware of their coming doom. The cannon has finally stopped, and the machinery within that mountain of steel begin their complex dance of preparation to fire. If it weren’t for all those noises everyone would have heard the sounds of a number of facepalms from the foreign observers. It was very much overblown. After all, what is this besides an example of the follies of the last age?

Although everyone expected, when the gun finally fired its shockwaves still knocked quite a few people off their feet, despite everyone being at least a few hundreds meters away. Somehow but utterly predictably, numerous glass panes shattered all over the place despite every measure to protect every conceivable glass part in sight.

Then all the assembled heads turned towards the other side, even as they knew that the intended target of the now flying shell was beyond the horizon.

The massive mushroom cloud was a shock however, even before the edge of the shockwave of the 87kt nuclear warhead reached them.

“They will never forget!” The elven major shouted through speakers. Although their faces obscured by masks, many of them looked on with various shades of horror written across their faces. A few even puked, ripping off their masks despite the dangers.

It wasn’t that the Imperial State possess nuclear weapons being a surprise, their project being on overdrive since the Union detonated their nuclear test. What was shocking and horrifying was their first test being used on live targets, mostly innocent civilians and victims for that matter.

In hindsight, it was depressingly in character for the Imperial State and their bloodthirsty fuhrer and rather an embarrassing failure of the part of the intelligence branches of both the Union and the Republic.

It was perhaps the Imperial State’s most smug moment, unbeknownst to them, it would also serve as the catalyst for their downfall within a few short years.

As always, it was little comfort to all the dead, their silence cried out in vain.


Well-known member
Who are Elves trying to wipe out? Humans? If yes, who told them about the "Arbeit macht frei" phrase other than human? So far, there has been only one Isekai that has been Elf.

Mark Poe

The majestic cock
Writing Champ
Who are Elves trying to wipe out? Humans? If yes, who told them about the "Arbeit macht frei" phrase other than human? So far, there has been only one Isekai that has been Elf.
Nazi ideology continues to not make any sense and being choke full of hypocrisy even when in a fantasy world, news at 11. XD

Basically the collapse of the human empire and the subsequent massive clusterfuck on the old continent is very much akin to the Chinese Civil War in earth's 20th century... and most of the non human governments are very aware of that. The nazi elves are doing their best to ethnically cleanse as much of the human lands as possible, with the grunts being told that it was for revenge and safeguarding the future while the leadership is banking on kneecapping whatever pan human political entity that does inevitably reunites the humans, having also some knowledge of earth's post WWII forced population movements in central and eastern Europe. It's just unfortunate that their world doesn't actually follows such a script and not all their assumptions are correct.

While the Lasce Imperial State does try to kill every isekai they find in the human lands, they couldn't touch the isekai populations in the orc and dragon nations, especially after the former got nukes. Of course the leadership decided to do the mental gymnastics to separate the 'good' isekais from the 'bad' isekais (very much like honorary aryans in earth's nazis), and there being still quite a few isekais who are probably filled with various degrees of self loathing (best example that I could think of would be if lightdreamer (did I get his name right?) of SB were to be isekai to this world, given his hatred of most of the works of the genre. Hell, I'm pretty sure if he ever read these stories he would think this is trash too, his tastes are just too high for most to achieve. Sometimes I even feel a bit sorry for him, since he's gonna be waiting for a long ass time for decent amount of isekai stories to be good enough for his tastes).
misc story 5 (end?) ;)

Mark Poe

The majestic cock
Writing Champ
Technically this does serve as an ending for the most part. Quite frankly I need a bit of cheering up at least so indulge in the crazy and contrived plot twist.

We’ll be borrowing this to slay the great evil… not you, the other one. You’re still screwed though.​

(S.E. 253)

“This is Storm 1, Storm 1 reporting.” The lead pilot of the flight of FN-33 naval fighters reported crisply. “Flight on way to anomaly. Presently no abnormal readings.”

“This is Pac Command, report acknowledged.” The coordinator onboard the EN-8 AWACS replied “Continued your designated course.”

“Acknowledge, Storm 1 out.”

Hundreds of meters above the seemingly ever calm South Ocean the Union fighters continued their interception course with the… whatever thing that the AWACS identified an hour earlier.

Whatever that things is, it’s damn big, moving slightly above the water, and on a course heading straight to the old continent at a speed of over 780km per hour, comparable to most top of the line jet aircraft.

Ever since the collapse of the “coalition” following their all too brief moment of self interest induced collaboration the waters around the Old continent was filled with tension. Out in the vast reaches of blue was the place to display the newest weapons and their power, to show the world that they are not be messed around with, and woe to all who gets in their way.

In other words, a lot of showboating, with the occasional death when someone went too far in the intimidation, but on the scale of nationstates it was just the small price of vanity and knowledge.

Which made the current situation even more bizarre, according to the reconstructed flight path provided by the AWACS, the anomaly obviously came out from the South Continent, which the Lasce Imperial State own the entirety of it lock, stock, and barrel. Specifically from a region that’s only labeled as a mining complex.

However, there was not a damn noise from the pointy ear fascists about any such project or object of that scope. Not from Naval Intelligence, State Security, or even the Lost Bureau. All that leaves possibilities that were best not to be dwelled on for too long.

Which was why now a flight of naval fighters from the Union carrier UNS Entrada going on an intercept course.

“This is Storm 1. We should be within visual range any minute now… WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE GODS IS THAT?!?”

“Pac Command, repeat please?” Despite the crisp reply, a tone of concern seeped into the coordinator.

“EVASIVE MANEUVERS! EVASI-” The voice was suddenly cut off in a shower of static, signally connection lost, which for something as small as a fighter aircraft almost always meant the destruction of the craft itself. The destruction of the entire flight of fighters was confirmed almost immediately as they winked out of existence on the main radar display.

The command crew of the EN-8 looked at each other in growing horror as the realization of what transpired out there. They didn’t have long to dwell on that however, as the plane suddenly made a hard bank towards port, almost knock them out of their seats.

It wasn’t enough to evade the beam of malevolent light heading directly towards them, and within moments it too was little more than gently falling debris into the endless ocean.

By the time the Union taskforce arrived at the plane’s last coordinates there was nothing to been seen except for specks of debris floating in the ocean.


“Was that really necessary?” Amberea asked, watching the scenes of destruction as it occurred through the eyes of the one carrying out the destruction. “While preserving secrecy was important…”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Oesa nodded. “The general staff agreed that having the orcs discover the Triumphant Will without the proper context would in fact spark off the very conflict that we would wish to avoid at the present time.”

Amberea merely nodded, and returned her gaze at the huge flatscreen dominating the north wall of her office.

Despite ruling the Imperial State for over six decades by this point, Amberea’s office was surprisingly bare of decorations as popularly imagined when most people when asked their perception of the lifestyle of the powerful and despotic. Then again, much like certain leaders of Earth’s 20th century, who the elven fuhrer was very well aware of, she too was more than a mere despot, but the embodiment of the will of her people, or a tyrant so in love with the abstract concept of political power itself as to disregard the material benefits of said power.

Then there’s the flatscreen TV, made out of the finest of crystals and crafted with the best magic and science that government money from an autocratic system could buy, seems rather out of place. Especially when it was a time when even cathode ray tube sets were luxuries and the number of TV stations could be counted in one hand. Of course it wasn’t for mere entertainment purposes, but one of the minor but final pieces of the Imperial State’s WMD deterrence.

It was not enough to merely mutually annihilate each other, as the orcs, humans, and dragons have resigned themselves to that state of affairs. The Imperial State seeks to win and stand after any nuclear exchange. The mana shields and the mass produced anti-radiation spells was only the beginning. It was not enough merely to survive, but also to conquer the ashes of the enemies to ensure a permanent domination.

Enter the Leviathans: massive beasts of alloy and crystal, built with the finest of technologies and materials, fueled by the essences of unspeakable horrors. They are the ultimate embodiment of the militant madness of the Imperial State and its insane fuhrer. Such was the importance of these constructs that each has a direct two way visual and audio connection to the office of the fuhrer, which brings back to the flatscreen.

The Triumphant Will was in fact the first pre-production build, the prototype, Deus ex Machina, was still undergoing final testing. But now time was of the essence. The orc nations have finally threw in the towel over at Ironi, and have begun the long, bloody, and painful process of withdraw from that accused continent. News of that wasn’t taken well to their constituents, and both nations were facing the withdrawal symptoms of the sudden cutoff of ores they have come to rely on. Needless to say geopolitics on the old continent was more tense than ever, as nations in their moments of weakness tend to gamble and bluff much more…

A voice suddenly interrupted the the two’s viewing.

“My fuhrer, priority connection from the Deus ex Machina.” The communication operator announced through the intercom system.

“What?” Amberea asked, then turned towards Oesa, “You have any idea what could this be?”

“None…” Oesa was just as perplexed.

“Fine, patched it through the screen.” Amberea said to the operator, who complied immediately.

The screen shifts towards the command center of a Leviathan, clearly different from the Triumphant Will, mainly in the personnel sitting at the various control stations. However, they weren’t the expected crew of the construct. The figure sitting on the captain’s chair being a rather famous face yet completely unexpected for that location.

“Paneia?!?” Oesa asked in shock, “What is the meaning of this?”

“Who?” Amberea was a bit slower on the uptake. Despite everything history was never her strong suit. Then again, those who revise history for their own ends tend to be selective in their memories if for sheer political necessity. “Oh right. YOU.”

“Who I was and what I accomplished are irrelevant as of this moment.” Paneia said calmly, “All that you need to know is that your regime of evil ends today.”

“I doubt that.” Amberea sneered back, “The Leviathans are post apocalyptic weapons, you have no chance against the full might of the capital defense force. Also I doubt your little foreign backed coup will inspire much in the way of support.” Finally noticing the number of orcs crewing the various stations.

“Hang on a minute,” Oesa interjected, “that thing should be empty of its power cells.” What was not mentioned that said ‘power cells’ were in fact live, sapient beings. At one point in time anyways.

“We have a goddess hooked up down there, I think we’ll be fine long enough.” Paneia said curtly. “Besides, you’re downfall won’t be from direct violence.”

“HOW IN THE NAME OF THE GODS YOU MANAGED TO KIDNAP A GODDESS?!?” Amberea was suddenly a lot less calm and collected.

“On the contrary, she was in with us in this since the beginning.” Paneia finally cracked a cheerless smile. “Allow me to convoy her last message: ‘Fuck you feminazi hitler wannabe and also fuck that big titties tanned Himmler. You bitches had a long time coming.’” She paused for a moment, “I don’t think you’ll understand all the terms but the message seems pretty clear.”

Silence descended at the office as the two elves stared at the screen in shock. While relations with the water goddess was never that great, one of the main reasons why she was mostly sidelined in the South Continent to begin with, no one in the regime ever expected a watchmojo level of betrayal.

Paneia continued, “But as much as I want to blow your sorry arse to kingdom come that’s not what we’re going to do today. Allow me to indulge one final bit of grandstanding in this world.”

Silence greeted her, which she took as her cue to continue. “Years ago some of the magis figured out a way to make it to the regime of the gods, all in a theoretical sense of course. Vast amounts of power was needed to open such a gap, and more power to actually deal with the asshole deities who keep sending all the assholes into our fair world. It was most considerate of you to greenlight the necessary project that happen to meet our needs.” She patted her captain’s seat.

Oesa sucked in her breath, finally realizing the extent of the infiltration among the general staff. Paneia merely nodded slightly, confirming her suspicions.

“After our gapping a prerecorded message will be broadcast through all channels and papers, exposing your regime’s sordid history and endless crimes as well as calling for a popular uprising, all signed off by Jane herself, so I doubt you will be able to counteract those orders.” Paneia continued, “So goodbye, in more than one sense of the word.”

And with those words, the connection was cut and the screen fade into a storm of static.

A long moment of silence continued in that office.


And thus so ended the passage of humans into from Earth to that fair world, although it took decades for scientists and magis to confirm that, and far longer to make it into its proper place in the history books. What transpired in the world of the gods will however be forever shrouded in mystery.

As for the fall of the Lasce Imperial State, it was not the happy ending that Jane had hoped for. An idealist to the end, which blinded her to the reality on the ground, and probably a little bit of all that power of being a goddess finally getting to her head.

On the Old Continent, the revolution went pretty much without a hitch, helped by many of the older generation remember the days before the rise of the Imperial State. While for humans and orcs six decades are the span of generations for elves it was closer to merely a long nightmare, and it was time to wake up again.

Meanwhile the South Continent was a completely different story. Most of its population a result of the Imperial State, who poured countless resource, labor, and sacrifice to make the endless deserts bloom. For the majority there, denial was the order of the day, and with much of the leadership fleeing there it was soon obvious that the Imperial State will endure, even if somewhat weakened. The goddess would not simply abandon them like that, they are the chosen people after all.

In hindsight, the split was inevitable, the cultures and to a certain extent even the elves themselves were too far different apart from each other. It does not make it any less tragic that the dark elves of the south continent continued to wear their chains of tyranny. It was a problem that even the gods themselves could not solve.

Even for all those problems, the world was slowly moving to a more peaceful world. With their home continent firmly in their grasp, the rattlings and ogres of Ironi seemed to be content with their triumph over the invaders, and begin the long process of rebuilding their torn world from a century of invasion and exploitation. The South Continent, unrepentant as ever, turned inward to completely tame their part of the world. As for the Old Continent, the shocks of these world changing event finally spurred greater cooperation between the various nations and species. Orcs, elves, dragons, and later on even humans as finally the old lands of humans banded together once more (with a bit of discreet help from the others here and there).

It was world moving forwards, no one really knows where, except hoping with conviction that whatever it might be will be better than the past.
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misc story 6

Mark Poe

The majestic cock
Writing Champ
Awaken from the dream, but is this the end?​

(2019 AD, S.E. ???)


There was nothing. Not even the pitch darkness or pure light that fiction use to denote absolutely nothing.

Then the darkness came. It was almost comforting, at least it was something comprehensible to mere mortals.

Mortals? She hasn't thought herself as a mere mortal for decades now. The thought was a rude awakening, if it weren’t for the fact that she’s not even sure if awakening could be used to describe her current situation.

Facts? Does a concept like that even apply to this limbo? Is this even limbo?

Then came sounds, noises… voices? Then she realize she could feel her body again, how did she not even noticed that sooner?

Jane finally opened her eyes.

As the blurriness faded away she found herself in a hospital room, lying on a bed. It could be anywhere on the Old Continent as far as she could tell… then she noticed the flatscreen TV mounted on one of the corner… and it has CNN on.

She’s back, somehow. It was impossible they all said, but she’s back.

The door to her room opened and a doctor, a nurse, and a man in a suit came in.

Jane remained silent, knowing the usual spew about not exerting herself too hard or some other such bullshit, she seen enough hospital shows to that at least.

And so she listened to them, how that she’s been in a coma for over half a year, how by some miracle she was the only person to have survived the us crash (the bus driver fell asleep at the wheel, and simply rolled off the road), how crazy uncle Matt finally passed away and left his considerable estate to her, as a final “fuck you” the rest of the extended family of what he perceived to be a pack of greedy bastards, which went a long way in explaining why they never did pull the plug on her comatosed body in all those months. Meanwhile the federal government has partially shut down for weeks because president orange decided to throw a tantrum, oh, and there’s mounting evidences that he might be a Quisling to the Russians too. Fun stuff.

Maybe she didn’t wake up in her world, but damn it, close enough. At least everyone’s human enough and she’s no longer some deity… on that last part, she wondered. As she noticed a glass of water on a table nearby. While the lawyer droned on about something that’s probably important but way beyond her comprehension she concentrated on the water in the glass. Of course it wouldn’t work, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt to just confirm something one way or the other.

The water moved, a ripple from the direct center that could not have been explained by any natural phenomenon. Of course no one else noticed that. She merely nodded.

Life will never go back to what it used to be, but then again she’s also prepared for that too, with all those extra decades of experiences and accumulated wisdom.

Everything’s going to be fine, regardless of what the multiverse throws at her.

Mark Poe

The majestic cock
Writing Champ
It was all but a dream except it wasn't?
What is a dream? ;)

Thing is, when the crash occurred and she went into a coma her soul was dragged by the forces that be into the other world and given a body, like most isekais. Difference for Jane was that she still has a meatbag back on Earth, although no one really noticed it. It was one of the reasons that she was spawned as a elf rather than a human (this is absolutely retrospective arse covering, I planned none of this shit at the time when I wrote that). Whatever happened when the Leviathan went into the world of the gods managed to sent Jane's soul back to her body on earth (seriously, I don't know what happened there and then either).


Well-known member
What is a dream? ;)
A setting was a dream. It is done occasionally with this kind of stories, and I usually dislike it - it's similar to time-resents - it basically says that nothing that happened in the story matters as it either is rewritten (in case of time reset) or never really happened thus was never any conflict, any stakes etc. (in case of dream scenario).

In this case, it's kinda ambiguous, as she might have ended in different version of reality or may have her power, but hints are sufficiently vague they can be written as disillusions (which in turn are likely, because we have dream as explanation).

OTOH, when I consider this setting was meant to be a satire, then cheap ending makes sense as it would be one of the things you want to pick on.

Mark Poe

The majestic cock
Writing Champ
Welp, @Mark Poe, you'll have to answer to beast_regards' comment again.

Fuck [the system]. XD

Alright, let's see what I actually remember...

-Despite the title, it was not just a dream. Rather, the title is merely Jane's limited understanding/comprehension of the entire situation (not her fault, given that she doesn't have a meta perspective).
-The coma merely allowed her soul to be dragged into that other world, the whole final battle/confrontation/whatever with the gods merely threw her soul back to earth (and not a parallel earth either, she just had doubts because real life was that insane in the months that her body was in a coma)... with a few extra bonus
-Her retention of her powers (although in a much more reduced level), is supposed to hint that it wasn't just a dream
-I decided on having Jane back to earth and her body to give a happy ending of sorts, or at least a closure of sorts.
-I have no fucking clue as to the fate of the rest of the crew of that leviathan.
-Also keep in mind that there is a dragon from that world back on earth, I think it was mentioned in ch16 of the Lost Bureau... Jane could in theory be aware of it, since Nora and that half dragon are reasonably famous in that world and by extension both their family trees could be looked up in the relevant tomes.
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