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It's a Long Way Down · Original Short Story ·
Organised by RogerDodger
Word limit 2000–8000
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Fear the Voices that Scream in the Night
“I don’t believe in magic, so you can fuck off right away,” the man said.

So I just looked at Anne—you know Anne, even if you don’t know it; you can hear her breathing every time you close your eyes in the dark—and made a vague gesture with my hands. “Well…?”

Anne looked at me. She really did not like this. I could tell by her eyes. “What?” she asked.

“You’ve got a very expressive face.” I showed her my best smile. She ignored it, which hurt, but I’m a big boy, I can take it. Then I pointed at the man. “Down the Pit he goes?”

“What are you talking about?” The man was foaming at the mouth. “Let me go this instant! You fucking—!”

Anne sighed. “Down the Pit he goes.”

I made a happy little dance.

“The fuck you mean, down the Pit I go? What the hell is the Pit?”

Oh, hey. “Ah!” I said, and then I slapped my knee. “Anne! Did you hear that? He said it! He said ‘what the hell’! That means I—”

“Yes, yes. I heard it.” Anne rolled her eyes and nodded at the man. “The Pit is, well. The Pit.” She almost looked sorry, here, but I knew better. She was enjoying it. This was in her nature. “It’s a hole in the ground. You’re going to go down, and then you’re going to die.”

The man was going to say something—he even opened his mouth and took a breath to prepare a wonderful retort, I could tell—but then he looked at Anne’s eyes and saw that she was saying the truth. And then he looked at my eyes, and saw that I was really, really happy.

So he started screaming.

And I made another happy little dance.






I like the Pit. It’s one of my favorite things in the world, because to be honest, I’m kind of an asshole. But, you know—the good kind of asshole. The kind of asshole that gets the girl and charms your dad at Thanksgiving.

“No, you’re fucking not,” Anne said as she washed the blood of her hands. “You’re the worst kind of asshole. It’s physically impossible for you to charm any father in existence.”

I considered this. Then I winked at Anne. “But I do get the girl?”

Her glare was ice cold. “No.”

“Oh, come on. I’m handsome! I’m a bad boy. I’m sure you like me.”

“No.”

“At least a bit?”

“Death first.”

And I winked at her again. “We can work on that.”

She just rolled her eyes—her personal way of saying “I love you,” I’m sure—and then went straight for the van. I followed her, though I stopped a second by the Pit, and looked down.

There was nothing to see there, of course. The Pit is as deep as it needs to be, which usually means deeper than anything else in the world. I don’t know if it obeys the laws of physics or if it even goes underground at all; it might redirect to another dimension for all I care.

Then again, it doesn’t need to. It just has to be deep. Everything else sorta works itself out.

I looked anyway. The Pit reminded me of the dark, and I like the dark. You can hear Anne breathing in there, no matter where you are, that’s one reason. And it also reminded me of home, of my birth. Darkness is powerful.

Eventually I followed Anne to the van—we could still hear the man screaming as he fell down; the Pit has excellent acoustics—and the moment she turned on the gas I just elbowed her. “Hey.”

“What?”

“You owe me another coffee.” I pointed a thumb in the general direction of the Pit—it was out of sight already, but Anne would get it. “He said it.”

Anne just grumbled at this. “Fine. But I want another rule.”

“Oh?”

“If they say ‘what the hell’ it doesn’t count.”

I smiled at this. I had to, because I saw where she was coming from. “Fine by me. So if they say the word ‘hell’ while talking about the Pit I win, unless it’s to ask ‘what the hell’ it is?”

“Just any use of ‘what the hell’, really,” Anne continued. She was a good driver, barely looking at the road and all. Just how I like it. “It’s a common expression. You always win because of it.”

“I don’t, but I’m willing to test it.” I straightened my shoulders and let out a sigh of relief. I wasn’t relieved of anything, to be honest; I just wanted to piss off Anne. “See, I believe the Universe itself is really big on irony.”

“Hmm-hm. Shut up.”

“Or puns. Are puns better than irony, humor-wise?” I frowned at this, faking interest in the question, then looked at Anne. “Do you think? In this context, I mean.”

“No. Shut up.”

“Nah, I like my voice. See, irony, right, because they never know what the Pit is, but they still mention Hell whenever they talk about it. Almost as if they actually did know, right? It’s uncanny.”

“Coincidence.” We’d arrived home—that is, we were in the middle of nowhere, but we had so much swagger we already owned the place—so Anne turned off the gas and got out of the van. I followed, like the loyal little dog I am. Woof woof. “That’s not part of the Plan, it’s just the way language works.”

“Nah, not at all. They know. Kind of?” I made a face. “I mean, not really, that’s what the Pit is for—but the Universe knows, so they always point it out. I think it’s what makes them believe, right?”

“That is not what makes them believe.”

“That is absolutely what makes them believe.” I straightened my tie as we went on walking through a city. I’d forgotten which one it was. Somewhere American, probably, but they all looked the same: lotta tall buildings, lotta fat people. Nobody looked at us as we went on. “See, thing is—while they’re falling, right, they think about it again. ‘Oh, Hell,’ they go, ‘Where am I? What is this?’ and then their eyes go wide and suddenly it’s like ‘holy shit I just answered my own question, didn’t I? This is it, this is Hell…!

“God.” Anne stopped suddenly, and pointed at a random corner. I followed, dutifully. “Are you for real? Is that what they think?”

“Hmm.” I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“But you can tell, right?”

A smart one, Anne. Every day I liked her more and more. “I can,” I said. “I mean, it’s in my jurisdiction. But it wouldn’t be fun if I just looked, would it? It’s better if we keep this little competition of ours fair and square.”

Here I gave her a devilish smile, one that would have made any mortal woman faint right away. And facing this breathtaking show of handsome virility, Anne just flipped me off.

Ouch, my pride. But she was falling for me so hard. So hard.

For once I didn’t say anything, though, because I felt something. God, somewhere around. That was weird. “Hey.” I pointed to my right. “Over there?”

Anne blinked, and looked at me. “You feel it?”

“Yeah.” I frowned. “I think dude’s religious?”

“Woman. It’s a she.”

“Oh. Then woman’s religious. Only it’s not—I mean, if I’m feeling it it’s not just believing in God, it’s—”

“She fears God,” Anne mused. “She’s righteously afraid of God.”

And I nodded. “Right-o.”

“This is a big one. Probably the religious type.” And here we locked gazes. It was almost romantic, but we were too business-like at the moment, sadly. I still fluttered my eyelashes at her just in case. “We might be looking forward to a big bust.”

“Gosh,” I said. I drew my weapon. I’d never used the gun, never felt the need, but it was good to be prepared. “I can’t wait to throw her down the Pit.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Anne just shook her head and took the lead. “And stop with the eyelashes shit. You look creepy.”

“Anne, that’s kind of the point.”

“Shush. This is a big one, I tell you. She might put up a fight.”






She did not put up a fight.

“Well, that was disappointing,” I said as I waved my hand to cool it off. My knuckles hurt a bit, but once again, no reason to use the gun. Shame. “Next time maybe call some of your friends or something.”

Anne didn’t even look at me. Her eyes were fiery. “Shut up,” she said, with her This Is Actually Important voice.

I nodded. “Woof woof,” I said.

There was a little bit of a pause here.

“Did…?” Anne squinted, and looked at me. “Did you just bark at me?”

“Yes.”

“Why the fuck would you bark at me?”

“Because,” I said, “I’m a dutiful dog.”

What?

“Because I follow orders, right?” I pointed a thumb at my own mouth. “I stopped talking, even though I didn’t want to. Just ‘cause you told me so; I’m that great of a partner. Woof woof.”

“That is—”

“Who…?” The woman grunted and raised her head. She’d been beaten up pretty hard—thanks to yours truly—and looked like a bloody mess, but apparently it hadn’t been enough to knock her out cold. “Who are you?”

I put on a pout at this shameless interruption—this conversation was going to turn into flirting, I could feel it!—but it was time to go back to business, so I kept the annoyance to myself. The street was completely deserted, again thanks to yours truly. Maybe a little bit of divine intervention, too, who knows?

“Anne?” I nodded at the woman. “You or me?”

“Do you want to throw her into the Pit?”

“Yeah.”

“Then me. You’ll fuck this up on purpose.” Anne focused her attention on the woman, and went to her Dark Place. “Mortal,” she said. “Look into my eyes.”

The woman couldn’t disobey. She looked straight into Anne’s eyes.

Demons have Dark Places too, even though most humans wouldn’t believe it. You can’t inspire fear unless you know it yourself—and there is a reason nobody likes Hell. Mortals suffer there for eternity, but immortals have it rougher. Our eternities are much, much longer.

Which, admittedly, is a bummer. But what can you do? Home is where the heart is, even if it’s a desolate place. We dislike Hell, but we still long for it, because in the end it’s where we belong. We don’t feel like ourselves anywhere else.

And if protecting it means a little bit of suffering on our side, then so be it. We can stomach it. It’s all part of the Plan.

I did nothing while the whole ritual took place. I just witnessed it, saw how Anne’s face grew uglier, how the woman grew paler. I whistled a little, too. Mary Had a Little Lamb. I’m not really good at whistling complicated stuff, so I stick to the classics.

Like always, I wondered what kind of stuff Anne thought of whenever she went to her own little Dark Place. It was probably better not to know. Mine wasn’t exactly a walk in the park, absolutely—I mean, I’m the Fear of the Self, what scares me is going to break you—but Anne was…

Anne was not my superior, right? But I still obeyed her. Because while I was more powerful—think of what you can be, think of all the little things you’ve done that horrify you, think of all the times you’ve hated yourself—she was more subtle. Nothing major, nothing outlandish, nothing as apocalyptic as me. Just, the sound of someone breathing, when you’re alone and in the dark.

I make people wake up crying, but Anne gets to them. Really gets to them. It’s impossible to forget her, power be damned, and you gotta respect that.

And fear her.

Because think of that, and think of what can actually scare Anne. Think of what her Dark Place consists of. I wasn’t envying the woman at the moment, oh no. That oughta break you.

Then the ritual ended, and the woman took a deep breath. I straightened up my back, ready for the screams…

“Oh, screw you!” the woman yelled.

…Aaaand then I just rested my forehead on my hand. “Really, now?”

“What?” Anne was shocked at this. She even took a step back. “No, that’s—I was extremely thorough!”

“I don’t—I don’t know what that was,” the woman said, squinting. She sounded brave. Courageous, even, which is nothing to scoff at when you’re that beaten up. “But go to hell.

I eyed Anne.

“Doesn’t count,” she said.

I un-eyed Anne.

“I don’t—if you want money, I’ll give you whatever I have. But don’t—whatever that was.” The woman took a deep breath. “Stop.”

Well, that was a reaction. “So, let me get this straight,” I said, taking up the torch. Anne looked at me wrong, but she let me be. She’d been defeated, after all. “Are you afraid of us, or…?”

The woman looked at me, now. And oh, she was afraid. She was terrified. But that’s the thing: she was also being brave. You can only be brave when you’re afraid, really, and that’s bad news. “Fuck off,” she said.

“Gosh darn.” I whistled. “We’ve found ourselves a fighter, all right.”

Anne arched an eyebrow at me. “Did you just whistle Mary Had a Little Lamb?

“It’s not the size of your repertoire, it’s what you do with it,” I said, not even looking at her. “Okay, woman. Whoever you are. Not-Anne. Full disclosure here: you should be afraid.”

The woman stood there, defiant. Metaphorically, I mean—she was too beaten up to literally stand on her feet. You get me.

Then she took a deep breath. “Fuck,” she said.

Pause for emphasis.

And then: “Off.

“Very dramatic,” I said, smiling sweetly. I showed off my fangs. “I appreciate that. Now, that said and done? You should really, really fear us. Because, check this—if you fear us, we won’t kill you.”

The woman looked at me.

I looked at the woman.

I said, “Let that sink in for a moment. Consider the alternative.”

She just shook her head. “What…?”

Anne came closer to me and whispered in my ear. “Careful,” she said. “She might be dangerous. I think she’s powerful.” Then she thought about this. “For a mortal. She has a strong will, maybe not even the Pit…”

I shuddered in the most delicious of ways. “Oh, Anne,” I moaned. “I love it when you whisper into my ear. I’m ticklish.

She kicked me in the shin.

“You know what my partner just told me?” I said, not even bothering to react to the kick. My kind doesn’t really care about broken bones, we’re above that. I wiggled my eyebrows at the woman. “That we should kill you no matter what. That you’re too annoying. And you know what? We could.”

The woman tried to move away from me. Just a little, but a little was enough.

“But it would be better for all of us if we didn’t have to. Because,” and here I crossed my arms like a stern teacher, “what we want from you is just a little bit of faith.”

“…Faith?” the woman asked.

“Do you believe in fairies, sugar?” I took a step towards her. She didn’t react, this time. “Every time you say you don’t believe in fairies, Tinkerbell drops dead. Or one of her sisters. Whatever. You feel me?”

Silence.

Enough of an answer. “We’re like that. Give us what we want, and we’ll leave you alone. We’ll be watching, we’ll always be watching.” I crouched, so I was not looking down at her anymore. “But that’s better than dying, isn’t it…?”

“You’re… fairies?”

“You,” Anne said from behind me, “are fucking this up.”

“Shush.” I waved a hand at Anne. “I’m working.”

“No, you’re fucking this up. You just want the Pit, I can tell by the way you—”

“We’re not fairies,” I said, still looking at the woman. “Not exactly. But we can only exist if you believe in us, right? If you fear us. Nothing spices up faith quite like fear, I’d say. And if you don’t believe…? Well, it’ll be ugly for everybody.” I stretched out a hand and caressed the woman’s hair. “Especially for you.”

The woman twitched when I touched her, but she was too hurt to do anything else. “F-fuck off,” she said. “I don’t—I don’t know what the hell you’re high on, but don’t go fucking spewing that bullshit on—”

Here, I did look at Anne. “She doesn’t believe,” I said. “Pit?”

“Jesus fucking Christ. No. No Pit.” Anne walked towards the girl too, and grabbed her by the neck. “Surrender,” she said. “You are religious. Truly religious. You believe already, so for fuck’s sake, surrender your mind. Surrender your fear. Feed us, and we won’t hurt you more than this. Give up that stupid will of yours and we—”

“You’re not a demon,” the woman interrupted. Her voice was clear and noble, powerful in spite of her weakness. The voice of a good person, who doesn’t need to believe in Hell. “You’re just fucking crazy.”

Then, she spat on Anne’s face.

My hand moved fast. The slap echoed for three, maybe four seconds. The woman screamed, and then I smiled at her. Really smiled at her.

She was strong, and stupid, and didn’t believe in demons—but she was no Anne. Just a mortal woman. Nothing more, nothing less.

She fainted right away.

“Man, this is a thankless job,” I mused. “In the Middle Ages, just having red skin would’ve been enough for them to fall on their knees. I hate modern skepticism. Where the heck did spiritualism go?” Then I turned around. “So, the Pit?”

I voiced that as a question, but I wasn’t asking. Not really.

And Anne knew it. “The Pit,” she said with a defeated sigh.

“Woof, woof.”






We got to the Pit really fast.

“The thing about fear,” I was telling the woman as I dragged her towards it, “is that it has to come from within.”

The woman didn’t reply. She couldn’t. She was bound and gagged.

“We can inspire some terrible stuff on you, of course,” I continued, “but it’s kind of second hand. Not the real stuff, right?”

Anne was somber, walking behind me. I could feel her moodiness almost physically. “Worse than the real stuff,” she said.

And I snapped my fingers. “True that. But still, not genuine. Not enough to change your mind.”

We got to the Pit. I grabbed the woman by the hair—I’m a gentleman—and tipped her over, just a little. Just so she could look straight into the darkness.

“Faith is about quality, not about quantity,” I mused. “If you believe in us for two seconds, and I mean really believe, it’s enough. A lifetime of half-assed fear is not enough to maintain Hell, you see? It’s an expensive place.”

The woman looked at me, fire in her eyes. I looked at Anne, who said nothing and did nothing, and just shrugged. So, this one was on me.

I took the gag off the woman. She spat on my face.

“I’m not afraid,” she said.

And I just arched an eyebrow. “I wonder for how long you’ll fall till you change your mind.”

Then I pushed her. She tried to keep her cool, but eventually she started screaming, They all do.

“And that’s a wrap-up,” I said, positively beaming. Gosh, I loved the Pit. “Gosh, I love the Pit,” I said, because I am a gentleman but that doesn’t mean I can’t be shameless. “Do you want to go for another one, or are we done for the day?”

Anne didn’t reply at first. Then, slowly, she smiled. It was a terrific smile. “You owe me a coffee,” she said.

“What?”

“She didn’t mention Hell at all. No irony in her last words.”

I blinked.

“Well,” I said. “Dang.”






Only it wasn’t a wrap-up.

“Wait a moment,” I said. It was two days later, and I think we were in the same city, but to be completely honest I can’t be arsed to remember. “Do you feel that?”

Anne frowned. “Feel that?”

“God. Fear of God.” I squinted. “From the Pit.”

At first, she didn’t get it. But then, she did, and her face clouded. “Oh,” she said. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

I was not. For once.






“I,” the woman said, triumphant, glowing, “have defeated you!

“Holy shit,” Anne said. “She climbed out of the fucking Pit.”

“Didn’t we tie her up before throwing her?”

“And yet she climbed out of the fucking Pit!”

“I have no reason to fear you!” the woman yelled.

The light of God shone in her eyes—golden fire, burning. Wings of light spread on her back, glorious and terrible at the same time. They were blinding. I had to avert my eyes.

She was clad in white, the woman… If she was a woman. She had almost transcended mortality, become something greater. And she was hovering above the Pit.

She was beautiful. A being so perfect, even a demon could fall in love.

“Don’t worry, Anne,” I said, looking at my partner. “I only have eyes for you.”

Fuck off.

“I understand the Plan now,” the woman continued, apparently deaf to our voices. “The Divine Plan, the Providence, the Things that Shall Be. You’re demons, yes, but demons are weak. Demons are not to be feared. They are to be fought.”

“So what, did she have a revelation while falling?” Anne looked at me. You could say she was Anne-oyed. You could also say she was mighty pissed, but I liked my wording better. “Why the flying fuck did she go from human to fucking archangel?

“Well, I mean…” I scratched the back of my neck. “I mean, she had a crisis of faith. That’s what the Pit is all about, right? Like, they fear death, and everything that’s happening, and after falling for such a long time they just break and—”

“And become archangels?!”

“I mean, usually they’re supposed to go mad with fear. But I guess, if their will is strong enough…” I looked at the woman. “Ugh. This is awkward.”

“You need us!” the woman said. “You act as if you were greater, you hunt us and call us prey, but in the end, you need us! Hell is not something to fear, Hell is fear itself!

Anne crossed her arms. Her face reminded me of how she looked whenever she went into her Dark Place. “I can’t believe this.”

“Look, it’s not like I saw this coming either, okay?”

“But Humanity will win!” the woman continued. “In the End of Times, when the angels come down and play the Trumpets of Armageddon, the humans will rise and we will defeat the forces of Hell! And nothing you can do will stop it! For that is the Plan, and you know this!”

Anne just turned around and walked towards the van, kicking every pebble in her way. “Jesus Christ. God in Heaven, fucking Lord. We created an archangel. This is unbelievable!”

I rolled my eyes. “Want me to fix this?” She was pretty far away already, so I had to shout that.

“Of course I want you to fix this! This is your fault! You and your Pit—damn you!” She turned around and flipped me off again. “And do it fast! Those wings are giving me a headache!”

I mumbled something under my breath, and then faced the archangel, painful as it was. Then I blinked, and turned back to Anne one last time. “You know, I could help with that. Recent studies show sex is a good remedy against migraines.”

Shut the fuck up and fix this!

“Gosh, Anne, I’m just trying to be a good friend.”

“And you.” The archangel went down now, and landed right in front of me. It stung. I flinched. “You know this.”

I looked at her. “Excuse me?”

“You’re forced to live among us humans,” she purred. She purred. “You’re forced to hunt the mighty and make them afraid. Your Pit is not a sign of power. It’s a sign of desperation. It’s a last stand against a world that is already forgetting you.”

“Demons roam the Earth,” I said, “and you take that as a good thing?”

“Demons roam the Earth,” she replied, “because that is the Plan. But even though you can do evil, you will soon perish. This is your dying breath, demon. Your companion knows it. I am not a unique case. I am just the first of many.

And you know what? She got me there. Nothing I could say.

I mean, she got it spot-on, really. It used to be that demons existed because Hell was there, but now, if we’re being honest… Well. Hell only exists because of the demons. And because of what we do. Because of the fear of the self, and the breathing you hear in the dark.

But if humans are turning towards God and the light whenever we’re there, then, what are we to do?

So I didn’t really say anything to the archangel. I just sighed. It was a sad moment. “Well,” I muttered to myself. “This is quite a pickle.”

“And you—”

“But, I mean, it doesn’t really matter to you, does it?”

It was at this point that the divine face of the archangel showed something akin to an expression, for the first time. Something like confusion. “Excuse me?” she said.

“Yeah. Like, good debate, really. You got me there. Big picture? We’re doomed. Small picture? Anne asked me to take care of you. And, you know.” I shrugged. “Woof woof.”

“Woof… woof?”

I shot her.

Archangels are worrying, but they’re not scary. If ants infest your house you’ll move out, but one single bug is not going to make you run away in a panic. You just step on it.

I think even the archangel herself noticed this. She grasped the wound—right in the stomach, where it hurts the most—and fell to her knees. I grabbed her before she could fall.

Resting her head against my chest, she looked at me. And in that moment, she was perfect, because there was fear in her eyes.

“Oh, Hell no,” she whispered.

“Oh, Hell yes!”

And down the Pit she went.

When I got back to the van, Annie was still pouting, but I could tell her mood had improved. This kind of thing is annoying—nobody likes it when you’re reminded you’re swimming against the current—but at least I’d picked up the slack.

“Just so you know,” I said, “you owe me another coffee.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” I buckled up, and Anne turned on the gas. “Hey, you think an archangel’s fear is going to feed us? Or they don’t count?”

“They’re technically mortal, so they should count.” Anne shook her head. “I’ve no idea if this one is gonna die soon anyway. She was pretty strong.”

“For a mortal.”

“For a mortal.”

We spent a couple minutes in silence after this. I was thinking, for once. About the face Anne had made when the archangel had showed up. About how she’d always been wary of the Pit. About how the archangel had said, “Your companion knows it.”

Maybe I’d just discovered what scares the breathing in the dark.

“Hey,” I eventually said.

“Hmm?”

“I talked with the archangel a bit before killing her, right? And I think now I know what you see in your Dark Place.”

Anne tensed. She looked at me, wary. Her knuckles were white against the steering wheel.

“You’re afraid of dying without ever having sex with me.”

She slapped me so hard I slammed my head against the window, but I could hear her laughing over the sound of my bones breaking.

That night, she bought me two coffees instead.



Pics
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#1 · 1
· · >>Fenton
Um.

Wow.

This...

First of all, this is metal AF. The metalness of the title is what hooked me, and the rest delivers. It starts out with creepy psycho killers and then it only gets worse as we learn more about them. The juxtaposition of the guy's jaunty inner narration and what's going on could easily be off-putting, but it isn't. Mind you, it's unsettling as hell, but that's rather the point. Our narrator is far beyond Worst Pony status and in the end the story is much stronger for it. I love how what they're doing doesn't quite make sense at first but then it slowly builds until becoming clear.

I don't know how broad the appeal here will be considering the religious... everything about this. But that aspect of it wins major reader appeal points from me. 10/10, best portrayal of demony-things in a vaguely Judeo-Christian context that I've had the uncomfortable pleasure of reading.
#2 · 1
· · >>Fenton
I always look for:

Three things when I start reading a story: a Person in a Place with a Problem. The people here are terrific in every sense of the word, author--you've got the whole characterization thing down really well. The Problem takes a little long to arrive, but it's an interesting enough spin on the idea Neil Gaiman made a big splash with in American Gods to get a thumbs up from me.

The Place, though, needs some work. What does the landscape look like around the Pit? Desert? Rocky hills? Overcast sky? And what happens when they get out of the van? He says they're in the middle of nowhere, and then three paragraphs later, they're walking through the streets of a city. More than that, though, I find myself wondering a lot about the rules this world operates under. How do they choose the people they throw down the Pit? Do our characters face any opposition from the forces of Heaven? How is the whole metaphysical balance on display here measured? Stuff like that. You've got a discursive enough narrator that you could have him address this in little throw-away lines here and there...

Pretty darn good, though.

Mike
#3 ·
· · >>Ranmilia
Nice. I like the bantering between the two demons. They play well off one another, even though at times their dialogue can smack of cliché a little. The scene with the women was great, too.

I’m less enthusiastic about the end. There's a lot of cheap philosophy going on there, and it really doesn't add anything to the story itself. It seems like a pretence for you to dwell on some religious creed rather than a true dialogue. And it dodges two important elements: 1. Why are archangels mortal? 2. Why doesn't the guy shoot her from the get-go rather than letting her “throwing up” her spiel.

But, beyond this, the dialogues are crisp and bouncy, the interplay between characters is nice, and the end's fun so that goes right atop my slate. Thanks for writing, dude.
#4 · 1
·
Well, my review will be a mix between >>CoffeeMinion and >>Baal Bunny.
I very much enjoyed the ride, it was metal \m/ \m/
Characters and pace were also spot on.
However, like >>Baal Bunny said, it lacks some information to some places. There aren't that important but it would have been nice to learn more about the locations where the scenes take place.

I also have a question with this part
I like the Pit. It’s one of my favorite things in the world, because to be honest, I’m kind of an asshole. But, you know—the good kind of asshole. The kind of asshole that gets the girl and charms your dad at Thanksgiving.

“No, you’re fucking not,” Anne said as she washed the blood of her hands. “You’re the worst kind of asshole. It’s physically impossible for you to charm any father in existence.”

How Anne has been able to know that? Can she read mind? That the only occurrence I can remember where the narrator say something inside narration while another character respond to that. I'm a bit confused.

So overall, it was solid and enjoyable. A strong mid-tier without a doubt. Thank you for the ride.
#5 ·
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Strong intro.

Tone was also a strong point, though I have a hard time labeling exactly what that tone is. Detached, absurdist horror, perhaps? Either way, witty banter

Voices were a strong point as well; this fic nailed the unreliable narrator, and also conveyed an abnormal perspective. The narrator did manage to get on my nerves a bit, but not too badly.

I did have some difficulty grokking the viewpoint that last human character they interacted with, though this maybe a deliberate choice.

This fic was effective at being unpredictable, though it feels kind of an oversight when someone can see the great cosmic pattern, but be unaware that they should avoid bullets.
#6 ·
· · >>Pearple_Prose
Ehn. Hm. Well, I agree with all the above comments, particularly >>Monokeras (edited, whoops, not sure how that link mishap occurred)

This is an odd one for me. I want to like it more than I do. It should be fun, it hits my personal tastes in terms of bouncy character action and modern fantasy, but somehow all I came out feeling was "That was okay."

I guess I can point to three issues. First of all, the narrator hides himself for way too long. The entire piece, but especially the early portions, coast on a large amount of "Ooh, but who is this handsome rogue, and what exactly is going on here? Read on to find out!" Similar to internet clickbait articles, I find this mildly annoying and wish the content was delivered up front so I could enjoy it on its merits. There's no need to hold it back like that.

The second issue is what Monokeras called out as "cheap philosophy." When the answers are finally delivered, they're nothing awe-inspiring. "Ah, but what if the supernatural was actually determined by human belief?" is a trope that has been done to death and back in modern fantasy. That doesn't necessarily make it something to avoid, but having it be the entirety of the grand revelation is underwhelming. We've all seen this a hundred times before, so what's the unique spin? That's where the emphasis needs to be to get some response out of readers.

And finally, the third issue is slightly more on a personal taste angle, but may be shared by enough of a general audience to be significant: the protagonist(s) are unquestionably, irredeemably evil, and I can't sympathize with that. I don't root for them. I don't want to see them succeed. I cheered when the fearless woman escaped the pit, but lost enthusiasm when it turned out to be for nothing. Not in a good, effective, "wow I got kicked in the gut, what a downer ending" way, but more of an "Oh. Aw. Well that's just banally ugly" way.

Evil protagonists, even monstrous ones, can be done, and can win, and make for an effective story, but not like this. The arrangement of elements needed to pull that off is quite different from a typical "good guys win" story, and this is structured like one where the good guys win. I'm being vague there because going into exactly how to do it is beyond the scope of what I have time and energy for here, and also because I'm not a specialist in those stories and would have to do some research to pin down exactly what TO do, but I can say this is not what to do.

.... But past all of that, the characterizations, prose, dialogue, interplays, scenes, evocative concepts, pretty much all the execution here is fantastic. Very entertaining, very fun to read. Great job! (Yeah, the ol' two pages of criticism and two sentences of praise, but really, I mean it!)

This is going near the top of my slate, though not the very top (my top slot so far remains an entry very similar to this one in some respects, which I mention because the close comparison itself may be of interest.) Thank you for writing, author - solid stuff here!
#7 ·
· · >>Ranmilia
>>Ranmilia

My comment was referring to Bubbles, not this story.

For the record, author, I felt this story was really damn solid. Loved the narration to bits, and I kinda felt like the lack of setting the other users commented on was actually probably intentional.
#8 ·
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>>Pearple_Prose
Fixed, thanks. Dunno how that happened.
#9 ·
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I feel like I should stop pointing out good intros. They tend to be one of the strongest parts of the WriteOff. It's only later that things will fall apart.

So, for the record, this has a good intro. It gives us all that useful stuff like tone, characters, and situation.

Do things fall apart after that?

Well, a couple of scenes in, I have one big reservation. I don't like these people. Not in a moral outrage oh-no-evil-protagonists way. I just find them irritating. The first person voice here is just the default: Snarky, sassy, smartass. The best version of this voice has me not noticing it; the worst, like a needy child, won't let itself be ignored. For the moment, I think I can roll with it.

“God.” Anne stopped suddenly, and pointed at a random corner. “God.” Given the present topic, how can they not stop to comment on this?

There are a couple of things I like. There's the mystery of whatever they're doing. And there's the mystery of why Anne seems to have the power here.

I think part of why the voice isn't working for me is the poverty of the prose. “She’d been beaten up pretty hard—thanks to yours truly—and looked like a bloody mess …” There are all sorts of ways you could spice this up, small details, witty asides here. All we get though is “thanks to yours truly.”, to hammer the message home that the narrator is Bad Person who does Bad Things.

We've got two twists near the ending: The creation of the archangel, and its pointlessness. Neither work for me. For all the drama of the first, it's that old belief-makes-it-real trope, which has long since ossified into a cliché. And the second turnabout isn't a turnabout for the protagonists. They know the score. It's just the reader and the archangel who don't. So when it comes about, it undermines whatever dramatic potential could be wrung out of the first turn, and just feels like a cheap gotcha moment.

Or is this meant to be a dark comedy? Looked at from this angle, the ending has a reasonable structure – it's a farce. But there's nothing apart from the snark in the first half that says this is a comedy, and that's not enough.

Finally, at the level of gross structure, I think you're doing pretty well. We've got a mystery, a buildup, a reveal&reversal, and a final twist. And the whole thing is bookended with that coffee joke. While the individual elements are lacking, that works fine.
#10 ·
· · >>CoffeeMinion >>Aragon
Solid, punchy character piece that ultimately falls real flat to me because, at the end, I'm not really rooting for the characters and their particular brand of snark isn't even particularly endearing to hate.

Intro is a little disjointed in the first couple paragraphs and doesn't do a super good job of actually getting us in or introduced. The idea is there, but it doesn't really hook effectively, I feel.

Teminology is a little confusing because Archangels, at a glance and in most common terminology that I would think of, you don't really call the archangels mooks. Further, end has that problem where I can see the punchline coming a mile away, so I'm just sort of waiting for it to happen and vaguely annoy me.

That said, a good chunk of my complaint just comes from not liking this particular narrative conceit (that is bad people doing bad things and getting away with it for funsies), but this is definitely a category that people do like, so obviously take that with a grain of salt.
#11 ·
· · >>Aragon
>>AndrewRogue
Actually I'll pile on one thing here as well: I would've thought archangels would be the actual super divine ones that could take a gunshot and keep ticking. People as ascended angel-y things is still a cool concept, though.
#12 · 1
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>>AndrewRogue
>>CoffeeMinion

Archangels are the second weakest angels, according to classical angelology.. You're thinking of seraphims. Cherubs, even. Archangels are second worst right after normal piss-ass angels and guardian angels (which I assume are like normal angels, but with a cool sword).