"Listen, grass grows, birds fly, sun shines, and honey...I hurt people" he said proudly. The two figures sat across the table from one another. One an unruly, unkempt mess of limbs and branches and the other in a sleek dress of cloth tucked neatly so no corners were visible.

The woman across the table seemed skeptical though, her brows furrowed in more confusion than impress.

"Ah a skeptic eh? Not the first. Give me something to showcase on then, oh madam." the more rugged of the two mocked.

The woman reached under the table at his command and withdrew a small, stone-like creature, setting it down with a plop.

He stared down to the toad.

She stared up to him.

The toad on the table stared to nothing in particular.

And after a very long and awkward moment shared between the three the man spoke up. "Ya gotta be kidding right? Thats a Bumpy Ridgeback. You think I'd kill a thing of such beauty? No, give me a man or something- oh..., or woman, Hemlock doesn't discriminate. " he reached down and rubbed the toads bumpy back, to which it seemed to calm.

Across the table the woman was trying to find the words to say before finally landing on "Look, I just I don't believe you. You're a druid, it's not particularly in your nature to be an assassin, now is it?" Her eyes were steel in their gaze, set on their insult.

Slowly Hemlock rose from his chair, his green eyes growing wild like a summer storm. "Nature? Nature?! Let me teach you a lesson in the world lady." Hemlock rocketed up from his seat, sending his chair back to the ground. "Nature doesn't have feeling. Doesn't consider the others pain. Nature. Is. Ruthless."

The woman still seemed unimpressed, her face a block of unmoving ice which only further fueled Hemlocks spew of venom.

"You ever hear the voices of the trees? Oh they beg. Beg and beg for more, for higher, to steal as much of the sun as they can. And each individual tree would gladly blot that sun out if it meant they could grow larger. You? Me? We are merely future dirt. And that's the mentality I bring!" spittle flew from Hemlock's mouth as he ranted. A vein on his head popped loose like a river through the desert, running along just underneath his skin.

"You want a demonstration?! Fine. Watch on then, oh ignorant one."

With toad still in hand Hemlock stared his power into it. It did not struggle against his will, it just withered. Withered and decayed into his hands until its skin began to flake off like leaves from an autumn tree, until it was no more than a pile of nothing. It's bones fertilizer for the next thing to come.

Then, from that pile, bits of green sprouted up into life once again.

For the first time in their back and forth the woman across the table showed some impress, or maybe fear. Her eyes had visibly widened at the display. Never had she seen such death. Such a casual way to kill.

Hemlock leaned in close, placing a dirt filled hand on his future employers shoulder. With a whisper he continued, "I could do the same to you, to anyone. Your men...or rather your piles of dirt outside are proof enough that I am not a hitman. I am nature."

Once again the woman searched for the words to say, but had only couple worthy of a reply: "You- You're hired."

Their songs call out to sailors. With beautiful hums and hymns. But men alike, they lose their psych, when they see the beast within! Captain Starbord's tune rang out over the ocean, his men chanting along merrily. Upon reaching the last line the crew took hurried gulps from their cups then started the song back up from the start.

Starbord was always a jolly man, or at least as jolly as a captain could be in these times, but his song was for more than just to lift the spirits. It was to clog the men's ears. Fill their minds so no other voices could be heard, and it worked, mostly.

"Keep it up lads! We've almost crossed the sound!" Captain Starbord yelled out over their chants. Looking out over his ragtag crew he thought back to years prior. To tying men to the posts and watching them thrash about upon hearing the sirens lure. Of watching men, his men, dive overboard to their inevitable deaths, helpless to stop them.

The singing would work, but how long until it didn't? One trip? Two? It wasn't enough. The song reached its end once more.

"Start it back up lads! Next year I'll give it more verses, make it easy to sing our way through!" Once again the song started back up, only a little less merry this time.

"Oh, and Lars, give me your scope for a tick. I want to see what we're up against." Starbord gestured to a man nearby.

A tall man to Starbord's right went to pull something from his coat but paused halfway through the movement. He froze in place, eyes glassed over, staring out into the sea. Starbord had seen this before he feared. Too many times. He reached into Lars' coat where his frozen hand gripped the scope and yanked it out, putting it up to his eye.

Scanning the sea he saw the hag where she had been last year, the year before, and once before that too: sitting casually on the rocky shore, her lower half dunked in the water.

"Tie Lars to the mast! Keep the song up lads, and do it with feeling, lest you want to be fish food!" Their song calls out to sailors! With beautiful hums and hymns!, Starbord started them off again, to which they followed his voice.

"Attaboys! Now wish your captain luck!" Before any man could stop their beloved captain he was off the side headfirst. He could hear a few of their screams behind him, but even more so he heard his song grow louder.

The moment Starbord crashed through the waves it became clear to him what had gotten Lars. Through the crashing of the sea, past the sound of his men, and beyond the noise of his own labored breathing there was something else. A screeching. A horrible noise like swords clashing in a duel. He had never heard the sirens song, but this horrible noise could be mistaken for no other.

With one arm before the other the captain paddled forward, each stroke bringing him closer to the shore and further from his watery steed. Finally as he approached he got a good look at the beast. A woman, fair haired and soft. Her face was a thing of beauty, and if it wasn't for that awful sound coming from her he'd have been fooled into finding it attractive.

As he swam up the song stopped, the beast looked down to him in the water.

"Couldnt resist?" it mocked.

"Ha! Couldn't resist shutting ye up. Whaddya call that babble anyways?" he drew his sword from his belt for emphasis.

The women looked taken aback. She clutched her bare chest as a women clutched pearls. "This is the first I'm hearing of it. It worked on your men before didn't it?"

Starbord gritted his teeth at the thought. The thought of his crew saimming to their deaths at the hands of this beast. Of dying such a pathetic way to underhanded magics. But she hadn't said her words with malice, but with genuine confusion.

"You- you don't know do ye? Yer song is, well, awful. Sirens are said to sing such beautiful hums than men can't resist. They swim to their deaths, their captains sailing them to demise. Ships crash up on the sho-" he cut himself short, now noticing that there were ships on this shore. Plenty of piles of planks and prehistoric wood floating about. Crates of supplied washed up on the rocks.

The siren smiled, showing rows of teeth like busted bottles of rum.

"It seems, good or bad, my song is irresistible either way. It worked on you did it not?"

Starbord held fast to his sword. "Irresistible? I'll show you a tune hag.":

Their songs call out to sailors. With beautiful hums and hymns! But men alike, they lose their psych, when they see the beast within.

The women look like gold, bare chests and songs so sweet, but look into their hearts and mouths and lad you'll surely weep.

The siren claimed another on that day, but her tune changed. No longer the sound of clashing swords but Captain Starbord's tune now rang out through the sound. And that song, a song of warning, well the siren couldn't resist singing it, and the men stayed far away.

Time takes a lot out of you, so when you've lived as long as I have it only becomes even more true by the day. I had seen a lot of things in the centuries that I have lived; witnessed whole kingdoms disappear to the wear of time, watched great leaders rise and fall. Some great ones fall to such meager things as illness or brain rot. Some petty men rise only because the latter had died.

I remembered names that even the books had since forgotten. Some that even I, in my position, would call great men. But this shit? I had never seen anything even near the realm of this.

When the little guy had first entered I thought it was a joke. Him take on me? My reign was ever eternal, ever night, while he was a 3 foot 2 manlet with a chin as soft as my thrones upholstery. So I humored the little guy. I mean, he had managed to make it passed my legionnaire, he at least deserved my speech.

You fool!" I had cackled, "No man can kill me!"

"But I am no man!" he bellowed in confidence, mouth unmoving. Which I thought was weird, but then the really strange shit started. He bent over, limp as a corpse, and started hacking up a lung. I watched frozen in horror as from his mouth a tan sleeve fell loose, then more and more of a coat until a whole impossibly large bundle of cloth was produced in a wad.

"Well that was rather distur-" I had yelled down

"But wait! Theres more!" he replied, and we sat five more minutes as he produced two more coats from his mouth before the halfling body fell in a loose pile of skin.

"For we are actually three trench coats in a halfling!" The coats announced as they unfurled and stood. I remember how proudly they said it, as if they'd done anything other than just disturb me for the rest of my years. Each one drew a weapon and held it in their limp sleeves ready to face me, but me? Oh, I got the hell out of there. I came straight here.

Across the room a skeleton wearing a broken pair of glasses looked to me with empty sockets. I felt silly on the couch again, but Burgees had been the best therapist in life and I needed him now more than ever.

"So, where are they now?" he asked with a voice like a strong wind.

I gestured to the door at the far wall, and behind it I could hear the sounds of those things. Those coats running around in my lair. One knocked on the door. "Are you in here evil doer? Come out and fight us!"

"No I'm not, so just...fuck off with you."

A long silence was the reply. Burgees adjusted his glasses with a bony hand.

"So do you have a plan?"

"Plan? Burgess I just saw some of the most fucked up shit in my life. I think im retired. Plus that old lady a few hundred years ago, remember her? She said I'd be defeated by men of the cloth at the time I thought she meant a priest or something, but this seems to be them."

"Oh...ok. I guess Ill go with you then." hearing him say that gave me a bit of comfort. Burgees had always been a loyal friend, and I'd need him for the next chapter of my life.

But suddenly I felt a sharp pain shoot through my stomach. Upon looking down a bloodied, thin piece of metal potruded from me, blood dripping down the blade. A rapier, pushed cleanly through me. Behind me the voice of a trenchcoat spoke. "Haha! Got you evildoer. You didn't even hear me come in did you!"

"Ho- how did you.." I pushed out the words through my pain.

"Slipped under the door! I bet you didn't expect that!" for emphasis the coat then yanked the rapier out from my stomach.

I looked over to the thin crack under the door where two more trenchcoats were pushing their way in. It was right. I had not noticed. One coat pulled Burgees down to his chair, strapping him in using its sleeves. I turned to face the other.

"Wha-what the fuck are you."

"Im glad you asked!" It leaned in close, placing a tan sleeve on my shoulder. The voice emanated from somewhere beneath the buttons. "We were three trenchcoats in a halfling, but now? Now I think we'll be three trenchcoats in an Evil Lord."

The coat climbed up my body, forcing open my clenched jaw with a sleeve. As I faded away the last thing I felt was the cloth choking me as it went down.

The bar was half full, or more so it was half empty, depending on how you feel. Alive with patrons of various races clinking drinks and mixing stories. A tall, handsome orc (or as handsome as one can be) surrounded by a harem of women at a corner table, a few spaces down a group of sharply dressed dwarves in booster seats downed liquor like water, and behind the bar the resident bartender mixed drinks with a skill that only came with years of practice.

A few friendly faces watched on at the bar as the pointy eared green man flicked a cup up in the air and caught it once again. They clapped softly, and though he appreciated it, the goblin preferred cash. So as they showered him with love he pointed down to a little handmade sign on the counter that read Your praise is great! But your money is better.

As he did though his eyes caught sight of a new group entering. Sort of the "after school special" bunch, he thought, mixed with a variety of races and colors. A tall, lizardish man with green scales, a shorter human with wide features, and a rarity in the world: a blue skinned, half genie. He stared on as they took their seats, hoping by the sleekness of their dress that tips were coming his way. From the group the genie spawn wandered over to the bar first and took a seat right up front.

"What can I do ya for?", the goblin spoke without looking up.

"A martini. Dry....uhhhh Sandoval Drinkmaker" the djinn read off his little nametag.

"Sure, one second."

This was an untrue statement from Sandoval for two reasons: one because it would in fact not be one second. Two, because he was unsure how to tell the patron that no matter what his impressive spread of spirits appeared as, not a single one was "dry". All wet. In fact every drink that the goblin could recall making in his entire life had been wet.

He gave the djinn a crooked smile before slinking down behind the bar. Now on the floor the goblin began rummaging through shelves for any clues as to how a "dry" drink was made. Cups, glasses, cherries in a jar, no hints.

"Everything alright down there?" the djinn spoke over the bar

"Yeah just...you said dry right?"

"Yeah. That a problem?"

"Well- no, nope. Shouldn't be. No problem at all." Sandoval thought of the tip jar as motivation.

The goblins little palms sweated. His brain frantically ran through every option at his disposal until he settled on one: flash. With a little flash you could mess up nearly any drink and the customer rarely complained. It was a free show after all.

Sandoval returned from the floor with ingredients already in a shaker. Gin and vermouth, easy as could be. He tossed the shaker up in the air and caught it despite the sweat of his hands. Then after a few good shakes the goblin reached into a tray and plopped a piece of smoky ice in. The djinn looked unimpressed, but he did look, which was all that mattered.

Then Sandoval took a fresh cup and poured just the smoky air from the shaker into the glass. Not a single drop of liquid. Just alcoholic vapor. After a long, silent moment of the vapor trailing into the glass the goblin presented it.

"Your martini, dry sir."

"It's empty. Where the drink? Is this a joke?" The djinns white hair blew as if caught in a breeze. Its clothes rustled despite no wind.

"Empty? No no no. Dry." Sandoval winked then slowly inched the empty glass to the man. "Now if you'll excuse me it's my break. He placed a small tent on the counter that read *Be back soon, probably!" before turning and walking out in a rush, all the while thinking of his genius.

Meanwhile the djinn sat in disbelief, staring down to the empty glass, then up to the shaker filled with an actual martini. He grabbed it and poured himself a real drink and took a sip. His face contorted a bit, scrunched in dissatisfaction. "Ick! Too much vermouth."

As a person who questions himself a lot, this comment means a lot. Thanks!

"To be lonely is to be whole." The phrase repeated in my head as I tilled the dirt again and again. It continued to echo in my mind as I moved from one patch of dirt to the next in a mindless lull. The crops would need to be rotated soon, I thought; that thought replacing the ever repeating phrase and breaking me from the monotony. Winter was setting in fast and if I didn't get the wheat down fast then my life would be even harder come spring. That was a lesson I'd learned early. One of the first winters on my own, after I'd lost the cows those many moons ago. God I remember bawling for days after at the thought of being lonely once again. But one day for whatever reason that week I got wise. Realized that loneliness was nothing in the face of the rest of the world.

I dropped another seed into the ground, covering it up with a small pile of moist dirt, and then moving on to the next hole in a seemingly endless row. Of course deep down I knew it not to be, but with no end in sight it was a hard sell for my brain.

As the wind picked up I brought my hood up over my head and pulled my collar up a little further. Wasn't usually so much wind out here, especially with the trees acting as a windbreak and all, but today it was unusually violent. It picked up more and more over the next few minutes until the trees bent. Until the hood was blown from my head and the seeds ripped from my hand. I watched as the dirt I had just covered a seed with was blown away, taking the seed with it. The dirt whipped at my neck and stung my eyes until I had no choice but to duck flat on the ground.

Then, just as fast as it had started, it stopped with a suddenness that put my hair on end. What followed was complete quiet. As if the world had been sucked dry of its sounds and I would never hear anything again. I tested just to be sure, letting out a single word. "Hello?" my voice trailed off into the field. Then, as if in reply, a voice boomed from above.

“Yeah this planet will do!” I looked around for a face to connect to the noise only to find nothing. So I settled on the sky instead.

"Will do what?" I spoke up to the sky. There was a long pause before the next reply.

"...We had not realized this planet was inhabited. Scans showed quite the opposite." the voice boomed. "Are you the only life form left?"

" I suppose so. Always figured I was but with your scans saying so then I guess it must be."

"Hm. That is curious. I...we have never encountered a whole planet with just one inhabitant. You must be very resilient."

"I prefer the term resistant. But sure, think of me how you like." I leaned down and remade the hole from before, then dropped in a new seed from the ground and covered it. I continued my tasks until the voice from above formulated anything important to say, but usually they didn't

"We had planned to take this place. Use it as an outpost along the galactic highway. We would grant you a hefty payment. A spot in an inhabited zone-"

"I'm alright. Thanks" I brushed off the voice as I continued planting.

"But it's a whole planet, surely you-

"I said I'm fine." This time my voice came out more stern, more annoyed. There was work to be done.

"Have it your way then. We will say we tried." the voice trailed off from above.

"I wouldn't do what you're about to do if I were you....there. Now I tried too."

There was a quiet, electric noise as the ship above materialized closer to the ground then I'd thought it was. It warbled just above, massive and chrome, casting a shadow across my farm in its shape. It was not a disk, as I'd assumed, but rather a shape that reminded me of one of those tall buildings in the cities: long and sleek, coming almost to a point in the front. I tried to guess what would come out of it. Maybe some kinda fish thing, with gills and a helmet full of water. Or maybe a bird like I'd seen in the books, with big black wings and a huge beak.To my disappointment what came out was neither of the two. It was instead eerily human, human enough from a distance, but up close not entirely right. Its skin was restless. Its eyes too wide, and mouth empty, toothless. The two creatures looked me up and down before pulling out a small box and placing it on the ground.

"You will of course still be compensated, but we cannot allow one being to be the downfall of our plans. I think tha-" he paused and his eyes grew wide. He let out a noise like a cough, a raspy pulse of hard breath. Then another, and another until there were no longer pauses between them. The other one began looking down at his skin, which now reddened despite the sun being blocked by their ship.

"I-I...when did it get so hot?"

I had gone back to my farming and only spoke up to them between movements " It didn't. You did. It's one of the symptoms. He's got one of the other ones." the coughing one was now on the ground violently hacking up nothing but air.

"Bring us back! Bring us in!" within a blink the two beings disappeared back into the ship. There was another long silence that followed. This ship did not depart, it simply hung there in the sky. I looked back up to them, hoping they could hear me through their agony.

"I did not conquer this planet, it was conquered by something else. Did you not wonder why I was alone? Why I choose to be alone? I am not just the sole earthly survivor, I am patient zero."

With that the ship careened off towards the fields and came down sideways in a violent nosedive to the ground. A massive cloud of dust shrouded the chrome vehicle. They were not the first to offer me that proposition, and they would not be the last. It would take some time, surely more time than I had, but I would bury them like the others. I would be lonely once more.

"To be lonely is to be whole."

Power is subjective. A title placed to people that have what we want and dont have. Well you know what I have? I have real power. Objective, magical, whatever I want at my fingertips power. I mean sure, it's in the form of a bright-red reverse card from a child's game, but your mind would melt out of your ear if you saw what I could do with that slip of paper.

It started off small, I mean at first I had no idea what I had got. Played some uno with the deck and when I reversed, well, instead of reversing the order at the table it reversed the whole damn table instead. Whole thing picked itself up and we slid around and got placed in the new order. Well I grabbed the card before anyone else could and pocketed it before anyone else got wise as to what had happened.

Reversing the checks at lunch was next. I remember watching in awe as the waiter slid that red card out from the check folder and then took his wallet out. Hell, he even tipped himself, 25 percent. Generous if you ask me.

But then. Well then that's when I realized what power looks like. Standing in the street, straight on the highway, holding that flimsy bit of paper out in front of me. Meanwhile the cars crashed in piles before me, the rubble flying my way then rebounding right before it collided. Of course police showed up, were nice enough to arrest themselves in a prompt manner though.

But real power? Well....it trumps all of that. All of that is just playing around, juggling with atom bombs. Real power is surviving when you drop one.

I still remember it. I didnt have the time to react, to even think. Of course at this point the card never left my hand, but the bullet came too quick to reverse it. It split through my head as if time had stopped just for me. I guess I had made more than a few enemies by then. Public had taken to calling me a menace. One reverse and I coulda rid myself of the title, but I had grown to like it. Had a ring to it:

The Deck Deviant

The Relentless Reverser

Well after that bullet hit the titles didnt matter so much anymore. Nothing did when it went dark. In that blackness though, well that was the end of something, but it sure as hell wasn't me. No, no, I had power. And real power trumps death. Trumps all. So when death brought down that unholy instrument of many a means demise I did not flinch. I simply held up my card. Then watched as that scythe claimed its owner.

Nobody told me what came next though, I don't think anything knew. Lord knows in my many years since I had tried to reverse it countless times. Tried to die as many others tried. No such luck. Nothing to reverse, what was done was done. Well, that was until a new kid showed up. Reminded me of myself long ago. He stood tall up to me, looked me in my eyes and held up a card of his own. Red, just like mine, with a circle and a cross through it.

"Skip" he spoke. Then it all went black.

Now that? I reckon that was real power.

Thank ya! Writing with a little more comedy/goofiness in mind is something I've been working on so I'm glad it was enjoyed

Would you not if you could?

Im a big fan of the show so this is a great compliment, thanks!

Thank you!

The door beeped with that familiar ding dong that signaled another customer entering my domain. I recognized the man, Gregory he was called. He had once long ago told me to call him Greg, a sign of cordial behavior that I appreciated, yet declined.

"Hello Gregory. What a nice evening it is, here for Hot Cheeto Puffs or those sour worms you are so fond of?"

He looked up and gave me a half smile, then went back to browsing the aisle. This was unlike Gregory. No, Gregory was warm and full of liquid life. He was not only a welcomed, but an expected part of my nights. I looked over to Darla at the register to my side who failed to return my gaze. She had only been here a year, it took at least three to become so intrinsically linked that we knew the others thoughts.

Me and Jerry had that. I missed Jerry.

"Darla dear. Do you notice something peculiar about Gregory? He has not even glared at the Hot Cheeto Puffs by Frito Lay. "

Darla gave me a look up from her phone that I did not recognize. I deemed myself an expert at reading human emotion, so being unable to do so caught me off guard. Content? Apathy maybe? She replied "Why don't you go check on him then"

A great idea. Maybe Darla was not just a skin linned bag of fluids after all. I flicked back my cape revealing my nametag pinned to a bright green 7-11 shirt. Ishmael, it read, but after working here so long the nametag was only necessary to complete my clever disguise.

I made sure to take plenty of deliberate and clumsy human steps as I approached him, a practice I'd picked up on in my third year working here after a little boy pointed out now quiet my movements were. Gregory looked up upon my approach with wide eyes. The eyes of a man crying out for help no doubt.

He backed up to the drink coolers to which I followed, leaning in close so he knew I cared for him. Proximity in the human world meant kindness, a habit which I was quick to pick up on. He smelled of blue. Of that blue smoke he puffed from that strange little machine he kept on hand.

"Hey Ishmael....can I help you?"

"Shhh Gregory. Tell me what troubles you. I can see it in your eyes, and as a loyal 7-11 employee it is my job to ensure the well being of all my customers."

I could see his tongue wanted to speak, but his brain stopped him. In the argument between voice and mind he instead grew quiet. I looked back to Darla who was staring with a smirk, she gave me a reassuring thumb up.

"You can speak to Ishmael, Gregory. I am here for your troubles." I leaned in closer to prove my loyalty. If he had a stake he could kill me and I'd be none the wiser, but I trusted Gregory.

"It's just... I've been thinking about mortality ya know? I got robbed the other day and, well, what if that was it? What if they had killed me and I'd just died right there on the street."

Ah, mortality. The hardest of human concerns but most prevelant. But that second thing concerned me more. Steal? From Gregory? A loyal customer of the 7-11? Unspeakable.

His eyes seemed to flicker with brilliance and he followed "But! But uhhh well. It has made it hard to come in at night knowing those guys are still out there. Just down that road. That road right there, just hanging out on the corner of Sutton and Third. And the police won't do anything."

"Ah, say no more sweet Gregory." I pulled back away and placed a hand on his shoulder. He felt so warm that it nearly burned me. "Take your Puffed Cheetos and go. It is on me tonight."

Then with a flick of my cape I made my way to the door out. Darla still stared to me with a smirk on her face. In the window I stared backwards to Gregory, who seemed more at ease as he grabbed his snack of choice. I called out to my loyal, yet often apathetic companion, "Darla. Do you mind manning the registers? I am going on break. Oh, and remind me to get a new umbrella. You know how the moonlight hurts my skin."

As I walked out into that dark and warm night I felt at home, displaying my squared nametag with pride. And as I did I knew: I am Ishmael, loyal 7-11 employee of fifty-four years, valued member of my community for even longer, and a vampire who cares dearly for his customers.