Monster energy themes blackberry torch

Alright Apes,
I was out walking my dog, ready to get back home to go to sleep, and then it happened. I did one last check of superstonk to get my dopamine hit that is our community and well, I got more than I asked for. Now I have too much energy to sleep because I am so fucking hyped for what I found. So here I am.
This beautiful post popped up at nearly midnight my time.
When it said watch in reverse, I had mixed emotions because one of my favorite post was the one with the opening to the White Stripes glitch mob remix. Go watch the video if you haven’t already. That’s one of my favorite songs for very personal reasons and the idea that GME was about to unleash something that caused a glitch was very exciting to me. I wanted that to be the foreshadowing that RK left us with.
But I like every other GME theory I read, it consumes me. I’m obsessed. So what the heck, let’s go watch everything in reverse.
Lucky for me I realized very quickly that when you go to the X iphone app and watch the latest video in full screen, you can just swipe up to see the next video. So, the next hour of my night was planned out.
That was an hour ago. I am so hyped about what I saw that I’ve decided to sit down and write out the my whole interpretation of what I saw. I don’t have answers for every single post but there does seem to be a theme that matches the theory that these are meant to watch in reverse.
Buckle up.
One last things before I get started. I think DFV has been here all along. I think he has read all of the DD and I think he made his memes with all of that in mind. I highly doubt he knows anything for sure but is just a fan of the DD. Just like I am. And there is one DD I fell in love with from the first moment I read it. I think he did too and this is his thesis. He has read all the tea leaves and doesn't think anyone has put it together like he has so he is sharing his interoperation of the DD, the market conditions, and the news and is going to do one last DD himself.
Ok. Here we go.
Oh, and this is not financial advice.
Ok. Here we go for real.
ET: This might actually be him saying goodbye for now. Hopefully not forever (still kinda sad we never got a ET 2).
Horse Gift: Not sure how to interpret this one. Maybe foreshadowing that he found (or was gifted) the GME bull thesis and at that point, he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing for a bad things. “We’ll see”
Coldplay Backwards: GME had to pull back for him to find the right time to get in.
Forest Running: And then it started running.
Original Sheet Music: Then he started meme. The memes were “MIRACULOUS”.
My favorite post – The White Stripes Glitch Mob video intro: Seriously, if you haven’t watched the video, go now. It’s hype af. This is the video that marks the Jan 2021 glitch. The sneeze.
MIB Kitty: And then GME became RK’s galaxy.
That’s not a Knife: He was the memelord at this point but shorties wanted his gains.
Westworld’s Bernard: Then the bear thesis’ started coming out but we can’t see what we are programed not to see. We were already programed at this point thanks to the bulleproof bull thesis.
Ocean’s Gang in Prison: And then we got thrown in a prison together when so many people bought at high prices.
Beavis and Butthead: We were obsessed with Cohen at this point. We hung on to every tweet. Sex for Dummies was a very popular one. Lot’s of theories popped up with this tweet.
A Few Good Men: DFV visits Congress!
Elaine Dancing: Is this him celebrating his gains and/or not getting thrown in prison?
Aladdin: They tried to take his gains away?
Truman > Mourinho’s In Big Trouble: He was gagged.
ASIP In Therapy: RK went to therapy and found he loved making memes and GME?
Newman: Talking about his experience as his new life as the United States GameStop memer and all the requests he was getting for memes.
Eddie Murphy: Chronicling his time as a memer
SNL The Shooting AKA Dear Sister: Not sure on this one.
Steve Wilkos: RK is ours and we are going to stick beside him
Succession: RK was reading so much about how he was the villain
Borne: More struggles with his identity as the GameStop memer and deciding what to do next.
CNBC > .50: Why does everyone hate RK?
The Dude: Not sure on this one.
Garden State: foreshadowing the jam that he’s about to get into this his next (older) posts
Every Everywhere All at Once: more foreshadowing.
Stand by Me: There’s a game of chicken going on. Shorts vs HODLers?
School of Rock: Reminding us what where here for. This journey isn’t going to be perfect but it’s Rock and Roll.
TeddyBears – Punk Rocker: He has both hands off the wheel now but he’s still along for the ride.
You Can’t Stop What’s Coming: Self-explanatory with likely last-minute cameo of the Chicago (where was Citadel founded?) BEARS thanks to the world’s most famous coke rat market manipulator.
Sicario 2: He’s asking us if we are ready to be the “villain” with him.
Flip Mode: If you really want to party with the Kitty, show him what you got (make some more memes people!!!)
The Shining: Our view of RK at work making his memes for the past 3 years.
500 days of Summer: Talking about why he does what he does. Because it’s going to last forever (more foreshadowing).
Luca: Him laughing at us not knowing everything. Just forget about it if you don’t understand, he has more for you.
Signs 1: This is where things get interesting. This is where we start seeing the signs. Connecting dots. We found something legit in all the DD.
Signs 2: The signs all pointed to GameStop. It’s all about GameStop and what they are going. Nothing else matters.
Signs 3: Are we the aliens? All of our best DD writers talking to each other were some of my favorite moments over the past 3 years. [There are theories about what these signs said and I will go back and fill that in later, I’m getting sleepy]
Signs 4: He is asking us if we believe the DD.
Signs 5: RK is one of us. Assuming we are the Aliens in these signs videos, he is telling us he is one of us.
The Modern Animal: We need to get a little crazy if we are going to take on the big city (NYC? Wall Street?)
Broad City: We made our own language. Memes. SuperStonk is a place for best friend with time to shoot.
GooseBumps: I THINK THIS IS WHERE WE ARE TODAY. RK is letting his briefcase of memes open and warning bears.
Everyone’s favorite Boss: Here some the SIGNS (memes for those who are not keeping up). He is going to his us ONE MORE TIME.
Pay Attention: NOW FUCKING PAY ATTENTION because he isn’t going to do this again.
Kill Bill: It’s time to fight and we are bad asses.
JigSaw + Kansas City Shuffle: Are you ready for the game? Because GameStop has you covered. Everything up to this point has been the inciting incident and catalyst of the Kansas City Shuffle. There is a very short scene where he says, “are you watching closely”? I saw a comments days ago that I can’t find and the very high level paraphrased version is that scene is from the Prestige and all of those hats were a result of him cloning himself. I think that represents the synthetics that plague our market. (I will find that comment that explains it better and go back to watch the movie myself and update this).
Shawshank: RK is telling us all it really takes is pressure and time to break out of their prison. While he was in prison, he went back to get his financial education. We also need an activist (investor, RC). There is a lot more nuance we can try to extrapolate form this one. I’ll save that for later.
Radiohead Karma Police: They have run the price down far enough. They have been leaking gas this whole time. It’s time for the match to be lit.
Neo: This is where Neo figures out how to work the matrix. The market is fake and everyone is mad. We all know it. When it comes to the market, we all took the red pill, and we see it for what it is.
Bullet Scene: Might need some help deciphering this one. I think it’s about how we (maybe not us but the general public) perceive the market. We see cause and effect but that’s now how it works. I think he is telling us that we don’t fully understand the market but our instincts are right and we just feel it. I think we as a community have that instinct.
Fury: Every boss is going to feel like the last one. They are going to pound us with misinformation, price manipulation, and anything else they can come up. But they are just taunting us to whoop some ass.
Trueman Show: They are going to hit us with everything they have but HOLD ON!
Me, Myself, & Irene: Them tanking the price is going to change how we feel and who we are.
Red Right Hand: Might need some help with this one too. The red hand man is stalking someone and the other person can’t do anything about it? Not sure who is who here.
Beat Saber: Might need some help with this too. Is he calling all freaks to show up because we are about to go to war?
Keith and Jake SNL: Everyone thinks Keith is crazy lol
Seinfeld: Calling out the memestock docs for being stupid. He had to some back and tell everyone to “Shut Up Bitch”
Shut Up Bitch: He delivers his best line to the people making him out to be a Vilian.
Coffee Mug Breaks: He is asking us to convince him to do it again.
Bane: RK is saying everything is going as planned.
Oceans (again): RK has been waiting for this time and it was all part of the plan.
Snoop: There was so much drama at GME. People had to be fired because they were someone dressed up as something else. Moles?
Spiderman: It’s time for Keith Gill to become Roaring Kitty again.
Pizza Slices: Guy on the left is a shorty. He is getting mad with how popular things got with the thesis and how many people bought.
Missy Elliot ft Luda: Giving us confidence that he has a worldwide audience and he is about to kill all the rumors.
In Love with RC: He is telling us that RC is the right guy. Don’t doubt him.
Guardians: Everyone already knows who is in charge. Stop fighting to be in charge.
CNBC again: Some of the misinformation actually said RK is in charge. He is not. He is busy drawing dicks (memes).
Oceans (again): I think he is saying that no one person is in charge. It took everyone to give GME all that money. Or maybe it AVOCADO-IN-MY-ANUS all along?
Breaking Bad: His side still hasn’t been told?
Fight Club: RK finally accepting he is DFV
Nice Guy: He is still a nice guy despite what people are saying.
Day and Night: I think he is talking about his struggles day and night over the last 3 years.
Dave: He could’ve ignored it all but he couldn’t stand it. He’s about to keep it real with us.
Star Wars: help me fill in the blank on this one.
Ozarks: help me fill in the blank on this one.
Grim Reaper: The hedgies are trying to figure out what is going on with GameStop. They are I a holding pattern and will be coming with more hitman when what happens in the rest of the tweets goes down.
*******This is where shit gets real********
The Prestige: Alright. Put your tinfoil hat on tight. Here is my interpretation of this one. The magician makes something disappear, but the audience wants to be fooled so we are not actually looking for the secret. So, when something disappears we don’t clap because it’s not as impressive. But as soon as it comes back, the fights is on**~. I think the NFT marketplace is going to come back~**. But I think it’s going to come back as something else. I think they built the blockchain infrastructure for something other than the NFT marketplace. That is when shit is going to go crazy. Don’t believe me, keep reading.
Brand New GME: They finally embrace what everyone has been calling them. They show up one day looking sexy as fuck and blow everyone’s minds.
Prisoner: And now the prisoner (GME’s true price) has true FFFRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEDDDDDDDOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMM.
The fallout: The hedgies are going to beg us to sell our shares at 14 grand but the nature of us is pure CRAZY. We all knew who was calling on the phone.
Parking Lot Killer: That is who was calling. They are coming for the bears.
Requel: And just like that the requel begins production.
Old Computer Game: Now the question is, with this brand new, sexy af version of GME are we selling or are we staying? I think it’s going to be so fucking amazing we “>Stay”
Kittyman: When this all goes down, RK will return again.
How did they do it?: GME (or we?) seems stupid but apparently whoever it is really good at paperwork and the RK is so happy he’s doing backflips.
What do they need to do it?: They are going to need all of us and the target is up. HODL.
Kingsman: Shorties will then be locked in the room with us and they are going to come in fierce numbers.
The Town: They need our help we can’t ask questions but we have some sick ass rides to get there with.
Morning Affirmation Cat: Help me with this one. I’m tired.
Troy: Sick ass scene. GME just needs to land the killshot.
Pikey Reaction: They pulled the price back so far that it’s a loaded spring and when the shots are fired, it’s going to be raining money. Now “come hang so we go out with a bang”. Does he have your attention now?
Stop Fighting: NOW we can stop fighting.
Pirates of the Carrabin: The Pirate comes back from the dead (NFT Market Place?) and GME presses the red button to go into hyperdrive. This solidified my theory.
Tombstone: It’s not for revenge. It’s for something bigger. It’s a reckoning. Maybe a Glass Castle?
Standoff: Now that the red button was pressed, we have all the shorties in a stand off. But it doesn’t matter because the result of the red button is going to destroy it all? DO I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION NOW?
Avenger Initiative: We have to do it together. It’s not just one person.
Sherlok Holmes: When GME says run, RUN! And remember what it’s running for. You monther, father, children, sisters, and brothers. The DOG DAYS are over.
Drive: We think were all good here right? It’s all over. Guess again. We are going to have every governmental agency coming after us and our gains. We are going to be on the run.
Bloody Blade: Help me with this one.
But First: The overture. This will be how it starts. We must go backward to unlock the secret. Once we do, the dragon wakes up and it’s game on for the game of thrones. We are going to break the wheel.
Still Here: It’s done when we say it’s done. This tweet closes with the song from the whole days evil cept being blown up with green fire. Sick.
Thanos: This was the actual first tweet just like the ET was the actual last tweet. He has read all the tea leaves and doesn't think anyone has put it together like he has so he is sharing his interoperation of the DD, the market conditions, and the news and is going to do one last DD himself.
Hope you were sitting up in your red chair and paying attention.
Apologies for any typos and poor formatting. I've never made a post like this and I'm too tired to figure all of that out. I'll come back tomorrow and clean it all up with that and fill any gaps you guys help me out with.

I’ve always hated the smell of gun oil. It clings to everything it touches, soaking deep into the fibers of my clothes, the lining of my backpack, the coarse hair on the back of my hands. Yet here I am, kneeling on the cracked linoleum of our mudroom, a Remington .308 laid across my thighs, and the stench of gun oil sharp in my nostrils. The early morning light barely scratches at the edges of the blinds, dim and gray like the belly of a dead fish.
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter was brutal and swift, a blur of motion and violence. My dad barely puts up a struggle, as though resigned to his fate.
Not that there is anything he can do. The creature that I’ve become is too powerful, too consumed by the wild instincts surging through me. I tear him apart, limb from bloody limb, my hands—no, my claws—rending through fabric and flesh with disgusting ease.
The sound of my dad’s screams, of tearing fabric and flesh is drowned out by the animalistic growls that echo through the trees.
When it’s all over, the red mist that had clouded my vision begins to fade, and the fierce, uncontrollable rage that drove my actions subsides. I'm left standing, my breaths heavy and erratic, in the eerie stillness of the forest. The transformation reverses as quickly as it came on, and I find myself back in my human form. My clothes are ripped to shreds, hanging off my frame in tattered remnants. At my feet lies what’s left of my dad, his body torn and unrecognizable.
I glance down at my abdomen, expecting agony, but instead find my wound miraculously healed. No sign of the gunshot remains, just a faint scar where I expected a bloody mess.
Shock sets in, a numbing disbelief mixed with a gut-wrenching realization of what I've become and what I've done. My hands, now human again, tremble as I look at them, half-expecting to see the claws that had so effortlessly ripped through flesh and bone. But there's only blood, my father's blood against my skin.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.
Eventually, the shock wears thin, and a cold practicality takes hold. I need to get out of here. I need to cover my tracks, to disappear. Because who would believe this? Who would understand that I didn't choose this, that I'm not a monster by choice?
With trembling hands, I do what’s necessary. I bury my dad in a shallow grave, the physical act of digging strangely grounding. I cover him with leaves and branches, a pitiful attempt to hide the brutality of his end. I take a moment, whispering apologies into the wind, knowing full well that nothing I say can change what happened.
I leave the forest behind, my mind a whirl of dark thoughts. As I walk, the first hints of dawn brush against the horizon, the sky bleeding a soft pink. It’s hauntingly beautiful.

Mine would be something like 'I Became The Convenience Store King In A Cultivation World', you can't tell me that isn't a title you might be interested in reading. Imagine the MC suddenly in a fantasy world in a convenience store, unlocking a system that made me the "Convenience Store King". My system could be directly tied to profit margins with all forms of currency and materials being exchangeable for goods like fresh chip packets or ice creams.
Going into story recap mode:
Leaving the store, it disappears and vanishes into my system storage with an information window that I can summon it on its own or by using an inner space like a cave or doorway. Suddenly, I am travelling to the nearest city, working a bunch of odd jobs to afford things that I want in my convenience store, delivered in packages and boxes. Soon enough, a cultivator group is riding through and stops at the city to ask about monsters and beasts that might have attained sentience and began cultivating. It is then that they come across my store which only has 2 windows and a door in the middle of a shack, showing the inside and attracting their curiosity. Going inside they were perplexed about the expansion of the inner space, thinking it was the product of a cultivator and that maybe the mortal simply picked up the item. I reassured them and gave them some discounts, alluring them with the taste of modern confectionary products that they can't simply steal because the interior suppresses their cultivation. With no other choice, they buy some of the stock and get hooked, taking some for later and paying with spiritual stones once they ran out of taels since they had spent most buying information.
Coming back bursting through my store which expanded to a business district store instead of a shitty stall, the cultivators came back to buy more with their mysterious master, allowing me to get more spiritual stones and buy a spiritual energy sucker that solved my electricity billing problem and gives me more cash to spend. It is then that the sect master shows herself with her regal and youthful appearance, demanding my servitude, something I refuse and she smirks at, saying she is interested in me and asks me to return with her, to which I only agree if I can open a store in the sect where both inner and outer disciples can shop. She agrees and we get to go on a flying ship after I sell my store, using an instantly deployable Yurt that I got as a system reward to continue selling until I got to the sect. At the sect, the sect leader set me up with a store at the gateway for outer disciples when they need to attend mass or graduate to an inner disciple. Every time a new item came in stock there would be an uproar of people wanting to taste it and give it a try with even the sect master coming by to buy food, drinks and clothing. All the while I would be learning the sect's cultivation techniques and taking some time off to join others in their activities.
As time passes, the store is updated with security cameras, metal detectors, an ice machine, a bigger store, more storage in the back, stronger doors and locks, an emergency call button to the sect and a TV that I can use to look at cameras or watch the internet from back in my world. I would also use the sect to get a magical beast who would help manage the store and I would train with good quality meat that other convenience stores wouldn't usually sell. Together the two of us would manage the store and train in cultivation, going on adventures since my importance would warrant inner disciple status and maybe get me picked as the sect master's direct disciple, allowing me to bring and use my store and eventually upgrade it to have different entry points. Upgrading the store brings me benefits like opening branches that all connect to the same store, bringing in extra business as I also create meeting rooms for those wishing to use the store's spacial property to connect with others like a mail service or

In the heart of Chicago, where the skyline pierced the heavens and the streets pulsed with life, there lived a man named Victor Kane. At 26 years old and a startling 6'3" in stature, Victor commanded attention effortlessly. His piercing gaze seemed to see through the very fabric of one's soul, and his knowing, flirtatious smirk hinted at secrets that few could ever fathom. Victor was a man of many faces, each one carefully crafted and expertly worn to blend into any situation, like a chameleon adapting to its surroundings. Each interaction with another human was as if it were another painting to be hung in the Art Institute of Chicago, a masterpiece of social maneuvering and charm.
To most, he appeared unremarkable, perhaps even a bit dim, an illusion he maintained with meticulous precision. Yet beneath this facade lay a mind as sharp as a dagger, honed by years of strategic thinking, manipulation, and the art of emotional deceit. Victor had learned from the best. His father, a man deeply entrenched in the shadowy world of organized crime, had mastered the art of bending reality to his will. A master chess player, he treated people like pieces on a grand chessboard, moving them at his whim, always six steps ahead. Victor had absorbed these lessons like a sponge, his young mind eagerly soaking up every tactic, every subtle nuance of control.
Battles with his father have left their scars, trailing off Victor like a snake's entrails as they slither through crowded streets, scanning for their next meal. They probe the aura of each passerby, tasting their energy, yet to their disappointment, they find no juicy, dirt-filled sponge of pain and suffering. They taste desires, yet nothing hits just right. Empty husks, devoid of the essence they crave. Living memories enshroud him in a cloud of black smoke, a spectral fog visible only to a witch. A demon, masquerading as a homeless man and muttering incoherent whispers, feels the snake's embrace tighten around him. He halts abruptly, turning to Victor with a knowing gaze. 'I see you,' he murmurs, 'Such discipline and composure may deceive the others, yet it's only a matter of time before they find you.' The homeless man continues his walk, pulling a black suitcase along, his tattered white shirt contrasting sharply with his black suit, and no tie to complete the ensemble.
Victor makes no comment, his mind a labyrinth of dark intentions and calculated moves. He viewed the world as a malleable entity, something he could shape and twist to suit his needs. The streets, the people, the very air he breathed; they were all part of a grand, intricate game where he alone held the key. He had no qualms about using others to achieve his goals, seeing them as mere tools in his grand design. It was a dangerous philosophy, one which required constant vigilance and adaptability. As he moved through the throngs of oblivious souls, he could almost hear the whispers of their deepest fears and hidden sins. The scars trailed behind him, living entities of their own, reaching out hungrily, desperate for a morsel of genuine suffering. Yet the city, with all its noise and chaos, offered little more than hollow echoes and fleeting shadows. Traces of happiness. Lost children in the never ending void of their own desperation. Victor's eyes flickered with a cold, calculating light. He was a master of this urban jungle, a predator in search of worthy prey. The demon’s warning lingered in his mind, yet it only fueled a burning hunger. He thrived in the shadows, where power and control were his for the taking. Each step he took was a step closer to his ultimate end goal, a twisted vision of dominance, only he could see.
In the distance, the city’s lights shimmered like false promises, yet Victor knew better. Beneath the surface, in hidden corners and forgotten alleys, darkness mirrored his own. In this abyss, he felt certain he would find what he sought: the true essence of his own hunger, the raw, unfiltered energy he could devour. Victor thrived on the underestimation of others, reveling when people perceived him as lesser. Such perceptions made his manipulations appear as innocent mistakes, acts of ignorance and oblivion. His favorite targets: those with inflated egos, individuals convinced of their invincibility.
"A person with a big ego is like an orgasm," he often mused, speaking as if to his shadow. "It's just so easy. Their first mistake: telling me we're not equals. Afterward, they reveal all the buttons and levers in their psyche. They hand me their own weapon on a silver platter, asking, 'Victor, please send me to meet Anpu. Please show me the gates of my own demise.' Their insanity begs to be freed from this curse of societal norms. Always the first mistake, then the rest follow." Laughter echoed from the snakes twining around Victor. As he whispered these musings, the words ensnared a group of Venezuelans nearby, inciting them into a frenzy of violence without understanding the spark. Victor watched, casually tossing a silver dollar their way as if to say, "Welcome to the sanctuary," his smirk a shadow under the flickering streetlights. He calls to the boys, 'there now before you boys get into trouble remember this, you're only seeing the lions teeth, yet you haven't seen what triggered it.' They stared at Victor, startled, as he bid them farewell with a two-finger salute from his left temple and continued wandering down the street.
A drone sliced through the air, its camera lens capturing the serpentine twists of the Chicago River below. Victor, watching its flight, was transported to his youth, to days spent cobbling together a demonic owl from discarded household trinkets and an owl decoy. He would pilot this macabre creation through his neighborhood, a spectral puppeteer orchestrating nocturnal ballets which both delighted and unnerved his unsuspecting audience. A sinister grin unfurled across his lips, a shadow's whisper, as memories of those simple machines mingled with the sophisticated arsenal he commanded today. In the digital age, Victor had become a maestro of manipulation, his tools refined yet no less mischievous. Social media platforms were his stage, targeted advertisements and spoofed numbers his actors, each one playing their part in his grand, deceptive symphony. With the deftest touch, he planted seeds of doubt, spun webs of misinformation, transforming allies into adversaries, stitching chaos into the fabric of daily lives with mere whispers masquerading as shouts. His schemes were crafted with such subtlety, woven so seamlessly into the warp and weft of reality, that his victims believed themselves architects of their own undoing.
The crowning jewel of his current machinations was a prototype drone, a whimsical homage to the contraptions of his youth yet imbued with the precision of modern technology. This drone, engineered to navigate from the chilly confines of his refrigerator to the steamy oasis of his rooftop hot tub, was a testament to his technical acumen. Crafted to be mended with mere baubles from any corner hardware store, it stood as a symbol of practical genius, a playful yet potent emblem of his enduring craft.
Victor glimpsed a universe of possibilities within this project, each drone a seed from which new opportunities might bloom. "Perhaps I could craft a model for a dive shop in Australia," he mused. "A sentinel to monitor the slow dance of decay among the coral reefs." Such a gift could forge pathways, perhaps even secure an internship, an opportunity to wield his 417 subclass visa before its flame flickered out. The prospect of traversing Australia's vast landscapes, of weaving his influence through uncharted territories and minds, sparked a thrill within him. Beyond the realm of circuitry and code, Victor possessed a profound mastery over the human psyche. He had the uncanny ability to read individuals, to delve into the murky depths of their insecurities and desires. With the finesse of a sculptor, he could mold a woman’s perception, convincing her of a soul-deep connection, crafting mirages of perfect compatibility. Yet, for all his prowess in the art of deception, Victor adhered to his own strict code. He eschewed physical violence, never staining his hands with assault; his dominion was the mind, his influence woven through the delicate fabric of psychology.
In Chicago's suffocating underbelly, Victor's father regarded him not with paternal concern, rather with venomous animosity. Their relationship was a battleground, devoid of affection or empathy, cloaked threats masquerading as concern. "Victor, if you don't see a psychiatrist, I'm cutting you off," he declared, his voice a cold hiss, a deeper wish for Victor's demise lurking beneath. Victor's laugh, hollow, echoing through the night, a sound devoid of warmth, knew well the true nature of the psychiatrist and the deeper machinations of his father's cruel intentions. His father viewed him not as a son, yet as a nemesis, a presence he wished to erase from existence. Surrounded by the oppressive cityscape, Victor stood alone atop his building, the L line screeching past, the lights below mere distant, watchful eyes. "Tomorrow, I bend reality once more," he whispered into the void, his voice merging with the cold wind sweeping the rooftops.
The relentless pursuit of his father's malice shadowed him into the darkest city corners where shadows moved with intent, whispering of ancient, sinister forces. Here, in the corner of his eyes an oozing of black liquid drenched an alley, a tar monster, a grotesque manifestation of the city’s darkest secrets, its gnarled face and gleaming teeth mirroring the twisted relationship endured. Against a backdrop of a city thrumming with malevolent energy, Victor pondered the fragile line between delusion and reality. "It's only delusional till it works, so is it really delusional?" he mused aloud, his words dissipating into the night where the distinction between madness and genius blurred by darkness.
Retreating from the alley, his figure melded into the shadows, each step deliberate, burdened with the weight of a cursed legacy. He was acutely aware of his dual role, both manipulator and pawn in a grander, more malevolent game, a game orchestrated by forces predating the city itself. Every movement influenced by the sinister energy pervading Chicago, a legacy of corruption and darkness intertwined with his own existence. Victor understood his every action overseen by the ancient entity had taken interest in him, an entity finding delight in his struggle, offering protection at a dreadful cost.
Emerging from the shadows back into the flickering city lights, Victor found no solace in the illumination yet his smile stretched reaching his eyes showing his gleaming razor sharp teeth. These lights did not offer hope only humor; they were beacons of a foreboding reality. He resolved to continue bending reality, wielding the cursed power both protecting, ensnaring him, and pointing out the irony of his situation. Day after day, he would play this dark game, a master of deceit entwined with an ancient force more profound and sinister than any could fathom.
With one final, lingering look at the alley where darkness reigned supreme, Victor Kane laughed, a hollow echo fading as he stepped into the nearby pub. Inside, the warm glow contrasted starkly with the night's chilling embrace, yet the shadows seemed merely to lurk at the edges, waiting. At their usual spot by the worn bar, he found Billy Smith, his old high school Basketball teammate, with two pints of beer ready. They clinked glasses, the sound slicing through the hum of conversations around them. "To the unexpected," Victor intoned, his voice laced with a hint of irony. As they settled into the rhythm of their catch-up, the conversation inevitably turned toward the unfolding news, the war in Ukraine, an event that had caught the world off guard.
"No one ever saw it coming," Billy remarked, his tone a mix of wonder and concern.
Victor's eyes flickered with a dark amusement, and raising his glass again, he offered a toast, this time in Latin, a language that carried the weight of history and secrets. "Ad profundis malorum," he declared, which translated to 'To the depths of evils.'
Billy paused, the words hanging between them like a veil being slowly drawn back to reveal a hidden scene. The toast was enigmatic, resonant with Victor’s acknowledgment of the chaos brewing both near and far, a chaos that, perhaps, only he could navigate.
As the night deepened within the grimy confines of the pub, where every corner whispered of misdeeds and the air hung heavy with the scent of stale beer and lost hopes, the laughter and chatter provided a deceptive cover for the profound game silently playing in Victor’s mind. His cryptic toast, "Ad profundis malorum," echoed a darker undertone amidst the jovial noise.
Across the bar, a woman with long jet black hair and piercing grey eyes watched Victor. Clad in a striking red full-grain leather trench coat, her presence was undeniably conspicuous, yet paradoxically, she remained unnoticed. Despite her short stature, she was fit, her features sharply defined, an attractiveness seemingly almost otherworldly amidst the grime of the pub. Curiously, not even the barkeep spared her a glance, as if she existed in a separate realm, visible only to those she chose to confront. As Billy excitedly shared his plans to open a dive shop with a taco bar on the roof, the woman’s lips moved in a whisper, her voice a soft, clear bell in the din, carrying a dire warning. "I know what you are. We found you." At that moment, a flashback surged through Victor’s mind, a haunting image of a colonial girl he once saw in the Fraser Experimental Forest. His girlfriend at the time had turned to him, her voice tinged with unease. "Victor, do you see what I see? The girl? Yeah, the girl. I can feel something following us. As if it knows what we are yet won't approach, yet I can feel it." This vivid recollection now seemed a prelude to the current moment, a chilling reminder the forces he had glimpsed back then were the same now declaring their presence.
The evening wound down with plans made and stories shared, yet the woman’s prophetic words and the ghostly memory of the girl hung unseen in the air, portending looming confrontations between the light she embodied and the shadow following Victor Kane. As the patrons began to drift away, the shadows reclaiming their territory within the pub, the mysterious woman’s figure faded into the background, her message delivered, her purpose yet unclear but undoubtedly intertwined with Victor’s fate.
The end.

For example, Alpine Bliss Energy Drink provides a sensation of well-being, but Monster does not. I can have a few of monsters and it is nothing compared to an alpine bliss drink (I have not tried gorilla mind yet).

In this post I'll provide a few builds meant to play to a theme. They are not "the best bullshit to teabag on solo helldives", they are meant to be fun and are in my experience very much viable at Suicide Missions ( 7 ) and do not drag their feet at Helldive either. If that's all you want, skip to the first build.
If however you feel the need to ask my "credentials":
I have 129 hours played in about 30 days since buying it, am Level 53 and have every warbond unlocked into the highest tier, without spending a dime more then 40 Euros. I have completed solo helldives including extraction. but never bothered with 100%ing or deathless runs on Helldive.
I think Suicide Mission is the perfect difficulty to play on for fun, as it keeps you on your toes without drowning you in heavies everytime all the time.
I will make sure to provide a free option anytime my first choice is locked behind a premium warbond.
BUILD 1 - The Light of Democracy
ArmorPassive: Democracy protects - Theme and Bling Primary: Sickle or Scythe - The sickle is better, but the Scythe is a perfectly fine weapon to use Secondary: Dagger or Redeemer - The Dagger has more light, the Redeemer more ballots to cast. Grenade: Stun or Impact Support: LasCannon - Kills all bots, cuts through most bugs Backpack: Laser Rover or Energy Shield - The former on Bugs, the latter on Automatons Stratagem: Orbital Laser and Eagle Airstrike
How to play: Make sure you inform yourself on where to hit bots for maximum effect and on bugs leave Chargers and Bile Titans to the AT Guy you'll inevitably meet in every random group. If you stick close to someone with a Quasar or Recoilless Rifle, keeping the chaff at bay while they punch the big guys in the face, you'll make friends really quickly. Never be to shy to pick up an convenient EAT for immediate use either. If you expose something fleshy, your LasCannon suddenly does considerable damage. The Orbital Laser and Airstrike can help with Heavies, but the former is best used to clear out a base or burn away a mass of enemies. Also remember: If you kill the hind sack on a titan, it can't spew anymore and will be mostly neutered.
Build 2 - The Sound of Freedom
ArmorPassive: Engineering Kit or Fortified (Engineering kit gives you more boom for your buck...) Primary: Eruptor or Scorcher - Unfortunately the Scorcher is the only 'explosive' Primary in the standard warbond Secondary: Grenade Pistol or Redeemer Grenade: Impact Support: Grenade Launcher or Autocannon - The Grenade Launcher vs Bugs, the AC vs Automatons Backpack: Supplypack if using Grenade Launcher Stratagems: EAT, 500kg, 380mm Barrage or Precision Strike
How to play: In both variants your Support Weapon will be your main armament. Learn how to animation cancel the eruptors reload to use it more like another grenade launcher. The sensible choice for secondary is the redeemer and I prefer it on semi auto, but this isn't about sensibility, this is about freedom! On bugs you'll be the bane of spewers. Just plonk their behind 2 times and watch them explode - so satisfying. In general, you'll have a lot of wave clear potential and the EAT is there to solve your heavy problems. On Automatons you can kill everything with a few well placed shots and should prioritize as normal. Littering the Map with EATs is always a good practice, you can call 78 of those guys over a 40 minute game, so just do it everytime you remember.
Build 3 - The Bullethellion
ArmorPassive: Fortified or Engineering Kit Primary: Breaker-variant or Pummeler- I would recommend the Breaker Incendiary for obvious reasons, but the base breaker is a wonderfull weapon Secondary: Redeemer - duh. Grenades: Thermite or Impact Support: MG-43 Backpack: Supplypack Strategems: AutoCannon Sentry, 380mm
How to play: Anything in front of you should die by lead poisoning. Thermite and the AC Sentry can deal with or soften up heavy armor for you. On bots your priority is to scrap any and all infantry bots the moment you see them. All of them can call in bot drops, but only if they are alive to do so. Nothing is more important and nobody is more qualified to do this then you are. A tank that never drops is as good as a dead tank. On bugs you will struggle to close holes, while thermit can close them, it takes time and they tend to stick to inopportune spots, so practice your aim. The 380mm can delete a big base by itself.

So as long time fan of Doctor Who I have been excited about the new Disney+ run. They started by bringing back David Tennat aka the 10th Doctor. Which started the weirdness, for those who don’t know when the Doctor “dies” they regenerate into a new body. So a Doctor with the same face is odd it hasn’t happened yet in the series. Then we got the return of Donna Noble who is a companion of the Doctor and last time we saw her she absorbed some of the Doctor’s energy/DNA, which was deadly to a human. The Doctor had to wipe her memory to save her.
In the 1st special Donna got her memory back and in the time since we saw her last she had a child which split the energy that was going to kill her so she regained her memories. Her child’s name is Rose (I will get into that in a bit). We meet an enemy who says when captured mentioned a boss.
The 2nd special isn’t as important but it still leads up to who may or may not be the boss, the Doctor and Donna end up on a ship at the edge of the universe and they run into this entity that tries to copy them, memory and all. The Doctor tries to capture them with the superstition that monsters/ demons can’t pass salt, which reading their memories the creature knows it’s not true, but by doing that it releases the being known as the Toymaker. Who in a Doctor Who episode over 50 years ago was trapped by believing the salt superstition.
The Toymaker is an entity from something called the Pantheon, beings of the Pantheon embody an aspect of life. The Toymaker is charge of games. They are god like beings that can warp reality around them.
In the 3rd special the Toymaker is loose and causing chaos over our world, the Doctor regenerates into 2 beings in this special. One stays as David Tennat Doctor and the new Doctor who we follow in the main series from now on, the Toy maker warns of his legions and The One who waits. We also see a woman’s hand that picks up a golden tooth which may be the character the Master or the Master is inside the tooth.
Now the first episode with the newest doctor introduces to the character Ruby Sunday who is his companion this season, we learn she was abandoned at a church when she was born. We don’t know where she is from or if she is even human (for now). However we do know something is going on with her cause when the Doctor and her try to remember that night it starts snowing. This where I get into the theory stuff. Something about the writing episodes feels off, I know that may sound weird and if it was a new show runner and writer I wouldn’t bat an eye but the person in charge of the show and writing right now is Russel T. Davies who was the one who helped start the 2000s era of Doctor Who.
Something about Ruby Sunday that stands out to me is she seems a lot like Rose Tyler the first companion of the Russel T.Davies run, she has similar fashion and mannerisms but she also reminds me of the Doctor, last time we saw rose was she was left in a another dimension with a human version of the Doctor. I think somehow Ruby is connected to that but there is more to this.
We learned recently that the Doctor isn’t actually from his home planet, we don’t know where he is from but with the mention of the Pantheon and The One who Waits. I believe either he or Ruby is related to the Pantheon, we recently met the child of the Toymaker. They are known as the Maestro who has control over Music.
Back to the weird writing I think one of these Pantheon entities are affecting the story, cause it still feels like Doctor Who but the writing feels slightly different. It could be one we haven’t met yet, The One who Waits, or maybe The Doctor or Ruby Sunday. If Ruby is related to Rose Tyler and Rose had a child with the Doctor’s clone, we know he doesn’t have any Time Lord in him but what if it had some of the Pantheon in him. It could be passed down to a child aka Ruby. Something is warping the reality around the Doctor and we have seen it in multiple instances in this new season. Plus I have seen some people mention seeing a lady show up in every episode I think she picked up the Master tooth and may also be a culprit for the warper.
Russel T. Davies loves a good story arc so I wouldn’t be surprised if he is hiding lore in plain sight, he did that with his first arc the Bad Wolf arc which is another reference to Rose Tyler. She was the main focus of that arc.

Not much to say here since I wanted to see what happened with the Weaver. Enjoy!
Ch. 21

• Oh how creepy is this…door shutting, handle gone, and the Weaver softly saying “who's in my house?”
  
• Holy shit why does she look like that?! Don't tease me with the young body but then have The Ring girl’s face attached to it. She's definitely a double bagger, absolutely terrifying.
  
• Omg Feyre, you go scorched earth and set fire to the entire cottage with a candle instead of using your flamethrower ability with your hands and torch the Weaver. SMH
  
• Escape through the chimney though, that's smart. This girl has some bright moments
  
• Wait, is the Weaver cooking faeries?! And is she weaving their entrails or flesh or something??? I mean, on the one hand that's just plain gross, but on the other, why don't you just weave you a new face???
  
• Isn't Feyre like super strong now? Why doesn't she just punch through the chimney?
  
• Weaver is gaining, please feel free to use your mind bullets at any time now Feyre. Also, feel free to step in at any time Rhys and help out lol
  
• Oh wow, the Weaver made her house of out of the bodies of her victims, this is the stuff of nightmares
  
• “What the hell did you do?” LOL Rhys just chilling on a tree, winnow the fuck out plz and ty
  
• Dude Amren can just vanish vomit? I think my question about fae plumbing has now been answered!
  
• So the ring was just a memento from his mom? Makes sense
  
• Thank you Feyre for finally coming to your senses and wanting to learn how to fight and how to use your abilities. It only took almost dying again to realize it
  
• Oooh diving into Rhysand's pensive! Let's see what he shows Feyre
  
• Damn, Ianthe wants some High Lord D!
  
• Oh interesting, so Ianthe does have ulterior motives…this is like some bene gesserit scheming going on. At least Rhys knows not to stick his dick in crazy. Much respect, he's channeling that Lucien energy again!
  
• Very cool developments!
  

Ch. 22

• Oooh some Mor backstory, thank you mommy
  
• Damn so faeries are just as petty as humans when it comes to selling off their daughters…BRUTAL
  
• Good guy Cassian always coming to the rescue, this guy chads
  
• Oooh Feyre chose Azriel to carry her, Cassian and Rhysand are like wtf
  
• Oh nice they're in the mortal lands now.
  
• Quick side bar: what's Tammy been doing all this time? Is there any palace left? I'm assuming it's rubble from all of his tantrums of losing Feyre. Or maybe he's going through all the bureaucratic faerie red tape to demand an audience with the night court. I'm surprised Lucien hasn't tried to make contact, but I'm guessing he thinks this is for Feyre’s benefit.
  

Ch. 23

• Oh shit it's Elain and Nesta! This must feel surreal for Feyre
  
• Damn Nesta is cold-blooded. No sympathy for Feyre at all
  
• Why doesn't Feyre just explain that they'll glamour everyone and ward their house so no one knows that the faeries will be in their town?
  
• I'm wondering if Nesta is jealous at all with Feyre. I bet she's waiting for some high fae to sweep her off her feet the way she talks to Feyre about bouncing from court to court
  
• Nice! No time to waste, let's get the meeting started
  

Ch. 24

• Oh interesting Feyre's last name is Archeron? Hmmm….Cursebreaker sounds better
  
• Also, is this meeting turning into a triple date???
  
• Lol Azriel doesn't want to be here at all
  
• Dinner too??? They just need to pair off now
  
• I'm sure there's meaning behind where everyone sits at a feast, but I'm ignorant to all that decorum.
  
• Cassian sitting next to Elain though, the first move has been made!
  
• Interesting, so human food doesn't taste good at all to fae? How is it different?
  
• “I can eat, drink, fuck, and fight just as well as I did before. Better, even.” THE SHADE. Cassian choking on his water in response is hilarious
  
• Hahaha Cassian found his lover, he's sizing Nesta up and she's having none of it.
  
• Lol she's not even acknowledging him, this bro is in love.
  
• OH SHIT Elain mentioning Clare Beddor and both her murderers are in the house! And Rhys is just keeping his head down eating shit food lol. Peak awkwardness.
  
• Bro…Cassian is straight up imprinting on Nesta right now. He wants that mating bond BAD.
  
• Just two rooms? I bet Rhys and Feyre get the room with just one bed.
  
• LOL Rhys just side steps the awkwardness with his multi-dimensional closet, that's super handy
  
• “Nesta is a delight, by the way.” Bahaha I think deep down in his heart of hearts he knows Nesta has a hold on Cassian and he’ll be seeing a lot more of her
  
• Lol they're talking wages now? And they have banks??? Lines of credit? What's the APR on that Velaris Platinum card?
  
• Awww Rhys is butt hurt that he missed Feyre's birthday…I'm sure he'll make up for it somehow. Maybe his mother's ring???
  
• “My money's on Nesta…So’s mine.” LOL put me down for a dime on Nesta as well
  

Ch. 25

• FINALLY some element bending training.
  
• Feyre wants to train in private because Rhys is a distraction? Lol if that doesn't scream I'm into you I don't know what is
  
• “You could try rubbing it on certain body parts and I might come faster.” Hahahaha bro why don't Rhys and Lucien get along? These guys have the same snarkiness
  
• Oh cool, some inter-dimensional pen writing, NBD
  
• “I'm watching Cassian and Nesta get into it again over their tea.” lol can we get a chapter on this interaction? That sounds better than reading about Feyre staring at a candle for an hour and not asking for help
  
• “Life is better when you're around.” I mean, how long is this little Do-Si-Do between them gonna last? Just kith already
  
• OH SHIT it's the Attor!
  

These recent cliff hangers have been great so far! Let's hope Feyre taps into her abilities and freezes the Attor’s nuts off. Thanks for reading!

I’ve seen a lot of horror-themed Sanses in my time, but… a surprising lack of anything else from undertale. We have so much to work with there! Sentient dead kid souls, the amalgamates, flowey (both his backstory and some stuff you could do with his photoshop form), the mountain itself and the legends around it, heck, you could even reverse the horror bit so that it’s the MONSTERS hiding and filing with this really old camera while the human goes on a killing spree! theres so much potential!

I have an idea for a few videos that I know will never happen. Green lantern dragons. Yes I know there’s already a gl dragon. But that’s a dragon based on the lantern battery. I’m talking hal Jordan dragon, John Stewart dragon, Jessica cruz dragon, kilawag dragon, tomar dragon. Dragons based on the members of the green lantern corp. but that’s crazy. Totally doesn’t make sense lore wise. They would have been acknowledged when the first was talked about. Why is the lantern dragon so special if there’s thousands of them? I hear your criticism. But I have a solution that would make for a great story and would honestly be so in character that I’m surprised it hasn’t happened yet. Tayrun makes them. He realizes the universe is a massive place and he’s going to need help taking care of it. So he uses the lantern dragon as a starting point and builds several dragons from there. Dragons that have the same energy construct power but are different enough that they can be useful in different situations. Possibly also making a few for the aliens universe based off the locals of a planet in danger so it will be less threatening to them. By making these dragons he has protectors to send to dangerous places to keep the peace and gains new summons to call in an emergency. And he makes his nerdy friends happy by adding their favorite ring slingers to the beast world. How could the other corps be added to this? Evil overseer sees what’s happening and tries to make an army against it. Tayrun experiments with the yellow dragon and accidentally creates monsters. He tries to make loving dragons and makes the violet lantern dragons. The beast world equivalent of atrositus uses magic and a red battery dragon to create the red dragon corp. the archons makes a larfliz dragon demon general. Not entirely sure what would be best. Depends how the story goes at the start. So what do you think? Am I crazy or should something like this happen? Any better ideas for the other colors?

I was supposed to die. My birthday a week or so ago. I should be dead. But no Final Destination has come for me. No monsters, no traps, no terrible accidents have killed me yet. I didn’t kill myself like I should have. And I believed now the only reason I’m alive truly is to ensure some sort of entertainment for something else. Whatever it is it wants me to suffer until I break down to either kill myself or do other harmful things. I know it wants far more than me now. Or rather, it needs me. And I’ll receive my end of the bargain soon. Because now I know it needs me. If we work together we could make me the most horrifying thing to ever exist. I will become so powerful the sheer presence of me being close enough to anything can become deadly at will. A true and utterly powerful monster on and off battlefields. It won’t matter to eat, sleep, or use a bathroom. I won’t need to do any of it. Not unless I choose to. An infinite killing machine indestructible and infinitely living. Something powerful enough to create and destroy anything and everything. I’m not going to be made of metal. But rather of the very flesh I was born with. I will improve over these next couple years to the point of finality. I understand now what I must do. As long as I’m prepared for that time I will get what is necessary to complete the goal I desire most more than anything else to ever exist or not exist in any possible dimension, universe, galaxy. The words are indescribable and not even able to truly be spoken allowed.
What I already am will be beyond mortal comprehension. I may not have my power yet. But no one will be able to stop me once I do. I am thinking about trying to find the “person” I’ll call it that I’m looking for. Always just assumed it was a him but truly it is an “it” but I don’t think it is confined to any construct like humans are. My mind will have the power to comprehend it sent into it by what I see to be a great and all powerful surge of energy. The strongest surge of energy to ever exist sent straight through my soul. It will give me the power to comprehend, and then shortly after during this same moment I will gain all my power. It may take some time to learn to control at first. But living forever will give me plenty of time to practice.
I will not give up. Not until the very end. Even if there were an end I would refuse to give up. I hate you for making me wait. But as long as what is promised comes to me all will be fine.

Inspired by MichaeltheSpikester's idea of a shared world, decided to add my variation of it. But with extra media that I think would fit well with this shared world.
-Several dimensions that were connected to Earth-199999 are not only the Astral, Dark, Mirror, K'un-Lun, Ta Lo, Duat, etc. but also consisted of Chronobowl (DCEU), Mount Olympus (DCEU), Axis Mundi (MonsterVerse), 4 Nations (Avatar: The Last Airbender), Spirit World (Avatar: The Last Airbender), Xadia (Netflix's The Dragon Prince), Heaven & Hell (Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss), and the Kraang Dimension (TMNT).
-The Titan's origins originated from the Celestial Tiamut from the Earth's core with the cosmic energy mutating small creatures into giant monsters. It is revealed that every planet in the universe not only has its celestials but also has its own set of Titans that play a key role in the planet's ecosystem. King Ghidorah is revealed to be one of the last few members of his species who survived his planet's Emergence and the reason why he and his kind terraform worlds is to rebuild the home they lost.
-Heaven and the Kraang played a role in the development of the Human race where it is revealed that Humans have various animal DNA, thus having the dormant gene that ties them to their animal ancestor.
-Lilith would be considered the "First Scarlet Witch".
-Due to Heaven's influence, their magic created the Gods and Goddesses in the universe. Adam would eventually create the Council of Godheads, where he is good friends with Zeus from Thor: Love and Thunder (aka Jupiter, the Roman counterpart of Zeus).
-The celestial's cosmic energy not only created Hollow Earth but also created pockets from the Earth's surface that created portals that allowed access to Hollow Earth from the surface.
-Asgardians, ancient Wakanda, Eternals, and Titans banding together with humanity, ancient Atlantis, ancient Green Lanterns, Olympians, and Themsycira in the fight against Darkseid, Steppenwolf, and their forces in ancient history.
-It is revealed that Titans, such as Sehkmet, Na Kika, and an unnamed Thunderbird Titan are responsible for Bashenga's, Talokanil's, and Chafa's origins and abilities instead of the Gods and Goddesses from Thor: Love and Thunder.
-The Titans and Startouch Elves would be labeled as "low-level" gods by the Council of Godheads.
-Atlantis, Asgard, Themyscira, Heaven, and Olympus (When the Greek Gods were still around) were aware of the existence of Titans and the role they play in the Earth's ecosystem. Similar to Asgardians, Titans were responsible for many legends and myths regarding mythical creatures and gods. The relationship between them and benevolent titans would be at best mutual notably towards those like Godzilla and Mothra but otherwise would be at odds with destroyer titans like Rodan and Scylla.
-The Eternals are aware of the Titans as well. Ikaris proposed killing them since they would be affecting the Earth's population and preventing the Emergence from progressing. However, Ajak talked him out of it as they observed Godzilla's species preserving the balance of nature, keeping the population steadying, keeping the other Titans at bay, and hunting/killing giant Deviants as well.
-The Eternals once met with Mothra, who Sersi and Sprite formed a close bond with.
-The animalistic Egyptian Gods and Goddesses (Khonshu, Anubis, Ammit, Tawaret, Horus, etc.) were once human-looking Gods/Goddesses before being exposed to the Kraang's Ooze, which mutated them into more animalistic creatures.
-Godzilla has a mixed relationship with the Eternals. While he approves them for keeping the Earth safe, he doesn't trust them due to their "unnatural" nature due to being from space, which is the same with King Ghidorah.
-Prior to his arrival on earth. King Ghidorah had a fearful reputation across the cosmos by civilizations, similar to that of Darkseid and Thanos.
-Both Thor and Rodan once fought each other in the past when Rodan at some point appeared in Scandinavia and terrorized the people, which prompted the Thunder God to engage. It was a long, withdrawn, and lengthy battle that eventually ended with Thor finally driving Rodan off. Like many legends and myths, this fight inspired one of those about Thor fighting a "Great Bird of Fire".
-Shazam was the first Sorcerer Supreme and taught the Ancient One magic.
-Wonder Woman and the original Shazam took part in imprisoning Ammit alongside the other Egyptian Gods and Goddesses.
-The radiation of Hollow Earth caused certain viruses and organisms to become more hostile when infecting their host while granting them various abilities. Examples include the T-Virus and the E-Series mold.
-Both Asgard and Mount Olympus are aware of Aaravos and his past crimes.
-The Ancient One visited both Xadia and the 4 nations once to learn more about both world's magic. The Ancient One also helped in imprisoning Aaravos.
-While Xadia is aware of dark magic, they are unaware of the Dark Dimension and Dormammu.
-King Ghidorah was without a doubt probably the only being that Darkseid and Thanos had ever developed a grudging respect. Both warlords are aware of King Ghidorah due to being just as feared by civilizations across the cosmos as they are. Despite classing Titans as "low-level" gods, the Council of Godheads also feared King Ghidorah due to his destructive nature.
-The Necrosword is made of the same metallic material used by the Exorcist Angels during their exterminations.
-Wonder Woman's presence in World War I inspired Johann Schmidt (aka Red Skull) to pursue mythology in hopes of creating weaponry for HYDRA.
-Captain America and Wonder Woman met during World War II when Steve was doing his USO Show.
-SHIELD is aware of Monarch and STAR Labs and has often collaborated with each other in the past.
-Packard is a relative of Nick Fury.
-Asgard and Krypton having had a history with one another and the former having tried to warn the latter of their inevitable doom, but were dismissed.
-Prior to Krypton's destruction. Zod and his soldiers had a run-in with Yondu and the Ravagers.
-Both SHIELD and Nick Fury were not only aware of the Titan's existence but also aware of Superman's arrival on Earth and kept close tabs on him since he was a child.
-Both Superman and Chris Redfield were Captain America fans when younger.
-After the T-Virus Incident in Raccoon City, SHIELD and Monarch helped with the clean-up.
-Bruce Wayne, William Stenz, Amanda Waller, and Chris Redfield were all targets of Project Insight.
-Alongside SHIELD, STAR Labs, B.S.A.A., and Monarch were all infiltrated by HYDRA Agents who sought their resources. They stole various technological weapons created by the Motherbox, samples of the T-Virus, and stole Titan DNA to create Titan clones.
-After the Turtles made their debut, SHIELD and Monarch kept close eye on them based on their mutation.
-After the Civil War, Amanda Waller proposed Task Force X to the government, in which Theaddeus Ross was among those who approved it while William Stenz opposed it. Abomination and Baron Zemo were among the possible candidates for Task Force X.
-Task Force X and Monarch weren't affected by the Sokovia Accords due to their connections with the government.
-After the Baker House Incident, SHIELD and Monarch not only helped clean up the situation but also got clues on the E-Series's origin. Not trusting the B.S.A.A. or Blue Umbrella, they gave the info to Chris, which led to his isolation from both organizations.
-Talokan would be considered one of the Kingdoms of Atlantis. Ocean Master would later try to recruit Namor, but decides not to as he was warned by the other rulers that Namor is more dangerous than Ocean Master himself.
-Karathen is revealed to be one of the lost Titans of Earth.
-Wakanda is aware of the existence of Atlantis but their ancestors have made a treaty with each other in not interfering. After the events of Aquaman, both T'Challa and Arthur meet in secret to discuss how to unite their kingdoms together and reveal their secret to the world. While Arthur respects T'Challa, he wants to keep Atlantis a secret until the time is right.
-Katolis would be aware of various magical humans such as Original Shazam and the Ancient One.
-Clark Kent/Superman, Diana Prince/Wonder Woman, Billy Batson/Shazam, and Mothra are beings capable of lifting Mjolnir.
-At the Senate hearing, alongside Serizawa, Nick Fury and Calvin Swanwick (Martian Manhunter) are among those who defended the Titans while Thaddeus Ross and Amanda Waller voiced against them.
-After the Titans were released, several Titans, such as Titanus Sehkmet, Behemoth, and Mokele-Mbembe all resided near Wakanda and all bonded with T'Challa/Black Panther while Titans such as Titanus Na Kika, Tiamat, and Amhuluk all resided near Talokan and bond with Namor.
-By the end of Infinity War and during the events of Endgame. Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Lois Lane, Martian Manhunter, Joker, Lex Luthor, Black Mask, Victor Zsasz, Black Canary, Renee Montoya, Huntress, Cassandra Cain, Bruce the Hyena, Bloodsport, Harley Quinn, Rick Flagg, King Shark, Ratcatcher 2 and Sebastian, Polka-Dot Man, Captain Boomerang, Savant, Javelin, Blackguard, Mongal, T.D.K., Weasel, Thinker, Billy Batson/Shazam, Billy's foster parents and siblings, Amanda Waller, Emilia Harcourt, John Economos, Adebayo Waller, Clemson Murn/Ik Nobe Llok, Goff/Sophie Song/Eek Stack Ik Ik, Casper Locke, Larry Fitzgibbon, James Gordon, Atlanna, Mera, Arthur Jr., Starro, Peacemaker, White Dragon, Hawkman, Doctor Fate, Cyclone, Atom Smasher, Adrianna Tomaz, Karim, Amon Tomaz, Ishmael GregoSabbac, Blue Beetle and the Reyes family, Victoria and Jenny Kord, Carapax, Madison Russell, Mark Russell, Illene Chen, Houston Brooks, Sam Coleman, Nathan Lind, Illene Andrews, Jia, Josh Valentine, Bernie Hayes, Travis Beasley/Trapper, Walter and Maia Simmons, Ren Serizawa, Alan Jonah, Godzilla, Kong, half of the known titans, Leon Kennedy, Chris Redfield, Claire Redfield, Ethan Winters, Mia Winters, Zoe Baker, Joe Baker, Mother Miranda, Karl Heisenberg, Lady Dimitrescu, Salvatore Moreau, Donna Beneviento, The Duke, Chris's Team, the Turtles, and Baxter Stockman would be amongst the survivors of The Blip.
-Flash, Cyborg, Aquaman, Perry White, Martha Kent, Stephen Shin, Deadshot, Deathstroke, Katana, Killer Croc, Ling Chen, Rick Stanton, Diane Foster, Jackson Barnes, Anthony Martinez, Lauren Griffin, Rodan, other half of the known titans, Jill Valentine, Ada Wong, Sensei Splinter, Bebop, and Rocksteady were amongst the victims of The Blip.
-Similar to Scott Lang, Black Adam, Mothra, Khaji-Da, and the inhabitants of the 4 nations, Xadia, Heaven, and Hell would not be affected by the Blip.
-The only beings that sensed the Blip were the Avatar (Aang), The Archdragons of Xadia (Zubeia, Rex Igneous, Domina Profundis, and Sol Regem), the Seraphim (Sera and Emily), the Goetian Hierarchy (Stolas and Octavia), and the 7 Deadly Sins (Lucifer Morningstar, Asmodeus, Satan, Mammon, Beelzebub, Leviathan, and Belphegor).
-The victims of the Blip weren't sent to Heaven or Hell, they were stuck in Limbo.
-During the post-Blip, due to Thanos' actions, Godzilla had a hard time in trying to keep balance of the Earth with half of the remaining titans running loose. Due to the world powers struggling, they helped fund Apex Cybernetics to stabilize their economy as well as unknowingly helping Walter process with his Mechagodzilla experiment.
-Because of Thanos, the Corto Maltese government took advantage of this by continuing their experiments with Project Starfish and the Intergang were able to operate and have full control over Kahndaq. Many crime organizations in Gotham have either been dismantled due to the disappearance of the leaders or have been absorbed into the Black Mask Crime Organization. Jaime's family and his community go through financial struggles from Kord Industries due to the effects of the Blip.
-Due to less hero activity, the I.M.P.s operated their assassination business.
-Kingpin met with Joker and Black Mask during the Blip where the 2 made mutual agreements in developing a partnership. However, this agreement was broken due to Black Mask's death.
-The Joker was on Ronan's list of targets. However, due to his powerful influence, he was forced to back down.
-Due to the effects of the Blip, the butterflies decided to start their invasion by infecting powerful humans.
-After the Village's destruction, SHIELD aids Chris in a war against B.S.A.A.
-After Doctor Fate's death, Hawkman gives the Helmet of Fate to Kamar-Taj for safekeeping so it doesn't fall into the wrong hands.
-The Avengers and Justice League team up and join the time heist to find the Infinity Stones. With Iron Man's and Batman's technology, they create a black and red infinity gauntlet. Hulk still snaps his fingers which brings every living being back. During the final battle with Thanos, the Justice Society, Black Adam, Godzilla, and the other Titans arrive to join in the fight.
-Victoria Kord and Walter Simmons are among the many people who also had a hatred towards Tony Stark and are joyful about his death.
-After the events of Blue Beetle, Damage Control tried to apprehend him but was forced to back down due to public support.
-Godzilla would grow hostile towards the Hex that Wanda made. Due to being composed of cosmic radiation from the celestial, Godzilla and the other Titans are revealed to be immune to magic due to their massive size as well as not being affected by the Hex's effects. However, once Wanda leaves Westview, Godzilla will leave as well.
-After Endgame, Apex Cybernetics not only seeks to eliminate Titans but also superpowered individuals as well. After the events of GvK, Damage Control cleaned up the damage and acquired their resources.
-Among the deceased that would be in Heaven based on Adam's rule: "Act selfless, Don't Steal, and Stick it to the man" would be Tony Stark/Iron Man, Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow, Peggy Carter, Ancient One, Ben Parker, May Parker, Pietro Maximoff/Quicksilver, Phil Coulson, Steve Trevor, Jonathan Kent, Chato Santana/El Diablo, Silas Stone, Rick Flag, Alberto Reyes, José Morales, Ignacio Carapax/OMAC, and Nuidis Vulko.
-Among the deceased that would be in Hell and have the potential to become Overlords are Obadiah Stane/Iron Monger, Ivan Vanko/Whiplash, TrevoThe Mandarin, Alexander Pierce, Dreykov, Xu Wenwu, Quentin Beck/Mysterio, Roman Sionis/Black Mask, Victor Zsaasz, David Kane/Black Manta, and Walter Simmons.
-Wanting to reconnect with his daughter, Mark Russell resigns his position as leader of Monarch and Bruce BanneHulk becomes the next head of Monarch due to his knowledge of Nuclear Physics.
-Both the Great Protector and Dweller-in-Darkness are revealed to be Titans who stumbled upon Ta Lo.
-In Xadia, Viren was resurrected 5 years later rather than 2 (Events of S1-3 take place in 2019-and S4-6 take place in 2024).
-Due to the effects of the Emergence and the Deviants, Godzilla would ally with the Eternals in hunting down and killing the Deviants as well as stopping the Emergence from happening.
-The Benevolent Titans have gained a reputation due to their involvement in keeping the planet safe and healthy.
-Driven by vengeance, Overlord Quentin Beck/Mysterio pays the I.M.P.s to assassinate Peter ParkeSpider-Man. However, this is during the events of No Way Home and when Doctor Strange performs the spell that erases everyone's memory of who Spider-Man is, the I.M.P.s were affected as well and called the mission off due to their amnesia.
-Maya Lopez's/Echo's Powers awaken the ancient Thunderbird Titan that lives near her hometown. She successfully bonds with the Titan.
-Ms. Marvel would not only be a Captain Marvel fan but also a Wonder Woman and Mothra fan as well.
-Riri Williams is a huge fan of both Iron Man and Cyborg which influenced her to create her own enhanced suits. While she has an intense hatred towards Apex Cybernetics after their dirty secrets were exposed, Riri started making concepts on how to build a giant-mech suit to combat hostile Titans.
-Thor recruits Wonder Woman and the Shazam family to help them stop Gorr the God Butcher. They arrive at Omnipotence City where Wonder Woman exposes the Greek Gods being the Roman counterparts with Zeus' real identity revealed to be Jupiter. After the mission, Thor gives Shazam the Thunderbolt.
-Wonder Woman then encounters Marc SpecteMoon Knight where she sees and speaks with Khonshu.
-When Doctor Strange and America Chavez arrive on Earth-838, they meet the Illuminati which not only consists of Captain Carter, Blackbolt, Captain Marvel (Maria Rambeau), and Mister Fantastic but also consists of Christian Bale's Batman and Brandon Routh's Superman.
-Same with Wakanda, the U.N. held a conference on whether the Titans should be contained or killed. Director Fontaine would state that the Titan's radiation helps balance the ecosystem of the planet and propose a solution where they can imprison the Titans and drain this energy they embody to help sustain the ecosystem, thus having them alive, but tortured.
-After Shuri takes the heart-shaped herb and becomes the next Black Panther, she communicates with Sehkmet, Behemoth, and Mokele-Mbembe for the first time. She convinces them to take part in the battle against Namor by battling against Na Kika, Tiamat, and Amhuluk.
-After the battle, Wakanda becomes harmonious with their Titans as they are welcomed in Wakanda and become its protectors alongside Shuri.
-After the alliance with Talokan, Aquaman visits Shuri on the same beach where she meets her nephew, T'Challa II, and warns her about her deal with Namor. Then he introduces his son, Arthur Jr., where he and T'Challa II develop a brotherly bond with each other.
-Due to the Secret Invasion, Superman was affected by the Anti-Alien Act and was forced into hiding.
-During the events of Secret Invasion, the Turtles were forced into hiding due to being confused for Skrulls.
-After the events of The Flash, Doctor Strange and Clea confront him that his actions in altering time created more incursions and recruit him to have them fixed.
-After the events of the Marvels, Monica Rambeau not only meets Binary and Beast but also meets Michael Keaton's Batman and Sasha Calle's Supergirl.
-After the events of Lost Kingdom, Atlantis revealed its existence to the world by joining alliances with the UN and Wakanda.
-Ms. Marvel's Quantum Bands and Shang-Chi's Ten Rings start behaving weirdly as they detect a signal from deep within Hollow Earth, signifying a war cry from ancient Titans known as the Skar King and Shimo.
-As Namor is preparing for the war against the surface by aligning themselves with Wakanda, he commands the Titans he bonded to gain strength. However, one of the Titans, Tiamat, is killed by Godzilla, and Namor is saddened when hearing the news.
-Ms. Marvel's Quantum Bands attracts the attention of Mothra, who believes that Mothra may be the key to bringing back Monica Rambaeu.
-The Avatar's (Aang) awakening was sensed by Doctor Strange.
Overall, this is my take on how this shared world would go. If you have any suggestions on how the shared world would go, feel free to reply!
Special thanks to MichaeltheSpikester for the idea!

A while ago, I posted about dealing with addiction as a founder: link to previous post.
Thanks to the incredibly supportive comments and suggestions, I implemented a few of the recommended strategies. This helped me better understand the root causes of my addictive behaviors and make some progress toward addressing them.
To give more context on my previous issues, I'm a bootstrap startup founder in my second year after quitting my job. While my service generates some revenue, I've been struggling with addictions to porn, masturbation, gaming, and drinking. (+ high calories/sugar food). These issues have significantly harmed my business. Fundamentally, my core problem is anxiety about my business. My attempts to temporarily alleviate this anxiety turned into habits, which further worsened my business and increased my anxiety, creating a vicious cycle. Reflecting on this, I realized I was avoiding even the smallest business issues. (+ slower pace)
Fortunately, I've made some progress:

1. Quitting Alcohol: This was the most crucial step. Alcohol intensified all other addictive behaviors. On days I drank, I craved porn, gaming, and other distractions even more. (Additionally, the more challenging my business becomes, the less control I have over my alcohol consumption. I find myself getting drunk more frequently.)
2. Meditation/Running: I run 10 km once a week. The post-run alertness lasts for about two days. Meditation helps me maintain some level of calm in my daily life.
3. Low-Carb, High-Fat Diet: This might vary from person to person, but I found that blood sugar levels from carb intake significantly affected my concentration. In a state of ketosis, my daily anxiety seems to be cut in half.

Although these steps have helped me to some extent, I believe I still have a long way to go. As with any addiction, it feels like I could easily relapse if I'm not careful.
Also, Especially when I'm struggling in the short term, having a 5-shot iced Americano or a Monster Energy drink seems to provide a temporary fix. While not a long-term solution, this temporarily creates a state of hyper-alertness, which helps alleviate anxiety in the short term.
There are still goals I haven't achieved yet:

1. Reducing porn consumption
2. Reducing gaming
3. Seeking counseling from a therapist

My goal for the next 1-2 months is to reduce porn and gaming. It's incredibly challenging, but I'm committed to enduring the anxiety as it is and working through practical solutions to address it.
In addition to tackling addiction, many comments from my previous post were insightful. For example, "You can observe business opportunities in dopamine too. Sometimes when you realize things about yourself, you realize things about your customers."
Reflecting on this advice, I see potential in turning my issues into strengths and leveraging my current situation to my advantage.

🌿 Detailed Overview:
Explores the concept of group consciousness and its connection to Christ Consciousness. Bloom delves into the spiritual dynamics that occur within groups and communities, emphasizing the transformative power of collective consciousness when aligned with divine principles. The book offers practical guidance on how to cultivate and harness group consciousness for spiritual growth and societal harmony.
🔍 Key Themes and Insights:
Group Consciousness Defined: Bloom defines group consciousness as the collective awareness and energy generated by individuals working together towards a common spiritual goal. He emphasizes that this collective consciousness can amplify individual spiritual experiences and facilitate deeper connections with the divine.
Christ Sparks: Introduces the concept of Christ Sparks, the divine essence within each individual that can be ignited and nurtured within a group setting. Bloom explains how these sparks of divine light can be collectively activated to create a powerful, unified field of Christ Consciousness.
Spiritual Dynamics in Groups: Explores the inner dynamics that occur within spiritual groups, including the interplay of energies, the roles of individuals, and the challenges and opportunities that arise. He discusses how group consciousness can be harmonized and directed towards higher spiritual purposes.
Practical Techniques: Provides practical techniques for cultivating group consciousness, including meditation, visualization, group rituals, and collaborative spiritual practices. Bloom offers guidance on how to create and maintain a sacred space where group consciousness can thrive.
Transformative Power: Emphasizes the transformative potential of group consciousness aligned with Christ Consciousness. He discusses how this collective spiritual energy can lead to personal healing, community building, and societal transformation.
Challenges and Solutions: Addresses common challenges faced by spiritual groups, such as conflicts, ego clashes, and energy imbalances. Bloom provides strategies for resolving these issues and maintaining a harmonious and effective group dynamic.
Contemporary Relevance: Highlights the relevance of group consciousness in today's world, suggesting that it can play a crucial role in addressing global challenges and fostering a more compassionate and united society. He offers insights into how spiritual groups can contribute to positive social change.
Audience Takeaway:
"The Christ Sparks: The Inner Dynamics of Group Consciousness" is an insightful and practical guide for anyone involved in or interested in spiritual group work. William Bloom provides valuable tools and perspectives for understanding and harnessing the power of group consciousness in alignment with Christ Consciousness. This book is an essential resource for spiritual leaders, group facilitators, and individuals seeking to deepen their collective spiritual practice and contribute to societal harmony.
💌 Your Experiences and Reflections:
Have you experienced the dynamics of group consciousness in your spiritual practice? How has William Bloom's concept of Christ Sparks influenced your understanding of collective spiritual energy? Share your reflections on the significance of group consciousness in your personal and communal spiritual growth. Let’s discuss the insights and challenges encountered in cultivating this powerful collective awareness and its impact on creating a more harmonious and compassionate world.

• Purchase

"You gotta know that there's an art to it, Ezra," Hitch said, cutting another piece of duct tape.
The sleeves of his weather-beaten coat were shoved all the way up his arms, to stop the fabric from falling over his knuckles while he was working, and goosebumps lined his skin. He was strapping a rubber chicken to the back of his truck, over the lens of the shattered backup camera, with the legs pointing down so that they hung a couple inches above the ground. There were dents in the hood from the crash last week, and scratches along the door from scraping into a curb. The chicken, hopefully, would keep him from breaking anything else.
"You can't go cheap," Hitch said. "The cheap rubber chickens only make noise when pressure lets go. That's no good. As soon as I back up into something, I want this chicken to be screaming like it’s in the depths of hell."
“Sure thing,” I said in a monotone, leaning against the side of the truck.
There were scrambled electronic parts piled in the back of the truck, the innards of a radio, a broken computer, tangled wires, a couple loose pairs of earbuds. He found the parts in alleyways or bummed them off his friends for a couple bucks or stole them from the vacation homes that were left empty for most of the year. Then he sold them for a profit at the scrapyard. Hitch had bounced between minimum-wage jobs for a while after high school, spending a couple months as a bagger at the grocery store or as a seasonal worker at the farm two hours down the highway. He'd never stuck with it. At the very least, the scrapyard got him enough money to eat and occasionally spend a night in a motel when he got tired of sleeping in his car.
Hitch pressed the last piece of tape in place and grinned up at me. "I've got something for you, duck."
The nickname came from when I’d broken my leg as a child and waddled around in a cast until it was healed. I hated it with a burning passion, and I glared at Hitch with the ease of twenty-one years of practice. He had a duck tattoo at the base of his thumb that he’d gotten in a back-alley shop as a teenager. He said that he’d gotten it to remind him of me, and the fact that I hated the nickname was just a bonus. It was shaky-lined, with an uneven face, but he loved it anyway.
The handle stuck when Hitch tried to open the door, a consequence of the rust collecting in the crevices of the car and running down the sides like blood from a cut. The car groaned when the door finally popped open, a metal against metal screech that had me flinching away. Hitch dug through the cluttered fast food containers in the passenger-side footwell, eventually coming up with a crinkly paper bag. He waved away the flies buzzing around the opening of the bag and held it out to me.
The last time Hitch had brought me food, I’d gotten food poisoning because he’d left it out in the midday sun for two days. The donut was squished slightly, and the icing was stuck to the bag. I still ate it, grimacing at the harsh citrus flavor. Taking Hitch’s food was an instinct engraved from the days when Dad had given us a can of kidney beans for dinner and Hitch had drank the juice, leaving the beans for me.
I rarely went hungry anymore, three mostly square meals a day and granola in my pockets just in case, but habits didn’t die easy.
These days, Hitch only brought me food when he wanted my help, like when he saw a place he wanted to hit but was worried about doing it alone.
I got in the car, like I always did.
We drove past the cluster of seafood-themed restaurants with chipped paint decks, the beachfront park where there were always shifty-eyed men sitting under the slide, the single room library where all the books had been water damaged in the flood last year. The change was quick as we drove across Main Street, heading closer to the beach. The roads were freshly paved, the concrete a smooth black except where the sun had already started to pick away at it. The three-story homes lining the sides of the street were crouched on elegant stilts, with space underneath for a car or three. Most of the garages were empty, with the lights off and curtains drawn in the house. Come summer, the streets would be swarming with tourists and vacationers, but until then, most of the buildings nearest to the beach were unoccupied.
Hitch stopped as the sun started to go down at a house that was leaning precariously out towards the beach, tilted ever so slightly, the edge of its foundation buried in the shifting sand of the beach. It certainly looked deserted, with an overgrown yard and blue paint peeling off the door in sheets.
Hitch took his hammer out of the backseat, hoisting it over his shoulder. It was two feet of solid metal with rags wrapped around the head to muffle the sound of the hits. Hitch squared up, bending his knees and holding the hammer like a baseball bat. Before he could swing, though, the door creaked open on its own, the hinges squeaking. The house beyond was dark enough that I could only make out general shapes, glimpsing the curve of a sofa to the left, what was maybe the shimmer of a chandelier on the other side.
Hitch lowered his hammer, looking vaguely disappointed that he didn’t get to use it. “That’s…weird as hell.”
“Maybe the deadbolt broke, maybe they forgot to lock it, it doesn’t matter,” I hissed, checking our surroundings for other people again. “Just hurry up and get inside before someone calls the cops.”
Hitch flicked the lightswitch on the wall, and the lights flickered on. They were dim, buzzing audibly and blinking off occasionally. The walls were plastered with contrasting swatches of wallpaper and splattered with random colors. There was neon orange behind the dining table, a galaxy swirl in the kitchen, and on the ceiling there was a repeating floral pattern covered in nametag stickers. Each of the stickers was filled out with The Erlking. Chandeliers hung in every room, three or four for each, and rubber ducks sat on every table. A miniature carousel sat in the corner along with a towering model rocket.
Sand was heaped on every surface, at least a couple inches everywhere. It was piled in the corners and stuck to the walls, and it covered the floor in a thick blanket. Our hesitant steps into the house left footprints clearly outlined in the sand.
Hitch took a cursory look around and headed immediately for the TV mounted on the wall. “Look out the windows and tell me if anyone is coming.”
I shook the sand out of the blinds and pulled them open, then had to brush sand off of the window before I could see anything.
Hitch was quick, practiced at finding and appropriating the things that were worth taking. He came back to me with an armful of electronics and chandeliers, dumping it at my feet before turning to head deeper into the house again.
There was a thump, somewhere upstairs, and then footsteps, slow and deliberate. Hitch froze at the threshold of the room, then ran for the door with me just ahead of him, sand flying out from under our feet.
My hand was almost brushing the doorknob, close enough that I could see the light from the streetlamp outside streaming in through the cracks in the door. My fingers touched the wood and it gave under my touch, becoming malleable and warm. I yelped, stumbling backwards, and the door started to melt. The paint ran down in thick drops, pooling at the bottom of the door, and the wood warped like metal being welded. The soft edges of the door ran into the walls until there was no sign of an exit ever being there.
“Well, well, well,” said a cultured voice with just an edge of snooty elitism. “What do we have here?”
The man was well over eight feet tall, with long black hair covering his eyes. He was wearing a yellow raincoat with holes cut out of the hood to accommodate the deer antlers jutting upwards from his head. There was sand settled on his shoulders and hovering around his head like a halo.
“Who the fuck are you?” Hitch said, inching towards a window.
He smiled, just a little bit, and his teeth shone in the dim light. “I am the Erlking.”
Hitch nodded, and seemed about to respond. I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him towards the window. I could feel sand in the wind roaring against my back as the Erlking growled in anger, the grains scraping harshly against my cheeks.
We were almost to the window when Hitch was ripped away from me, and I came to a startled halt. The sand had formed long grasping arms that pressed Hitch against the floral wallpaper. His wrists were held tight, and as I watched, a sandy hand wrapped around his mouth and forced its way between his teeth. He gagged, and sand trickled out of the corners of his mouth.
The Erlking strolled towards him, not seeming to be in any sort of rush. “You know, I’m not very fond of your yapping.”
He made an idle gesture and the sand wrapped around my ankles, tethering me in place.
“I yap all the time,” Hitch said. “Three-time olympic yapper, that’s me. Best to just let me go now and save yourself some trouble.”
The Erlking tapped a manicured nail against Hitch’s mouth, hard enough to hurt, judging by the way he flinched away. “But why would I ever let you go when I’ve gone to this much trouble to catch you and your sister? It’s so hard, these days, to find people that no one will miss.”
Hitch struggled against the sand, trying to escape and failing. “What do you want with us, then? You just said it, we’re nobody.”
“I’m fae, dear one,” the Erlking said. “I get my power from my followers. And I think that you two will make lovely additions to my flock.”

He flicked Hitch's nose and Hitch gasped. Feathers started to form on his arms, popping out from under his skin in a spray of blood.
Hitch pushed off the wall, using his bound hands as a fulcrum, and his knees crashed into the Erlking’s stomach. The Erlking fell backwards, wheezing, and the sand around my ankles loosened.
Hitch made desperate eye contact with me as feathers shot up his neck and jerked his head towards the window. The message was obvious. Run.
The last thing I saw before crashing out the window and into freedom was Hitch’s body twisting, his arms wrenching into wings and feathers covering every inch of his skin. By the time I landed on the concrete outside, he was a small black bird, held tightly in the Erlking’s hands. The whole building was sinking into the ground, burnished-gold sand piling up over top and streaming from the windows.
Thirty years later, I saw Sam’s Supernatural Consultation and Neutralization written in neat, looping handwriting on a piece of paper taped to the door. The tape was peeling at the corners and the paper was yellowed with age, but there was obviously care put into the sign, in its perfectly centered text and looping floral designs drawn over the edges in gold marker.
I knocked, hesitantly, drawing my woolen coat closer around my shoulders. I’d bought it as a fiftieth birthday gift for myself, and I took comfort in the heavy weight of it over my shoulders.
“Coming!” someone called from within the depths of the office.
There were a couple crashes, and the sound of paper shuffling. Eventually, the door was opened by a young woman with ketchup stains on her shirt and pencils stuck through her hair.
“Hi, I’m Sam, I specialize in supernatural consultation and hunting, how may I help you today?” Sam said, customer-service pep in her voice. She stood in the doorway, solidly blocking entry into the office.
“My name is Ezra, I’m for a consultation. I emailed you but you didn’t respond?” I shifted in place, suddenly feeling awkward.
“Oh! Yeah, I lost the password for the email ages ago. Sorry for the bad welcome, I get lots of people thinking I’m crazy or pulling a prank and harassing me.”
She ushered me into the office, clearing papers off one of the chairs to make room for me to sit down. There was a collection of swords along one wall, all of them polished to perfection, several with deep knicks in the metal which indicated that they’d been used heavily.
“So what can I help you with?” Sam asked again, more sincere this time.
“Thirty years ago, my brother was turned into a bird,” I started. I’d told this story so many times that it barely felt ridiculous to say anymore. I was used to the disbelieving looks, the careful pity. But Sam just nodded along, face open and welcoming.
“I’ve almost given up on finding him, at this point,” I said. “But I saw your ad in the newspaper, and…here I am, I suppose.”
“Here you are,” Sam echoed, smiling. She pulled one of the pencils out of her hair and took a bit of paperwork off of one of her stacks, turning it over so that the blank side sat neatly in front of her. “Tell me everything.”
I told Sam everything, and she wrote it all down, pencil scratching along the paper.
The last part of the story was always the hardest to tell. “I left him there. I ran and I didn’t look back.”
I had been to dozens of detectives and investigators over the years, once the police had dropped Hitch’s case. I’d been to professional offices with smartly-dressed secretaries and met scraggly men in coffee shops. All of them had given me the same look, pity and annoyance all mixed up into a humor-the-crazy-lady soup. Sam, though, just seemed thoughtful.
Sam leaned forward and put a hand over mine, carefully, like she thought that I would pull away. “Sometimes you have to leave people behind.”
I tightened her hold on Sam’s hand and drew it towards me, like I could make Sam listen if only I squeezed tight enough. “But that’s why I’m here. I don’t want to leave him behind.”
“Okay then. I’ll do my best to help you.” Sam agreed, finally. Then she paused, and said softly, “You know…I think I met your brother once. He might have saved my life. He’s certainly why I started in this business.”
“Really? What happened?” I asked.
This is the story that Sam told me, related to the best of my abilities:
It was a new moon, so the only illumination came from the stars gazing idly down and distant porch lights shining across the scraggly brush of the dunes. Sam’s neighbors were decent people who cared about baby turtles, so the lights were a low, unobtrusive red, and the ocean sloshed like blood. Sam walked on the beach almost every night, drawing back the gauzy pink curtains and clambering out her bedroom window. She didn’t often bother to be quiet; her mama worked the late shift and came home exhausted. As long as Sam got home before the sun, her mama would never find out that she paced the shoreline and dreamed of inhaling sand until her lungs became their own beach.
The sky was lightening. The sun would come up soon, and that meant Sam’s time on the beach was over. She needed to get back to her real life, go to her fifth grade class and stop that nonsense, as her mother would say. Her mother loved to say things like that, pushing Sam into her proper place by implication alone.
“She’s a good kid, of course, but she’s a bit…” Her mother would trail off there, usually getting a commiserating expression from whoever she was talking to. Sam always wondered how that sentence would have finished. She’s a bit strange, maybe. She’s a bit intense. She’s a bit abrasive. She’s quiet enough but when Jason tried to steal her pencil in math class, she stabbed him in the hand so hard that the lead tattooed him.
Her mother was better, for the most part. The days of her stocking up the fridge, and leaving a post-it note on the counter, and leaving for days at a time were gone. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen tile where her mother had collapsed and caved her head in, even though the bloodstains had been replaced with new tile.
“Your auntie got an abortion, you know,” her mother had said from her place on the couch, slurring her words. “Pill in the mail and then bam, no more baby.”
She had clapped her hands together to illustrate her point. Her mother jerked forward and grabbed Sam by the wrist, then, staring up at her until Sam met her eyes.
“I love you, you know? But sometimes I wonder…” She settled back onto the couch. “Yeah. I wonder.”
She’d gotten up, then, back to the kitchen. She’d been stumbling, a shambling zombie of a woman. The ground in the entryway of the kitchen was raised, ever so slightly, and her mother went down hard. Her head cracked against the tile, chin first, and she didn’t move.
Sam had been the one to call the ambulance. She had stared at the scattering of loose teeth on the ground while she waited, and considered what her life would be like with a dead mom. Not so bad, she thought, and immediately felt guilty for it.
Her mom was better, now, for the most part. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen floor where she had collapsed. There was still a matchbox hidden under her bed with the gleaming shine of her mother’s lost teeth, two canines and a molar. It was nice, having a piece of her mom to keep. Even if she left again, Sam would still have part of her.
Sam sighed, and turned away from the ocean. As she faced towards the low dunes further up the beach, she saw a sandcastle sitting nestled among them. It was such a strange sight that her eyes skipped over it at first, almost automatically, disregarding it because it was so out of place.
Sam found sandcastles out on the beach sometimes, usually half-collapsed and on the verge of being washed away by the waves, but she had never seen anything like the sandcastle in front of her. It was life-sized, something that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Scottish highlands, with spires shooting up above her head and carefully etched out bricks lining each side. The front wall was dominated by an arched set of double doors, twice her height, with a portcullis nestled at the top, ready to be dropped. All of it was lovingly detailed, down to the rust on the tips of the towers and the wood grain of the door. It was made out of wet, densely-packed sand, held together impossibly. It had not been there two hours ago, when she had come to the beach.
There was a bird sitting on the overhang of the door, small and black.
As soon as she took a step towards the sandcastle, the bird shook out its feathers and swooped down towards Sam, landing at her feet with a little stumble.
“Hey, kid, get out of here,” said the bird.
Sam closed her eyes, very deliberately. When she opened them, the bird was still there. Sam considered herself a very reasonable person, so she immediately drew the most logical conclusion. The bird was, she was almost certain, a demon.
“Trust me, you don’t want to run into Mr. Salty, the queen bitch himself,” the bird said.
“Mr. Salty?” Sam inquired, polite as she knew how to be. She edged to the side, trying to get a good angle to kick the bird like a soccer ball.
The bird did something similar to a wince, all its feathers fluffing up then settling back down. “Ah, don’t call him that. He’d turn you into a toad.”
The bird gestured with its head, towards the looming sand structure. “That’s his castle. He’s in there, probably scuttling along the ceiling or some shit because that’s the sort of weirdo he is.”
Sam nodded, encouraging. She pulled back her foot and lined up her shot, the way she’d seen athletes do on TV. She aimed right for its sharp beak and let loose. The bird saw it coming, its beady eyes widening, and it cawed in distress. It flapped away, avoiding her kick only to fall backward into the sand in a scramble of wings.
“What’s your fucking problem?” it squawked. “I was trying to help you!”
“I don’t need the help of a demon,” Sam yelled, trying to remember the exorcism that her mama had taught her once, because her mama believed in being prepared for anything.
“I’m not a demon,” the bird said indignantly.
It was at about that moment that Sam gave up and just decided to roll with it.
“What are you, then?” Sam asked.
The bird shuffled its clawed feet, looking about as awkward as it could, given that it didn’t really have recognizable facial expressions. “Technically I’m a familiar of the Erlking, prince of the fae, but I prefer to be called Hitch.”
“You can’t blame me for assuming, though,” Sam said. “Ravens do tend to be associated with murder.”
“Hey, excuse you,” Hitch said. “I’m a rook, not a raven. Ravens are way bigger.”
“Sure,” Sam said, not really paying attention. Her eyes had caught on the details of the sandcastle, and she was transfixed by the slow spirals of the sand, the strange beauty of it. She found herself stepping towards the great doors, lifting a hand to knock, and as she did, the sand warped in front of her eyes, heaving itself towards her with bulging slowness. The door creaked open before her, revealing a vast, empty room. Just before she stepped inside, she felt a piercing pain in her foot, and she yelped, leaping backwards.
Hitch pecked her again, really digging his beak in. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Sam glared at him, rubbing her foot. About to retort, she finally really took in the room inside the sandcastle, and her words died in her throat.
There was a body just past the threshold of the door, face down and limbs hanging limp at its sides. Long hair splayed out in a halo around its head.
“Don’t,” Hitch warned, suddenly serious. “Just leave, kid, I mean it. I’ve seen too many people go down this road and you don’t want to be one of them.”
Sam ignored him. She made her way across the beach, slipping with every step. The sand felt deeper, piling up around her feet in silent drifts. She picked up the nearest stick and poked the body with it through the door, ready to leap back if anything went wrong, staying firmly outside of the sandcastle.
This close, Sam could tell that it used to be a woman. Her head wasn’t attached to her body. It hadn’t been a clean amputation, either. Her upper body was bruised, with chunks taken out of it, and the bones in her neck hung mangled, not connected to anything.
“Well, I warned you,” Hitch said, defeated. “I did warn you.”
Sam nudged the head with the end of the stick, nudging it over so that she could see the face. Her mother stared back at her, torn to pieces, breath still wheezing from her lungs. She wasn’t blinking, just gazing forward with glazed eyes. Sweat dripped down from her hairline.
Sam screamed and dropped the stick, tripping over herself in her haste to get away.
Her mother’s eyes were wide and pleading, and she was mouthing desperate words at Sam. Her vocal cords were broken to bits, and the only sound that came out was a strained groan.
The head rolled, inching closer to Sam like a grotesque caterpillar.
Her mother gasped for air, torn lips fluttering. Finally, comprehensible words came out. “Help. Help me, daughter.”
“That’s not your mother,” Hitch said, quiet.
Sam knew that. Her mother was sleeping back at home, and anyways her mom had never asked for her help. She had an aversion to accepting charity, as she put it.
“Okay,” Sam said, shaking all over. “Okay.”
She backed away from the sandcastle, not looking away.
“Failure,” her mother hissed as she stepped away. “I never wanted a daughter like you.”
The sun came up over the horizon. The sandcastle, Hitch, and her mom all disintegrated into sand as the light hit them.
The beach, the next night, was almost exactly how I remembered it. The beams of our flashlights sent light bouncing across the dunes, illuminating the waves, and I imagined faces in the foam of the waves.
“I’ve been back here a hundred times. There’s nothing left,” I said.
Sam took the car key out of her purse and pointed it at the sand, adjusting the sword slung over her shoulder in order to do it. The key had belonged to Hitch; Sam had requested an item of his, and it was the only thing I had left. She rested the key on the sand and drew a circle around it, inscribing symbols around the borders.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Sam shrugged. “Not much, really. I’m…I guess you could say that I’m knocking.”
The key laid inert on the sand for long enough that I was just about to give up and go home, admit to myself that Hitch was dead and that I was a fool to believe that Sam could actually help me. Then a building started to take shape, flickering in and out like it was struggling to get away. With a pop of displaced air, the sandcastle settled into existence.
Sam banged on the entryway. Nothing happened. She did it again, harder, and scowled when the door still didn’t open.
“We demand entrance, under your honor,” Sam yelled. There was a hard rush of wind, and I gripped Sam’s arm to keep my balance, but the doors cracked open reluctantly.
The inside of the sandcastle consisted of one enormous hall, the roof arching up out of sight. Rafters crisscrossed from wall to wall, and a cobbled path led further into the building, but other than that, it was completely empty, except for the birds. There were thousands of them, perched on the rafters or hopping along the ground. They parted in front of Sam and I, and reformed behind us, leaving us in a small pocket of open space. They were all black-feathered, with sharp beaks and beady eyes.
The Erlking sat on a throne at the end of the hall, lounging across it with his feet up on the armrest. He watched them as they came forward, the soft caw of the birds the only sound.
“I am here to bargain for the life of my brother,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster, before the Erlking could say anything.
The Erlking ignored her, tilting his head to look at Sam. “I remember you. I almost got you, once.”

Sam glared at him but didn’t respond.
“You want your brother,” The Erlking said to me, and he almost sounded amused. “Then go get him.”
As if by some sort of silent signal, every bird in the room took flight at once, and their cawing made me think of screams. I covered my head against the flapping of their wings, and my vision was quickly obscured by the chaotic movement of them. I found myself on my knees, just trying to escape them.
A hand met my shoulder. Sam urged me to my feet, and together we ran for the edge of the room, where the swarm was the thinnest. We pressed ourselves into the corner and the swarm spiraled tighter and tighter at the center of the room. It went on until there seemed to be no differentiation between the birds, all of them fused together into one creature.
When the chaos died down, the birds had become one mass, with wings and eyes and talons sticking out of its flesh, thrashing and chirping. Human body parts stuck out of it, bulging out from the feathers. It was hands, mostly, with a couple knees or staring eyes. The bird amalgamation had no recognizable facial features, but there was one long beak extending from the front of its head. Most of the body parts were concentrated around the beak, and they peeked out from where the beak connected with muscle, or grew from the tongue, nestled between the two crushing halves of the beak.
It turned its beak down and crawled forward, using the hands to balance. The fingers scrambled over the ground. I was afraid of centipedes as a child, and I felt that same crawling dread when it started moving.
“Holy shit,” Sam whispered, which was rather disappointing, because I had been hoping that at least one of us knew what to do.
The creature turned, a lurching movement that crushed some of the hands underneath it, and started heaving itself slowly towards our corner.
“Better hurry up!” the Erlking called from his throne.
It was blocking the exit, by then. The shifting body of it had moved to block us off. It ambled towards us and I tried to sink further into the corner.
As it approached, getting close enough that I could smell the stink of it, I saw a flash of a tattoo on one of the hands. I leaned in, trying to find it again, like looking for dolphins surfacing in the ocean. And again, I caught a glimpse of a duck tattoo, the tattoo that Hitch had gotten on his hand as a teenager.
I ripped away from Sam’s death grip and ran for the monster.
I fell to my knees in front of it, wincing as I impacted the ground, and reached into the nest of hands. I could feel them tearing at my forearms and ripping into me with their sharp nails, but I kept going. I pressed further in, up to my shoulder in a writhing mass of limbs, aiming for the spot where I had last seen that tattoo.
The hands were tugging at me, wrapping around my back and hair. They were pulling together, trying to draw me completely into the mass of them. I was aware of Sam at my side, anchoring me in place and bashing any hand that got too close with her sword or the sparks that leapt from her hands with muttered words. But I didn’t think it would be enough. They were too strong, and there were too many of them.
I was up to my waist in the hands when something grabbed my palm. I felt the way it clung to me, and the calluses on its palm, and I knew that I had found my brother.
I flung herself back. The hands didn’t want to let me go, and they fought the whole way, but slowly, I made progress. I kept hold of Hitch’s hand in mine the whole time, gripping it as hard as I could. I finally broke free, Hitch with me, and Sam was immediately charging the creature, able to use her sword with much greater strength without being worried about injuring Hitch. She swung it forward, and it sliced through the wrist of one of the hands. It fell without a sound, red sand flowing out of it. It deflated until it looked like dirty laundry, just a piece of limp flesh. The creature shrieked, scuttling away enough that the door was finally accessible. The three of us ran for it, Sam and I supporting Hitch between us.
I looked back as I left and found the Erlking staring right at me.
“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice carrying impossibly across the vast space between us.
The sandcastle collapsed behind us, the great walls falling in on themselves. We were out in the morning sun, the sandcastle disappearing as we watched. Hitch was on the ground in front of me, as young as he’d been thirty years ago, when he was captured. He started laughing, feathers puffing out of his mouth. He laughed until he cried and I hugged him in the way that he’d held me when I was young, in the times when my life had been defined by hunger and fear.
Hitch left, afterwards. He scratched at the pinhole scars covering his body, where feathers burst through his skin, and pulled his long sleeves down around his wrists. He didn’t know where he was going but he told me that he needed time
I had spent thirty years worth of time without him. I wanted to grab my brother by the shoulders and beg him to stay. But he flinched when I hugged him goodbye and he refused to go near sand and he stared distrustfully at the birds chirping in the trees. Hitch needed to go away and I loved him too much to stop him.
I sat out on the beach every morning. I felt the sun on my face and I waited for Hitch to come home.

• Started with 15 characters, 5 of which were from a small businesses union
• Picked up 5 more PCs in the southeast tower after a bunch of PC deaths
• Threw a hen, (accidentally) a PC, a voodoo doll, the contents of a vial of holy water, and a headless body of another PC (who was connected to the voodoo doll) down the well
• Contemplated throwing shit down the well
  • When they didn't, had to scratch out the "shit monster?" note I had taken in my notebook
• Smeared shit on the tomb portal
• Put lit torches inside the skulls from the pool and thought every puzzle needed to be solved with a skull-torch
• Gave a severed head of a PC (connected to the voodoo doll) to the kraken as one of the sacrifices
• Tried to recruit the villagers being sacrificed to the chaos lord effigy into the union
• Defeated the chaos lord with 5 PCs left!
• Completed the session after almost 6 hours

Looking forward to running a leveled adventure now that we have some level 1 PCs! Super duper excited to see what classes they pick. I do have a question for all you DCC GMs and players - is it normal to play more than one character after funnel adventures? *Should* the players specifically have more than 1 character during ongoing games? How does your table handle character count?

Round 1, Pick 5 - Joe Alt, OT, Notre Dame:
NFL: Head coach Jim Harbaugh is set on building an offensive bully and that starts with the offensive line. Alt comes in as a polished tackle who’ll step in and immediately boost the unit and protect Justin Herbert.
CBS Sports: B. He is the best in this class, but now he has to make the transition to right tackle for Jim Harbaugh. That can be tough to do. But taking a lineman makes sense, I just might have taken J.C. Latham as a better fit.
ESPN: Chargers general manager Joe Hortiz said they would stick to the process of picking the best player available, a strategy he learned from 26 years in the Baltimore Ravens personnel department that won him two Super Bowls. Selecting Alt on Thursday night supports this theory. The Chargers currently employ only four receivers -- none of whom has a season over 800 yards in the NFL -- and passed on taking the second-best receiver in the class. The Chargers are returning four of their five offensive line starters from last season and signed center Bradley Bozeman in free agency, but stuck to their strategy despite much bigger needs on the roster.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: His Skyrim character is Thad: The High King of Skyrim.
Round 2, Pick 34 - Ladd McConkey, WR, Georgia:
NFL: Our second pick, second receiver and first trade of the night. The Patriots slide back a few spots, and the Chargers get a receiver who should be thrust right into the mix. Although McConkey had injury issues at Georgia, if he's able to stay healthy, he could be Justin Herbert's favorite target in due time. With great route-running skills and impressive separation ability, McConkey could be an 80-catch player one day.
CBS Sports: A. Crafty, athletic, polished WR who can win on the boundary and in the slot. Releases are great. Route-running nuance also there. Deceptive speed and YAC skills.
ESPN: After trading Keenan Allen and releasing Mike Williams, the Chargers came into the draft with just four receivers on the roster. None among that receiving group of Joshua Palmer, Quentin Johnston, Derius Davis and Simi Fehoko had ever topped 800 yards in an NFL season. Since Herbert entered the league in 2020, he has always had a coterie of reliable pass-catchers, including players like running back Austin Ekeler and tight end Gerald Everett, who both left in free agency. McConkey, the Chargers hope, gives Herbert another player he can count on in the passing offense after many key departures.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Cannot stand The Office save for Scott’s Tots.
Round 3, Pick 69 - Junior Colson, LB, Michigan:
NFL: If there was one player I would have bet would follow Jim Harbaugh to the Chargers, it would have been Mike Sainristil or Colson. The latter was the emotional heartbeat of a championship Michigan defense, as Colson is a full-tilt competitor who brings his all to every game and every practice. He's a tackling machine whose coverage limitations were likely what caused him to fall out of the top 50 picks.
CBS Sports: B. Ties to Jim Harbaugh and addresses a need at off-ball LB. Best tackling linebacker in the class by a wide margin. Flashed some coverage chops in 2023 but not a speciality. I didn’t see premier range or speed to the football. Beats blocks with decent regularly and ball skills must show up more in NFL. Very young.
ESPN: This was a position of need for the Chargers and Colson, who was a second-team Big Ten selection and led the team with 95 tackles last season, will bring necessary competition to a mostly unproven group. Both of the Chargers' starting outside linebackers in 2023 won't be back next season, as Kenneth Murray Jr. signed with the Tennessee Titans in free agency and Eric Kendricks was released in March. Linebackers Daiyan Henley (51 defensive snaps in 2023) and Nick Niemann (238 defensive snaps in 2023) are the Chargers' lone returning linebackers from last season, but they also signed Denzel Perryman and Troy Dye.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: We all know what pick this is so make with the ‘nice’ jokes.
Round 4, Pick 105 - Justin Eboigbe, DT, Alabama:
NFL: Jim Harbaugh keeps beefing up both fronts. Eboigbe played well in Bama's Rose Bowl loss to Harbaugh's Wolverines, so this pick isn't a shock. The Chargers are adding toughness in Eboigbe, assuming his health improves. He had a breakout season in 2023.
CBS Sports: C+. Classic Nick Saban defensive lineman. Two-gapping extraordinaire with thick, powerful frame. Good first-step quickness but won’t be a calling card to win as a pass rusher consistently in the NFL. Not a pass-rush move type. Higher floor than upside. Limited role.
ESPN: The Chargers begin Day 3 by filling another of the team's most significant needs. L.A. is set at outside linebacker on their defensive line with Khalil Mack, Joey Bosa and Tuli Tuipulotu, but they are largely unproven in the interior. Some of the Chargers' best interior defenders from last season, defensive tackle Sebastian Joseph-Day and defensive tackle Austin Johnson, won't be back in 2024. Eboigbe, 6-foot-4, 275 pounds, was a first-team All-SEC selection last season, finishing with a caterer-high seven sacks.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Has been known to run around banging coconuts together simulating a horse.
Round 5, Pick 137 - Tarheeb Still, CB, Maryland:
NFL: The first tape I watched of Still, coincidentally, was against Michigan -- and he looked good. Jim Harbaugh clearly agreed, although Still's lack of elite speed or size might make him more of a candidate to kick inside as a nickel.
CBS Sports: C+. Chippy, fluid CB who wants to come up and hit people. Super-smooth hips. Doesn’t have the length or pure speed to be lockdown type but gets the most out of his athletic skill set. Won’t follow routes perfectly at the next level. Can be too grabby in man. Infectious energy on the field. Just lacks premier traits.
ESPN: The Chargers' pass defense was abysmal last season, allowing 249.6 yards per game, which ranked 30th in the NFL. So they had to address their secondary in the draft. Still, who is 6-foot and 189 pounds, ran a 4.52 in the 40-yard dash at the combine and finished with five interceptions last season, which tied for sixth in the FBS. He has lined up primarily outside (77% of his snaps came from out wide), but he can also play in the slot.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: His favorite operating system is Windows XP.
Round 5, Pick 140 - Cam Hart, CB, Notre Dame:
NFL: The Chargers double up on long DBs to help combat the AFC West's playmakers. Hart has a strong athletic profile, and he has the perfect makeup to be a special teams coverage standout as well.
CBS Sports: B-. Old-school, long outside CB. Huge with extreme length. Moves well for his size but probably won’t be able to stay with quick separators in the NFL on a regular basis. Last-resort grabbing gets him into trouble during the route. Speed is average and didn’t make many plays on the ball but not tested often. Maybe move to safety?
ESPN: Cornerback is the first position where the Chargers have drafted multiple players so far, proving that the group was one Hortiz knew needed improvement and competition. Cornerback may also be Hortiz's favorite position. He told reporters that he "never feels full at corner. That is a position that you never stop chasing," he said. The Chargers now have six cornerbacks on the active roster, including the 6-3, 202-pound Hart.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Takes three to five business days to reply to an email.
Round 6, Pick 181 - Kimani Vidal, RB, Troy:
NFL: I'm a bit surprised the Chargers didn't take a back before this, but Vidal has a chance to join the RB rotation for Jim Harbaugh. Vidal's profile reads similarly to Blake Corum, so it's easy to see why Harbaugh might view him favorably.
CBS Sports: A. This is a future feature back. Stocky, well-built frame. Between the tackles experience and can blend slashing and multi-cut style together. Elusive, sets up blockers well and has effortless power through contact at times. Not a true burner.
ESPN: Since the Jim Harbaugh era began in February, the theme for the Chargers has been on running the football. Vidal gives them depth at a position that will be one of the most important on the team. Considering the talent in the Chargers' running back room, which includes J.K. Dobbins and Gus Edwards, Vidal likely projects to be mainly a special teams contributor in his first year. Vidal set the Troy career (4,010), single-season (1,661), and single-game (248) rushing records, and his great-uncle is Baseball Hall of Famer Hank Aaron.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Spreads his love of Frito Pie eaten out of the little bag, like God intended.
Round 7, Pick 225 - Brenden Rice, WR, USC:
NFL: Jerry Rice's son and Caleb Williams' go-to guy figured to go a few rounds higher than this, but it's possible scouts felt there was more development needed in his game. With the Chargers, there are WR jobs open for Rice to make the roster early on.
CBS Sports: B+. Downfield specimen with quality size. Didn’t test amazingly but was a vertical weapon for Caleb Williams at USC. Stiff routes and only glimmers of YAC but has the power to run through some tackles. Fun fit with Justin Herbert. Son of NFL legend Jerry Rice.
ESPN: Only four receivers were on the Chargers roster before the draft, so drafting a second receiver seemed inevitable. Rice, 6-3, 208 pounds, is the son of Pro Football Hall of Fame receiver Jerry Rice. He played his final two seasons for the Trojans, where he was the primary deep target for No. 1 pick Caleb Williams. Rice led the team with a 14.6 air yards per target average in 2023, and 7 of his 12 TD receptions were on vertical routes -- tied for the sixth-most in the FBS.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: After adjusting the other picks & removing outliers he regresses to 1st overall.
Round 7, Pick 253 - Cornelius Johnson, WR, Michigan:
NFL: Another Michigan player for Jim Harbaugh. Johnson rarely was featured in Michigan's run-heavy system, but he made his mark as a blocker and occasional big-play receiver. His hands are inconsistent, but Johnson could find footing in L.A.
CBS Sports: C+. Sizable receiver who can deceive CBs with his long-striding speed when given a runaway. Inflexible movements will keep him from getting open on regular basis or winning against press. Ball skills are good in traffic.
ESPN: The more, the merrier in the Chargers receiving room. Johnson is their third pick at receiver, and for good reason. Johnson is also a familiar face, playing under Jim Harbaugh at the University of Michigan and the many other Michigan coaches on the Chargers staff. Johnson, 6-foot-3, 212 pounds, was a four-year starter at receiver and had 119 receptions since the start of 2021, the sixth most in the Big Ten. Johnson mainly played out wide in his career, with 84% of his snaps over the last three seasons coming lined up on the outside.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Upset with the rising price of cheese and cheese related goods.