This is "Fine" (Mother 3)

[2BorNotTooBe_2AForever]

Once upon a time, there was a boy who loved to play with dragos.

His name is XXXXX.

His favorite food is XXXXXXX.

His favorite thing is XXXX.

He lived with his parents, brother, and their dog. They lived in a village in the middle of nowhere. He was a rambunctious scamp that wore his heart on his sleeve. He loved to play as normal boys do, he would run in the fields, adventure in the woods, swim in rivers and fight. His brother follows him wherever he goes, his Dad sighs at his antics and his Mom dotes on him whenever she can. It was a quiet life, but a happy one.

"Wah-ha-ha! Your ram attacks won't work on me!" The boy laughs at his brother, hiding his stumble.

They were in a plateau, a place where the dragos nest. Huge dinosaurs that towered over men, yet despite their size were gentle giants that wouldn't hurt a fly, except when it comes to their calves. He was roughhousing, teaching his brother the ramming technique. Mostly towards the dragos.

His brother wasn't deterred and rammed into him again receiving the same reaction. That almost got the boy, he barely slipped, he wondered if his brother would do it again then his worries were not when he rammed into their grandpa.

The old man laughs too. Frustrated, his brother tackles into the drago and despite its size and strength the giant lizard goes down, maybe a little too dramatically but the boy didn't care, his brother didn't seem to notice.

His brother tackled the drago again. The giant lizard took an exaggerated twirl before crashing onto its back. That was a little too on the nose, the boy thought.

His brother stepped back, clearing space for another charge, when—

"Hey! Move out of the way!"

Everyone turned. The speaker was a cockroach—no, more specifically, a mole cricket.

The bug scurried forward, hopping aggressively to face the fallen drago. The dinosaur lowered defensively, shifting to shield its calf.

"Make way for me! The Great Mole Cricket can't sit idly by while someone is play-fighting on my turf!" the bug yelled, shaking a tiny fist.

The boy, his brother, and their grandpa stared, utterly dumbfounded.

"I'm gonna wipe the floor with all of you!" The creature launched itself at the boy.

"Ahh!" the boy yelled as the small thing smacked his cheek. Despite its size, it packed a punch.

"XXXXX!" his brother yelped, swatting the mole cricket from the air. It cried out as it hit the dirt.

"What is that!?" the boy shouted, pointing. "I didn't know they could talk! I thought only frogs could do that!?"

"I can do more than just talk!" the bug shrieked, already gathering itself for another jump. Before it could, the boy stomped on it. Once, twice, three times, then five more for good measure.

"XXXXX…" his brother whined, pouting.

"What? It's just a bug."

"You-augh…. You think that's enough to stop me!" the tiny cricket hissed, its body quivering as it reformed from a mushy pulp. "I am the great and terrible Mole Cricket! Yes, my name is Mole L. Cricket! I am so powerful they named my entire species after me!"

"Really?" His brother lifted a skeptical brow.

"That is what I choose to believe! So it must be true!"

The boy sighed in exasperation.

"You can't defeat me! Nukes can't defeat me! And soon the entire world—as in world I mean this one plateau—will see it! Ha! Even those in the Mole Cricket stadium will see it! And soon the whole Bug Olympics will!"

"Huh. I've never met a cricket with so much hot air before…" Their grandpa muttered, crossing his arms.

"I heard that, old man!" the cricket screeched, pointing a trembling leg. "You're next!"

The bug pounced and the boy smacked it out of the air, sending it ricocheting off a rock before it flopped into the dirt.

Hope it stays down this time, he thought.

It did not. The cricket channeled all its dreams, its hopes, its beliefs. To be precise, it didn't believe in itself, but in the ego that believed in it—a complete narcissist that had successfully gaslit itself into power. But hey, if it works, it works.

"You... will... NEVER WIN!" the cricket screamed, tapping into a newfound power deep within. It channeled its strength, filling its limbs with psychic might. Its tiny hands glowed with a brilliant, dangerous light as it took aim.

"FACE MY WRATH! PK—"

The boy stomped on it. Then his brother joined in. Then their grandpa. Over and over and over, until the spot where it stood was nothing but a shallow hole in the ground.

"Uuuggghh..." the bug moaned from the crater. "I can still—"

*THUMP*

The drago, finally had enough, slammed its heavy foot down, then walked away with its calf, utterly unbothered.

"Ahhhhh. Uncle... Uncle..." the bug whimpered, slowly peeling itself out of the huge paw print. Its body was completely flattened, its limbs dragging through the dirt. "Mercy... Please..."

The boy glared. His brother frowned.

The bug began a pathetic, hobbled retreat, its injured body too broken to scurry.

"I see now the error of my ways," it croaked. "You two have spine after all. I'd like to train you personally sometime. Next time we meet... bro."

"Not counting on it," the boy huffed.

"I see then..." It was already halfway to the grass. Then, surprisingly, it snapped upright, suddenly full of energy. "UNTIL NEXT TIME, SUCKERS! HAHAHA-HAHAHA-HAHA—"

*SQUASH*

Their Mom walked slowly towards them, looking down at her sandal.

"I think I stepped on a cockroach," she said with a mild frown. "Hope it's all right..."

The boys and their grandpa said nothing.

"Lunch is ready everyone." She smiles, and the boy's heart flutters. "I've made your favorite. XXXXXXX."

"Ooh! Lunch, lunch! XXXXXXX!" The boy yelled as he ran back to the house with his brother in tow.

The meal was a hearty one. The boy was quick to get seconds, while his brother was still finishing his first plate. He'd always been a big eater, a trait inherited from his Dad. In truth, the boy took after his Dad in many ways, but this didn't translate to favoritism—if anything, the opposite was true. While many assumed his little brother was closer to Mom, in the boy's eyes it was different. He loved his Dad deeply, but nine times out of ten, he would choose his Mom. After all, parents aren't allowed to have favorites, but children play by a different set of rules.

"Slow down, XXXXX, save some for the rest of us," his grandpa cheered, raising his cup of joe.

"Really, Dad? I thought you were cutting back on the caffeine?" His Mom furrowed her brow, making a face the boy knew all too well.

"Ahhh, I'm not that old! Besides, you've got to live a little," Grandpa winked.

"Done," his brother announced with a burp, already reaching for another helping.

"XXXXX, pass the XXXXXXX. And don't take too much… Honestly," his mom said, shaking her head.

"Liven up!" Grandpa playfully nudged her shoulder. "They're growing boys!"

"It's the growing part that bothers me. They can't eat XXXXXXX every day; it'll stunt their growth... They need more greens in their diet."

A shared dread passed between the boy and his brother, and despite their efforts to hide it, their faces gave them away.

"Then why do you keep making them?"

His mom sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I just can't say no to those eyes… Hmmm. Alright, starting tomorrow once we get home, it's greens for a week." She pumped her fist.

"Mom!" the boy yelled, his mouth still full.

"I'm putting my foot down. I'm no hypocrite—your Dad and I will do it, too! We have to set a good example for you kids."

Their grandpa snickered, perhaps relieved he was exempt. It's going to take a lot of whining to change her mind, the boy thought, already planning the pleas and pouts he would deploy. The adults continued talking, their voices slowly blending into the background.

The boy grumbled, pushing his food around his plate. He watched his brother, who was still chewing happily, without a care in the world.

"Do we have to go back today?" the boy muttered.

His mom's head snapped up. "What?... Don't you miss Dad?"

"I do… but… I wasn't done playing with the drago's."

"You played with them yesterday," she countered.

"I didn't even get to ride one! It's that stupid mole cricket's fault!" He banged the table, making his brother jump.

"We don't use that word in anger," his mom said sharply.

"But there's nothing to do at home."

"What about your friends?"

The boy looked away, whispering offhandedly to his brother, "Drago's are way cooler."

His Mom opened her mouth to reply, but Grandpa cut in. "Haha! Well said! That's why I live up here. What's the harm in one more day?"

"Dad…" she hummed, a warning in her voice.

"The roads are safe. You could leave anytime; the worst you'd face is a cranky mole cricket." He nudged his brother's chair. "I bet even you could make the trip alone."

"Dad!"

His brother blushed, but the boy seized the opportunity. "Can we, Mom? Please?" he begged, clasping his hands together.

His mom fixed him with a serious look, and he immediately backed down, slumping in his chair.

"We're leaving as soon as this meal is over. We need to get home before dark." She folded her hands on the table, her tone leaving no room for argument. The boy knew this mood well; he couldn't convince her when she was like this.

She stood and walked outside. The boy knew he had pushed his luck—one more misstep and he'd be grounded for sure. Still, some things in this world were worth the risk. When no one was looking, he slipped an extra XXXXXXX into his pocket.

If they're going back home today, he wants at least one final hurrah. He's sure his Mom would appreciate it.

 

[2BorNotTooBe_2AForever]

Once upon a time, a corpse was brought back to life.

The corpse's name was?…

Its favorite food was?…

Its favorite thing was…

Wah-what?

The corpse awoke in a cold place—metal, metal everywhere. People surrounded it, studying, whispering, their faces masks of curiosity and fear. They recoiled when its eyes opened.

What's going on?... Where am I?

It tried to move, but the restraints bit into its flesh. The air was thick with the hum of machines and muffled voices. Then came the shouting.

It didn't understand—until...

"RRAAAAHHH!"

Its first words were screams. Thousands of volts surged through its body, searing every nerve, setting every cell ablaze. Pain consumed it—endless, eternal—until, all at once, it stopped.

The corpse whimpered and wept.

"Again," said one of the scientists.

"RUUURAAAHHH!" Its eyes bulged, its throat tore itself raw, and still the lightning burned.

"Again."

"Mmm…aahhh…" It could barely make a sound now.

"Again. Again. Again. Again~"

Stop! Please… make it stop! The corpse cried, though no words escaped.

Its vision flickered—one moment, the sterile lab; the next, a field of sunflowers. On and off, life and death, the corpse drifted between worlds, clinging to both and belonging to neither.

"We need more stress. Raise the voltage."

A new pain, sharper than anything before, tore through it. The lightning touched its heart, danced in its brain, split its spine apart one vertebra at a time.

Please stop! I'll do anything!

"It's almost there. Just a little more," the scientist barked.

Please… the corpse begged, voice lost beneath the hum of the machines.

"In three… two… one."

"WWRRRAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

Its mind went white. Then the world followed.

A blinding light devoured the lab. Metal screamed as walls buckled and equipment flew like shrapnel. The scientists were no more—only blackened silhouettes etched into the floor, their shadows the last proof they'd ever lived.

The corpse hovered in the air for a moment before collapsing onto the floor. Its naked body was riddled with snapped wires that clung to its skin like veins of metal. One, longer than the rest, trailed from the base of its skull, twitching faintly.

For a long while, it didn't move. Then its body began to tremble—small, pitiful spasms that grew into motion. It crawled toward the wall, dragging itself inch by inch, and tried to stand using its only arm.

It was cold, and everything hurt. The corpse pressed itself against the wall and cried. It didn't understand—couldn't. It wanted to believe this was a dream, a nightmare it could still wake from. It wanted to go home. It shouldn't be here.

The doors burst open. Two pig-headed men in steel armor stormed in, guns raised. Their eyes were dark and inhuman.

They shouted something, but the corpse couldn't hear—the world was still ringing.

A gun went off. The shot cracked inches from its face, and the corpse dropped to the ground, trembling. The soldiers closed in.

"G–get… get a-away from me!" it stammered, hiccupping through its fear.

One of them seized its arm and nearly tore it from its socket. The corpse howled.

"Get away! Don't… Don't touch me!"

A pulse of unseen force exploded outward. The pig men were hurled into the walls like ragdolls, metal shrieking as they hit. Energy surged around the corpse, warping the air itself.

The soldiers opened fire. Bullets sparked and ricocheted through the lab, flashing like fireflies. The corpse was terrified—it had never seen weapons like these before.

A bullet struck just beneath its ribs. The pain was white-hot.

"Stop! Stop!" it shouted, pointing instinctively.

The pig men ignited. They didn't even have time to scream before they turned to ash.

Silence fell.

The corpse trembled, clutching its wound. Tears streamed down its face as it slid down the wall, sobbing in the flickering light of the ruined lab.

The corpse prayed to God it couldn't be true. But this pain, it felt so real, it wasn't a dream. It forced itself up, muttering nonsense. Using the wall to anchor itself to the door. It needed to get away, it needed to go home. To go back to its family.

Where are they?

It desperately looks around, nothing is familiar. It shoved the door open and stumbled into the hallway.

Red lights pulsed overhead, casting everything in a hellish glow. Sirens blared through the dark, each one hammering its fragile mind. The facility was alive with chaos, and every sound made the corpse flinch.

It ran. It didn't know where—it just needed to escape.

It could hear more voices in the distance.

"This way!" a pig man's voice echoed down the hallway. The corpse flinched, instinct overriding thought, and bolted into the shadows. Footsteps multiplied behind it—dozens of them, closing in fast.

It pressed itself against the wall, trying to disappear into the dark, but it knew it couldn't hide for long. At the next intersection, it waited. One… two… three pig men passed—then it ran the other way.

The only sound was the slap of its bare feet against the cold floor. The entire base was sterile—grey walls, grey floors, grey air. The lights ran in pale strips along the walls, leaving the ground in half-darkness. It made seeing both easier and harder.

The corpse didn't know where it was going. It didn't even know where it was. All it knew was fear.

It reached a clearing and hesitated, glancing both ways before stepping out of the shadows.

"There it is!" a pig man shouted from the end of the hall, his voice echoing through the corridor.

The corpse bolted. Footsteps thundered behind it—more and more with every second. It ran as fast as it could, but it was still a child. There was no hope of outrunning trained men.

One of them caught it by the head and slammed it to the ground. The impact knocked the breath from its lungs. It thrashed and kicked, flailing its one arm, but they seized it by the wrist and pinned it down.

"Please! I wanna go home!" it cried, tears spilling down its face.

The pig men didn't listen. They dragged it across the floor, back toward the lab—the lightning—the pain. It knew where this was going.

"No! No, no, please!" it sobbed.

They didn't waver.

"Please! I don't want to die!"

Still, they didn't stop.

"I don't wanna die!" The words came out as a shriek. "I don't wanna—I don't wanna… Die… die… DIE!"

Flames erupted from its body, consuming the hallway in a roar of heat and light. The pig men screamed like the animals they resembled, their voices cut short as they burned.

When it was over, only ash remained.

The corpse staggered back, slipping on the ash and collapsing to the floor. The stench hit immediately—burned flesh. It gagged, retching until it felt like fire was clawing up its throat.

It cried harder this time. It cried for its family.

Footsteps rumbled through the floor—more of them coming.

It forced itself upright and ran. Tears blurred its vision, but it didn't matter; it didn't know where it was going. The cold bit into its skin, every movement a fresh wound, but fear kept it moving.

The pig men found it again.

"Use lethal force!" "But it's just a kid?!" "That kid killed five of our men!"

This time, they didn't hesitate and fired.

Instinct took over. The corpse raised its hand, and the bullets froze midair.

"It has PSI!" one of them shouted. "Alert command! Get the PSI blockers!"

"Die," the corpse whispered.

A ball of fire erupted from its finger. As it flew, it grew—a serpent of flame that coiled through the air and tore through the soldiers. In seconds, they were nothing but molten corpses.

"Die." Another troop vanished.

"Die." A squad exploded.

"Die." Electricity arced, bodies convulsing until they fell silent.

"Die. Die. Die! DIE! DIE!!"

Everywhere it went, the corpse brought death. The soldiers stopped advancing, too terrified to face it—but that didn't save them. It killed them anyway.

Bodies marked its path—those were the lucky ones.

But it wasn't invincible. Stray bullets tore into its shoulder, its knee, grazing its head. Blood flowed freely. Each step was agony, each breath a sob.

It was delirious now. Every shadow was an enemy. Every sound, a threat. It killed on instinct, driven purely by fear and hate.

Still, it ran.

Its vision flickered between worlds—one moment a corridor drenched in blood-red light, the next a sunlit field of flowers. The other world was warm, safe. Someone was there—someone familiar. It reached out, chasing the hem of her skirt—

Then it stumbled. The world snapped back into darkness. A loud metallic thud echoed behind it, the sound of a door closing.

The corpse froze, confused—then a blinding light filled its vision. It raised its only arm to shield its eyes.

When its sight returned, it found itself surrounded. Hundreds of pig men, all armed to the teeth, formed a ring around it. Tanks lined the perimeter. Cannons and snipers aimed from every direction.

The corpse didn't hesitate.

It raised its trembling hand and pointed. "Die…"

Nothing happened.

"Die. Die. DIE! DIE!" it screamed, voice breaking, but the world stayed still. The light burned against its face, mocking it.

"Nwehehehehe…" A new voice rose above the chaos. The pig men parted as a figure marched forward, his steps slow. In the glare, he was only a silhouette. The only thing the corpse could make out was the head dress and mustache.

"This is the devil you're all so afraid of?" His tone was sharp with contempt. "You woke me up for this? A child?"

"But, sir!" a white pig man stammered.

"What a waste of time." The man's snarl was almost a growl. "You couldn't even handle a brat."

He snapped his fingers. Several soldiers moved forward at once, their armor clanking in unison.

"But still… I'd like to see this demon." The strange man chuckled darkly. "Shut off the PSI blockers."

"Ah—but sir—" the white pig man protested.

"Just do it!" The man barked, his voice whiplashing.

It took a second then the spot lights turned off, and the room was bathed in dark red. Seven pig men in black armor marched, they readied their rifles before firing. The corpse held its arm and the energy around it pulsed, freezing the laser's mid-flight.

"OOooohh!" the strange man yelped with delight.

The soldiers didn't hesitate, surging forward.

"Die." The corpse pointed at the nearest one. A torrent of fire erupted, engulfing the soldier and burning him to ash in an instant.

"Interesting…" the man breathed, his voice dripping with glee.

"Die." A stream of lightning arced from the corpse's finger, chaining between the pig-men. They convulsed, their guttural gasps cut short as they collapsed, twitching, to the floor.

"Ho! Ho! Ho! We've got a savant here!"

"Die." The corpse snapped its fingers. The nearest soldier was wrenched into the air, his limbs twisting like wrung rope. His squeal was the most piercing yet, a sound of pure, animal terror. It ended only when his armor cracked and his helmet shattered. The corpse let go, and the body fell to the ground with a wet, crimson splash.

For the first time, the corpse saw what lay behind the broken mask. Not a monster. Not a pig. A man. A terrified man, now a dead man.

Something inside the corpse went cold. It had only ever seen the masks; it never imagined they were human. After all, how could a human…

A wave of nausea rose in its throat. It wanted to vomit.

"Good job, kid," the strange man bobbed, strutting closer. "I haven't seen talent like that in eons."

"How did… Why… Why would you…" the corpse muttered, swallowing back the bile.

"You know, I never put much stock in this…" The man twirled his hand dismissively. "…Project. Zombies always get out of hand and are weak as dirt. But you… you're special. I can see it." His lips curled into a sneer.

The corpse didn't respond, using all its strength just to keep from crying.

"A real devil, that's what we need." He thrust out his hand. "Come. I'll get you someplace warm, and a nice meal. Does that sound good?" His smile was a predator's promise.

"Warm?" The corpse shivered, hugging itself.

The man nodded, his outstretched hand unwavering.

"And… will I… will I go home?"

Another nod, quicker this time. "Of course."

Every instinct screamed at the corpse to refuse, to run, to get as far from this man as possible. But the promise of warmth, of home, was a siren's call. With a trembling hand, it reached out and took his.

"Best decision you've ever made, boy. We are going to do great–"

The corpse looked him dead in the eye and the man flinched.

"Die." The corpse said.

Their clasped hands flared with a searing, violent blue. The air hummed, charged with psychic might.

"That light!" The man shrieked, his eyes wide with fear.

The energy built to a crescendo—a promise of absolute obliteration—and then…

Nothing.

The spotlights were back on the corpse. The power didn't fade; it was severed, vanishing as if it had never been there. In the sudden, deafening silence, the man stared at their still-joined hands. A slow, venomous frown spread across his face. He wrenched his hand back and drove his boot into the corpse's chest, sending it sprawling onto the cold floor.

"Tch. Tch. Tch. Never make deals with the devil." He spat on the ground, wiping his hand on his pants as if cleaning off something foul.

The corpse thrusted a trembling hand toward the man, its mind screaming for fire or lightning. But nothing answered. Only a hollow ache where the power had been.

The man didn't even flinch. "Aim for the legs," he called over his shoulder.

*BANG* *BANG*

Two gunshots shattered the corpse's legs. A raw, agonized scream tore from its throat as it collapsed.

"AArrrhhh! Die! Die! Die!" it shrieked, pointing a trembling arm, each cry growing weaker and more pathetic than the last. Hot tears streamed down its face, mingling with ragged sobs. It could do nothing but scrape itself backward, a pathetic crawl under the harsh, revealing spotlights that hid nothing of its shame.

"Nwehehehehe…" the man's malicious laugh cut through the air. "Is it going to cry for mommy?"

As the corpse struggled, its hand brushed against cold, hard metal—one of the fallen pig-men's rifles. It fumbled, never having held one before, but it had seen the others use it. With a surge of desperate strength, it hauled the weapon up, the barrel wobbling violently in its trembling grip.

The man's laughter ceased. "You don't even know how to use that," he sneered.

The corpse narrowed its eyes, and pulled the trigger.

A laser shot point-blank toward the man's chest. He didn't dodge. With a contemptuous flick of his wrist, he swatted the bolt aside, a shimmering hexagon of energy flaring briefly around his hand. The laser slammed harmlessly into the wall.

"Really?" The man's voice was dripping with scorn. "Did you think you were the only one who's special? What you did was cheap parlor tricks." He pointed a single finger at the far wall. A torrent of raw lightning erupted from it, vaporizing the reinforced door and blasting a molten hole straight through to the other side.

"And that," he said, "was baby steps. You can't even fire—"

"FIRE!" a panicked pig-man screamed, triggering its own heavy cannon.

The blast caught the corpse, flinging it like a rag doll against the wall with a sickening crunch.

"IDIOTS!" The man roared, whirling on his own soldiers. "We need it alive!"

Alive?...

The corpse fumbled, its hand clutching the rifle.

Alive… they need me…

It thinks back to the sunflower fields, the warmth, it yearns to be there instead of this cold hell.

The corpse cocks its gun and turns it around.

The man's eyes widened. "Wait, don't–"

The corpse pointed the barrel to its eye and pulled the trigger.

"XXXXX, stop!"

*BANG*

There was a noise and the corpse was no more, it didn't see the sunflowers.