《The Humble Divine [hiatus]》


 #0: Humble Beginnings

    A dim led light illuminated a nominally small american abode. There was a computer sitting in a corner, adjacent to a window, where a young man sat. He was prattling about with his mouse and keyboard seemingly playing a game.


    "Fuck," the young man shouted. The dim screen barely sufficing to give vision of his pale, pasty, face, "demoted again."


    He was playing one of the most prominent online video games, leage of legends, sadly attempting to climb a ranked ladder. To him, the thrill of improvement was less than the potential for easy money if he could figure out a training regiment to improve quickly. He figured if he could ''break the system'' and make climbing easy, he could have a successful youtube channel. Unfortunately, he was a bit late and very poor at the game.


    Pushing himself from the desk, right as the first light of dawn, the young man lept into bed. His frame was large enough that the old american twin bed didn''t suffice to hold his feed. Always slept at a diagonal on the bed, maximising his space, as the bed was rectangular. He realized it would help him to protect his ankles from arthritis.


    ==


    Morning came like usual for Dandy. He rubbed his tangled hair with his hands, flakes of white raining on his dingy sheets, before looking at an alarm clock near the computer screen he stared at frequently.


    "Monday''s come, and works ariund the corner," he said with a sigh.


    His home was a small studio apartment, luckily with the restroom enclosed like a closet, without a bath or shower. His ablutions consisted of wishing his hair in the sink, wetting a towel to scrub his body with, and cleaning uo the mess afterwards. He looked to a stand up mirror across from the desk where his computer lay. His frame was like an cross between an ectomorph and a mesomorph. Generally, he was out of shape. Pockmarked scars stained his back from acne that was left untreated, a consequence of his poor hygiene. He relished the sight of his maligned body and smiled. His solace was that he was alive.


    Washing, admiring, and clothing himself took a little less than 30 minutes. An homage to his vanity as clothing himself took less than three minutes and his bath took twelve. He exitted his room in a tan hoodie, a quality tan hoodie at that, black athletic capri joggers from God knows where, tan crew socks that had diamond patterns on the sides, and custom leather shoes that looked like sperries. On his face rested a versace frame he kept from his youth that highlighted his golden green eyes.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    "Ready," he said, preparing to open his door.


    As he reached for the knob, a strange sense of alarm struck him. His calm facade faded and his mouth parched. He muttered a mantra to push the feeling away and turned the lock. A softschlack resonated as the door became free. He opened the door and peered into the hallway.


    It was quiet. He looked around quizzically at the mute world out of his room. He thought back to the night before. A loud commotion occurred outside. Several people in game said weird shit was happening. He didn''t belive it. Looking at the ground, he had to believe.


    "Fuck," he hoarsely uttered before retreating into his room. He had forgotten to lock the door in his pabic. What he say severely shook him. His pulils dialated, his throat clentched, his body trembled, but he did not speak anymore. He retreated until he tripped over a line of shoes he kept at the foot of his bed. He continued retreating until he was underneath his computer.


    A hissing scrape came from his door as something pressed on it. Dandy bit his bottom lip in an attempt to stifle a scream. A haggard rasping breath was exhaled by what ever was on the door. The young man had pressed himself so far into the corner beneath his desk that it appeared that he wanted to meld into the wall.


    Squelch. Squish. Swish.


    Sloppy wet foot steps reverberated throughout the 12 foot by 10 foot room.Squelch. squish. The pacing stopped. A rancid and sickly stench wafted towards Dandy. He could hear something sniffling. He didn''t know if it was his stifled cries or the creatures, but he hoped it was a dream. He closed his eyes and waited, breath abated, heart beating so fast that it felt like one continuous thrum, and body stilling as if he was dying. In the moment where his conscious was thin, he felt a dreaded sensation.


    Thick globules of slime fell off the beings mucosa onto the ground infront of him. A putrid, blood covered hand pressed down infront of him, and a body lowered slowly. The neck was badly torn, hanging on by a few tendrils, and the exposed trachea was emitting a steady gurgle. The head, cocked back on a barely intact spinal cord, lolled to the side. In the face of extreme dread, clarity can be felt, a unified struggle to survive or succumb.


    "Z-z-Zombie!"


    A blood curtling screech that signaled the end of a young man called the attention of all the undeads hands. Again, those who are late are humbled. For him, It was too late.

 #1: Recollection

    A hum. Death is like a sad, low, hum that drones through your mind. Senseless and without direction. It looms around you like the mortitions blanket, a curtain that hides you from the face of life, and presents a veil of obscure hope. It makes you think, what if when I die, it''s pretty. It''s not pretty. Nature isn''t pretty. Life isn''t pretty. It''s a mad struggle that people have become unaccustomed to. A point of primitive behavior that, if people banded together to resolve, could have been eradicated with hard work. Unfortunately, the world has never been polarized, catalyzed, to fight for humanity rather than human self interest.


    ==


    Somewhere far away from the Origin. In a classroom, early in the day, a boy with matted hair lay with his head down. His drool coated a piece of paper to the point where what was written was unsalvageable. The remainder of the class were having side discussions under hushed tones or into what ever vice they could find the carve the dull lesson out if the foreground of their attention. A teacher stood at the head of the class, middle aged with a few strands of hair on his balding scalp, while writing something ''important'' on the board.


    "Class," he questioned in a tone that half stated his intention before turning around to a disinterested medley of students. "Do you know the reason this recent biological research touches on physics?"


    None of the students responded. This professor had a nickname, "Mr. Conspirator", or "Sir Loch Ness the 3rd". He was british, a hard find for young American students to appreciate, and old. Needless to say anything about his looks and gender.


    "It''s evolution, class," he started again, "the revolution of evolution." His voice was growing more and more animated as he talked.


    "Haven''t you ever wondered what it would be like to have gene strengthening and rejuvenation? No more cerebral palsy, dementia, cancer, paralysis, kidney failure, obesity. It''s almost too good to be true."


    "It is too good to be true," a half asleep voice came from the class. The teacher, on tenterhooks of his own "revelations", rapidly deflated.


    "What? This research is 60 percent accurate currently, and-"


    "And it will be monetized, capitalized, and militarized before it will benefit us. Like all good things before it sir. Let alone the fact that this cellular ''language'' is very brand new and being rushed into importance by our lovely king the president, these studies came from a loon that murdered twenty nine people in a small town in the name of his god."If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The boy with matted hair looked up with furrowed brows. If Dandy were alive, he''d be a spitting image of him. The boy seemed to have fire in his eyes as he bore holes in the swollen face of the enraged teacher.


    "Donovan, how dare you," the teacher began a rant that didnt seem to start. "How dare you."


    Donovan, satisfied with the response, went back to sleep. The other students looked at the boy as and enigma. Four years ago he had lost his family to an incident that received world wide infamy. A underground following called the Darkist made scientific upheavals that bordered magic. The followers doped themselves with a biological compound that would spread to anyone that came in open contact with their bodily fluid. Several towns were decimated as a result. His family included. The other students didn''t talk to Donovan after his first day in school. He had gone ballistic when another boy asked him how the origin event felt. Needless to say, the other boy was nearly placed in a body bag. As a survivor, Donovan was protected.


    Some say the child was beaten too savagely for a regular boy to have done. They attributed Donovans aggression to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. A few psychologist attempted to analyze him, but the results revealed that Donovan may have experienced psychosis. They claimed, "he''s normal but in shock. I haven''t the slightest idea what could have caused this. In my opinion i would sedate him." Donovan refused medication and took test to prove his cognizance.


    In Donovans words, "The world is not as you all are perceiving it to be."


    The teacher rambled on after a few moments of resignation. He prattled about cellular division and biological life sciences. No one in the class made any apt statements after Donovan.


    A boy that sat alongside Donovan would watch him religiously. Donovan was aware, but didn''t care. The boy inched in closer and asked, "Why do you write two words at once with both hands? It''s weird. And you alternate between left and right hand. I tried at home and couldn''t do it."


    Donovan perked at the boys question. He turned his rested head and gazed at the boy. The other finally noticed that Donovan had golden eyes that seemed to reflect his soul.


    "What''s your name?" Donovan asked.


    The boy was shocked. He looked up, almost as if he was attempting to recollect his own name, and asked, "Do you really not know my name?"


    There was hurt in the boys voice, but Donovan did not make a habit out of lying.


    "I don''t know because i didn''t want to know. Now i want to know."


    "I''m Jeremy. But my friends call me Myah (my ah). I''ve been your deskmate for the past four years."


    Donovan furrowed his brow, thinking back. His golden eyes fluttered like a hummingbirds wings. Jeremy, half dazed by watching, gasped a bit. He realized he had not been breathing. The gasp awoke Donovan from his trance.


    "Yes," Donovan said softly, "there was a Jeremy that sat next to me."


    Jeremy looked at Donovan dumbly before breaking into a cold sweat. While he looked into Donovans eyes his mind soared into a different world. He saw many, tragic, things. He regretted looking at Donovan and regretted even more becoming acquainted with him.


    "Don''t worry," Donovan said, "you will survive. I just did a recollection and it seems your destiny is as strong as mine."

 #2: Between 0 and 2 and 3 and 4...

    The bell rung with Myah stuck in a stupor. His jaw was open as he had no doubt in the severity of Donovans claims. The imagez he saw were of bodies exploding into mists of blood, people gorging on others, and others bathed in swarthes of light like halos around angels.


    "What... the fuck was that," he hissed. Looking up, he realized disappearing act. Looking around he noticed everyone had left class. There was a note on his desk with girly handwriting. It read, "Jeremy, I''ll be waiting on you at the gate. You were day dreaming again, and I didn''t want to interrupt you."


    Jeremy blankly stared at the note, feeling his head splitting, before shivering as if a ghastly wind brushed him.


    "What the hell am I thinking?" The boy asked himself as he packed his desk. He looked excited, confused, and fearful as he ran to the gate. "What the hell..."


    ==


    Sarah stood at the gate with her bag in her hands. Her back rested on the brick column where the wrought iron was connected. She knew that if Jeremy didn''t leave school soon he''d face detention until the teachers left. St. Damien''s School of Gifted and Gentry did not take kindly to tardiness, entering and leaving. As she felt the timed gears on the gate closing, she heard a sliding scuff of shoes near her. A huffing and panicked voice rang out, "sorry to make you wait." Sarah coolly turned towards Jeremy and stared him in his face. His blonde eyebrows dripped with sweat that rolled off his damp blond locks. She looked at his olive green eyes with rising anger. ''Why is he so carefree'', she thought. Pouting, she turned and stomped off.


    "SoRry To MAkE yoU WaiT!" She mocked.


    Jeremy laughed. He knew better than to start arguing with a woman that was right. He cajoled, "I just got... lost in thought."


    Sarah stopped, he didnt. He bumped into her back, smelling the perfume of her body wafting off her brown hair, and entered a daze.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    "What were you thinking about?" Sarah''s favorite thing about Jeremy was his ideas.


    "I- I don''t remember." His eyes alighted Sarah to the truth. She was disappointed.


    She huffed, "Oh, fine."


    Jeremy watched as Sarah stormed off again. Before he could attempt to catch up, she turned around and blew a raspberry at him.


    "You won''t remember the next time you''ll get to, you know, with me after this."


    Jeremy was aghast. He hurried to catch up to Sarah. Her young figure firmly planted in his eyes. As they rounded the corner, nearing the bus stop, they both paused.


    Strange.


    There were no students in the street, around the benches, or in the park adjacent to the bus stop. A commotion could be heard in the distance.


    "Wait here," Jeremy demanded.


    Sarah shook her head and doe eyed him. "Sorry, not sorry. No can do."


    Jeremy scowled, recalling a vague sensation that he''d experienced this before. The face he made was colder than the artic. His olive brown eyes looked slightly murderous.


    Sarah looked into his eyes, silently immersed in a dense pressure, before relenting.


    She bitterly said, "Fine!"


    Jeremy woke from his stupor. He hugged her suddenly and apologized.


    "Sorry, I don''t know what''s wrong with me. Ever since I-"


    Kyaa!


    A blood chilling screech interupted his train of thought. He quickly brushed aside his conversation with Sarah. He ran around three corners, nearing a cross section he and Sarah froliced past, and froze.


    A car hit a body. It was badly mangled. The body had pale pastey skin. A bloodied eye with a gold iros limply hung out of the socket. Matted hair stressed the top of the body''s hair. It was Donovan.


    "Fuck!"


    A disgruntled car owner said, lookinh at the aftermath of his reckless deiving. "Fuck!"


    Jeremy quickly approached the gorey scene. He was drawn to the promise that Donovan gave him.


    "You won''t die. You have a strong destiny like me."


    As he approached Donovan, Donovans body twitched. Jeremy felt as if the body was reacting to him. Then he saw it. Donovan was smiling. Donovan, whose legs had bones splintered from his flesh, arms rended in strange positions, and severe internal injuries was smiling. At him.


    Wheeze. Wheeze.


    Donovan was conscious. And alive.


    "A- are you with me," Jeremy asked.


    Donovan continued smiling. A rasping voice echoed like a sound from hell.


    "There is not much time. Der Kist be opened in my death. With my life the darkist has seen light. This is my greatest gift. This is Pandoras treasure. Where most are between 0 and 2. The few will be 3 and 4."

 #3: Boom

    A fraction of a second. The mind can''t process the information given in a fraction of a second, but instinct does. Like the prey being watched by a predator, Jeremy became alert. Instinct. Humanity had driven this spiritual aspect away, refusing to commune with it, in order to build society. Jeremy realized in his subconscious, ever since he''d had contact with Donovan, he was more aware. He felt like a deer in the headlights. Suddenly those images he''d seen revealed their ugly heads. In a fraction of a second, Jeremy engraved the brutality he''d seen in his mind. That sinking feeling that those scenes would save him the trouble of learning something knew was like a tree deeply rooted in his spirit. His mind could not resist.


    Rocketing backwards, Jeremy didn''t dare to linger near Donovan. A haunting laugh followed him as he retreated. Donovan, more than a foot in the grave, seemed to have an inhuman vitality.


    "How the fuck is he alive?" Jeremy asked himself a little louder than he intended.


    Blaring sirens came from a distant corner of the city. They were rapidly approaching the mess. Soon the damaged car and the mangled body would be moved. More and more people swarmed to the location. Donovans laughs were gaining more strength. The most unnerving thing was that Donovan appeared to be slowly mending himself in Jeremy''s eyes. Jeremy couldn''t help but feel that Donovan truly, truly, was a monster.


    "Why," he asked with dialated pupils. "Why won''t he fucking die?!"


    His shriek drew the crowds attention. Scornful eyes reproached his lack of tact. Jeremy thrushed his way through the gawking few. A squeamish bunch also left with him using his retreat as an excuse. Jeremy didn''t pay them much mind. In the back of the crowd, Sarah stood with her mouth agape. Jeremy approached her. When he attempted to grab her arm to go somewhere else, she violently retreated.


    "Y-you''re horrible," she stammered.


    Jeremy, feeling more emotional than normal, growled, "What?"


    "You said you wanted him to die. You said he was better off dead! He''s alive by a miracle and you crused him. You''re a monster."


    A frantic woman was no more logical than a frantic man. Jeremy easily grew disgusted. His spirit told him that Sarah was weak. His body reeled in response. Severe psychological trauma can cause someone to do more than retch. Unfortunately for Jeremy, he was a slim few whose mind attempted to protect him by shutting down.


    ==


    Dark mist swirled into a cavern of light. The light met the mist and highlighted it with a silver sheen. The radiance rotated until it flowed into a pulsating seed. The seed thumped with a lub dub much like a heart. The sound was deep and sonorous like a war drum. Along with the sound was a fragrance. It was tempting and delicious, like roast meat or ripe fruit. The combination of cleanliness and grease spread unease. What appeared to be the sky alternated between every color imaginable. The colors spiralled and swirled, occasionally making geometric and organic shapes. Eventually, Jeremy''s face formed. The dark mists came from his nose. The silver lights appeared in his conscious. It nurtured his heart. His heart began to beat more strongly. With a jolt, he woke.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ==


    "Doctor," a nasally voice rang in Jeremy''s still throbbing head. "The patient has come to."


    "Prepare to move patient in the MRI queue. Also schedule a CAT scan for me."


    The sound of a pen scribbling seemed ad if it wrote on Jeremy''s ear drum.


    "Jeremy," the second voice rang out closer than necessary, "can you understand me?"


    Jeremy scrunched his eyebrows as an invasive bright light shined on him. ''What the fuck,'' he thought muddled. ''Am I in a hospital?''


    "Y-yes," he spoke through a parched throat. "Water."


    "Jeremy," the doctors voice sounded again. "You''ve been unconscious for two days."


    Jeremy shook in his bed. He had attempted to get up, but noticed he was restrained.


    "Jeremy," the doctor continued in that same pacifying and annoying voice. "What I''m going to tell you may shock you. You''ve been implicated in a new terrorist attack."


    Jeremy turned his head from side to side. He wanted to deny the claims more fervently, but he felt his strength being sapped from him.


    "It''s the Darkist," the doctor bluntly spoke. "They orchestrated an attack. The driver, the woman, the boy, Donovan, were all a part of this dreadful act."


    Jeremy laughed, "So?"


    The doctor leaned in closer. Jeremy''s eyes were still out of focus as he attempted to look around. He could feel thd doctors breath on his face.


    "So you''ve been altered by them," the doctor paused. "Irreversibly."


    "How," Jeremy howled. "How?!"


    The doctor sighed. The rustle of hair being frazzled filled the room. Then, the doctor chuckled.


    "That, for the life of me, is what I want you to tell us."


    ==


    Bang!


    The fuzz over Jeremy''s eyes shattered. He looked around to notice he had blanked in the street. What had felt like days was nothing but a figment of his imagination. He recalled the conversation that the doctor had. He looked around to see what changed. The people still crowded, more spread out, and Donovan looked listlessly at him with those golden eyes. The strange feeling was gone. A serenity that was uncommon and uncomfortable washed over Jeremy. He dodgedly cast his gaze at the ambulance that appeared. He then remembered Sarah. She had stormed off and left him with a slap on his cheek. He felt the sting of her hand first, then the sting of his heart breaking. Tears fell down the poor boys face. He looked at Donovan with mixed emotion. Hate. Anger. Pity.


    ''Fate,'' scoffed Jeremy internally. ''Destiny and fate are for fools.''


    As he attempted to rush away from the scene, Donovans body began to swell. The injuries he sustained rapidly healed. The body became gargantuan ans green. Dense patches of skin turned bronze like armor atop elephantitis. The creepy smile still hung on his face.


    The Emergency Medical Staff that had approached him all fell slackjawed at the display.


    "D-d-darkist is back," someone in the crowd exclaimed.


    Like a teleprompted signal, Donovans body rapidly englarged with the exclamation. His skin burst and fine jets of bloody mists sprayed on the crowd. Those touched by the mist all screamed and fell to the ground covered in boils and blisters. As the noise reached its climax a deafening explosion occurred.


    Hundreds of thousands of chunks of human flesh spread across the block. No one could escape being drenched in a fine mist of blood and gore.


    At the same time world wide an announcement was made admist the sound of canons firing.


    "Divine might begets divine migit. Humility begets humility. The humbled are divine. The divine have been humbled. Pandora, we have opened the box. Enjoy the game."


    Boom!


    The final culminating boom shattered hundreds of windows. It was like a pulse was released on the cityscape. All electronics failed. All cars stopped working. Planes fell from the sky. As people looked up, to their dismay, the once blue expanse had been stained red.


    A rift appeared like an aurora. It snaked across the sky. If one followed the undulations of the rifts opening and closing, they would notice the twists and turns alternated writing, "Hell hath no wrath," in every language imaginable. Glittering motes of light cascaded down from the broken expanse. The lively display resembled cinematics from rarely well crafted games.

 4: Swamped

    "Human conscious is frail, but the spirit is strong. It is only as weak as you deign it to be." - author unknown


    ==


    Splat!


    The gore covered Jeremy. An intense urge to vomit rose from the back of his throat, uvula undulating, stomach churning with a lurch. Sounds of retching indicated that the other members of the crowd were as confused and panicked as he was. He looked, a little wildly, around. His mind told him to run, but his adolescent heart still held Sarah dear.


    ''Leave her!'' Something hissed at him from within. "Fuck!" He resisted. He needed something to protect him from the self centered desires that made him no different than the Darkist. "She is right."


    He slapped the slime, yuck, and grime off his face. Something was nagging him, more discretely than his instinct, that he should wash himself before more of the blood contaminates soaked into his skin.


    "FUCK!" He raged as if that was the only word he remembered.I''ll look for her after cleaning most of this off.


    A woman next to Jeremy was wailing about how gross she felt. Her cries attracted his attention. She was fairly pretty for a gore covered knit, but but his attention was only at her skin. A dark splotch was spreading across her near exposed breast. The magnificent D''s looked to be withering.


    Craze. That was the only thing left in Jeremy''s heart.I need to wash this shit off of me!


    He bobbed up and down attempting to look around the motley crew of people vomiting and crying. In the distance, three blocks away, he noticed a fire hydrant. Peering beyond the fire hydrant, Jeremy recognized the olde first fire house. He hoped the facilities would be available.


    Rushing with great enthusiasm, Jeremy fogged himself quickly. He felt his energy drawing through his skin like the sun was tanning his muscles. He felt everything around him become more narrowed. A hunger bore through his mind like an earth worm in the ground.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Eat!


    It called to him. That voice that he couldn''t hear, different from his instinct, the one that told him to clean himself, it was now telling him to eat. Eat anything.


    Jeremy ignored the burn. He felt like the back of his head was exploding. He finally reached the steps of the fire house.


    Coincidence


    The shower room was down stairs near the back wall. It was labeled as so. It was near an old timey fire truck with a beige hose. He looked at the distance and thought about his screaming muscles. The hunger urged him again.


    Eat!


    "No," Jeremy hoarsely replied. He rushed to the side of the Firetruck, unlatched the safety harness for the house, pulling vigorously down. The sound of the hose coming undone from its harness was like the sound of a book bag being continuously unzipped.


    EAT! Eat them all!


    The voice was becoming more coherent and sinister. The burning became less clear, a shadow had brushed behind him, he was slightly relieved of the pangs of hunger.


    "Ahh," Jeremy moaned with pleasure.


    Dink!


    The hose was unwound.


    COINCIDENCE


    Jeremy spun the crank shaft on the side of the fire truck. It was fairly self explanatory that which ever direction he turned it and moved would turn the hose on.


    A lub dub of noise glopped out of the house with orange rust and murk. Jeremy paid no attention to the unsanitary water. He was more urgently aware of the affect of the blood and guts on his direct skin.


    He cleaned himself, not nearly as decent enough as he was used to, but good enough that the burning completely stopped. He felt a dull tingle in his nerve receptors as he rubbed his hands over his body, shivering. His skin looked like a baked prawn. His hair was now a dark, dark, brown. He saw himself in a puddled.


    The once cross country, lean and toned, figure he was proud of was a husk of its former glory.


    "I nearly looked like skin and bones." The light from a window above cut across his eyes. He stared in the reflection with abject horror. His once green eyes now had a gold ring around the pupil.


    "What the fuck," he stammered before hearing shrieks in the street. Peering out of the opened front of the fire station, Jeremy witnessed the aftermath of those that did not clean.


    People, skin and bones, frantically running towards other less skinny people, swamping them in a craze, while assaulting them with boney appendages.


    Jeremy blinked. If he could see his eyes he would see the gold ring surrounding his pupils shrank into the inside of the retina.


    Round 1: Begin

 Small Hiatus

    Hey all,


    I''m in the middle of a move right now. Actually, I''m moving from one state to the other. My move is planned tomorrow and I''m unsure when my internet will be up. As my next chapter planned does involve tables, the little blue screens as some like to call them, I feel I need to type using my keyboard for this draft. I am sorry for the wait. Hopefully, this cliff hanger will be a very fond memory in the future.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Thanks for the patience!


    Sincerely,


    TheFugliest