Decay Stories

This isn't a story about heroes. It's about what happens after gods forget they were ever divine-and something else remembers. In a universe stitched back together from a cosmic war between creation and oblivion, the echoes of ancient beings still pulse beneath human skin. The Heralds are gone, their golden power diluted into a fractured world where "Supes" rise and fall like counterfeit deities, clinging to borrowed light in a society built on denial. But beyond the illusion of control, something older-and far more patient-has been waiting. Abyssus never left. Now, reality itself is beginning to rot. The Terido, grotesque manifestations of a universe that never fully healed, crawl through the cracks of existence, warping flesh, bending physics, and unraveling truth. The sun is split. The world is fading. And humanity, loud and blind, stands on the edge of a second unmaking. As sirens pierce the silence and shadows reclaim the horizon, one question lingers like a splinter in the mind: What happens when hope forgets how to fight back?

Rok 1380 W Virelle nie ma już świtu ani zmierzchu w sensie, który pozwalałby miastu zachować dawny rytm. Dni nie zaczynają się już jednoznacznie, a noc nie przynosi wyraźnego końca aktywności. Miasto funkcjonuje w stanie zawieszenia, w którym porządek opiera się bardziej na przyzwyczajeniu niż na rzeczywistych sygnałach czasu. W centrum władzy znajduje się postać, wokół której skupiają się wszystkie decyzje, choć sam system nie działa już w sposób jednoznaczny i przewidywalny. Od momentu jej przybycia kolejne elementy administracji zaczynają działać w sposób nieciągły - nie poprzez jawne zmiany, lecz przez stopniowe zaburzenia procedur, komunikacji i reakcji instytucji. Zdarzają się sytuacje, w których elementy systemu przestają działać zgodnie z oczekiwaniem: brak odpowiedzi na oficjalne wezwania, opuszczone posterunki, niepełne raporty lub zachowania, których nie da się jednoznacznie wyjaśnić. Nie są to wydarzenia spektakularne, lecz drobne przesunięcia, które stopniowo zmieniają sposób funkcjonowania miasta. W archiwach i księgach pozostaje zapis tego, co było, ale dostęp do tych informacji staje się coraz bardziej ograniczony. Nie jest to jawny zakaz - raczej stopniowe utrudnienie, które sprawia, że przeszłość przestaje być praktycznie użyteczna dla bieżących decyzji. Ktoś, kto przychodzi do Virelle w poszukiwaniu jasnych odpowiedzi, szybko odkrywa, że system nie oferuje już jednoznacznych wyjaśnień. Zamiast tego pozostają obserwacje, nieciągłości i sytuacje, które trzeba interpretować bez gwarancji, że prowadzą do jednego, spójnego wniosku. Okładkę wykonała: @idylliczna

The man who walks the road of insanity sees, hears, and comprehends things that a sane man would have no hope in understanding. Leave your old self behind as I tell of another plane of existence through short-form poetry. I will do this until the things holding the seams together pull me through entirely.

"There is no one-not two, not three-To grab my ankles, stop the spree. I ran along derailing trains;I saw a man's invading pains. I stood where no one dared to pass-In that forgotten moldy class."

Some frequencies are meant to remain dead air. It is October 1998, and Arlo Banks is suffocating in a purgatory of yellowed plastic, stale marijuana smoke, and the claustrophobic sub-basements of Channel 8. As a night-shift archival assistant and a functional burnout, Arlo escapes his mundane reality by abusing heavy strains of marijuana and diving deep into early internet lore and urban legends. When his passive-aggressive manager writes him up for unauthorized napping, Arlo retaliates by raiding a condemned sub-basement and stealing a sealed box of VHS tapes. He hopes to unearth a profitable piece of lost media to boost his reputation on the message boards. Instead, he brings home a biological puppet. The tapes contain The Happy Hollows, a rumored "Holy Grail" of lost media. But the broadcast does not stay on the screen. The footage begins to mimic Arlo's reality on a delay-a delay that is rapidly shortening. Arlo initially relies on the "Stoner Defense," rationalizing the bizarre events as weed-induced paranoia, hallucinations, or an elaborate prank. But the physical world begins to rot. His environment mutates into a tactile nightmare of "Damp Plush". Glass softens into gelatin , blood thickens into strawberry preserves , and human flesh takes on the texture of distressed velvet. Hunted through infinitely stretching hallways by a towering mascot named Uncle Corduroy and a swarm of Clay-Kin, Arlo must navigate the collapsing boundary between reality and the broadcast. He has to sever the signal before the frequency overtakes him entirely, transforming his own anatomy into polyester stuffing and rusted wire.

This story is about two boys named Soran and Koning. Soran is the charcter in which the story mostly focuses on at the beginning. This story takes place during the 1800's but with demons, angels, elf's, and fairy's, and pixies! elf's are actually tall and mistakenly smart, just a btw if you get confused on their description! And YES. the name of the story is indeed very heveaily foreshadowing! btw any character can die whenever so don't pick favorites!

In an abandoned house weighed down by silence and memories, a clock ticks relentlessly, embodying the ache of loneliness and the unyielding passage of time. Through its steady rhythm, it becomes a poignant reflection of the human struggle to endure, offering a fragile hope amidst the void.

Izuku or Deku is a boy who always wanted to be a hero on his 4th birthday he and his mother went to the quirk doctor to know what Deku's quirk would be, unfortunately Deku's quirk was to dangerous to even consider being a hero and seen down on as villainous, this caused Deku's mother and father to resent him and kick him out only at the age of 5. With no food and place to go Deku lived on the streets for months barely surviving that was until he met the pro hero Eraser Head who took him to UA where he would stay.

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Centuries ago, humanity retreated underground after a global atmospheric event turned sunlight into a deadly force capable of incinerating life. Society is now organized into subterranean cities powered by "Ember Cores," devices that convert remnants of solar energy into light and heat. The Ember Protocol governs every aspect of life, rationing light and warmth to maintain strict control over the population. Those deemed unproductive are cast into perpetual darkness, the ultimate punishment. The Protocol's enforcers claim the surface is still uninhabitable, but that's a carefully crafted lie. The truth: sunlight isn't deadly anymore, and the Protocol hides a far darker secret. The underground rulers don't fear sunlight-they fear what evolved on the surface in humanity's absence.

A deep ache resounded in Feliceano's chest. No one was there to stop his mind from slipping. He was completely alone.

Every heard of Cryokenesis? It's the idea of controlling Ice with your mind. This idea is criminally undervalued even in worlds that don't even exist. Especially not poor Sebastian. Sebastian Blue is a 17 year old who is given the ability to Control Frost, Ice, and the Cold with only his mind but is it worth being turned away and shunned by his family and friends and only to defeat his opposite. Fire.

An evolving collection of wordplay intended for music yet to be written. If I knew where this project was headed, I probably wouldn't do it.

A collection of poems from the haiku, sonnet, and ghazal forms written for as a foolish quest to bleed randomness into meaning and back again, just like this description you are just reading. In other words, this anthology constitutes my exercise in emotional and psychological enrichment through poetry for the sake of both the self and the academy (all of the poems were written for a college course), and each composition is a singularity capsule with their particular, open-ended purposes without any interconnected meaning behind them.

🚫Trigger warning🚫 What is poetic and what is tragic..? sadness which engulfs me. Tell me, what is about conveying this melancholic life that gives a feeling of escape & sanctity..? Either way, It's nothing worth your time, just something to waste mine. Though, my sadness is contagious, so be wary of my thoughts. "Oh Mama, I'm in fear for my life from the long arm of the law Lawman has put an end to my running, and I'm so far from my home Oh Mama, I can hear you a-cryin', you're so scared and all alone Hangman is comin' down from the gallows, and I don't have very long...🎶" ✬mostly songs I love✫ Artist of cover：Twitter／@avogado6

you're ɐ bag filled with boxes of meat

A poetic trilogy: The death of a tree takes only a moment. The death of a forest is a torturous one. The death of the Earth is too slow to see. Rise up from your ignorance And you shall be free.

Is entropy reversible? Does the answer lie in technology? In some manner of 'Maxwell's Demon' which, by knowing the position of all the atoms in the universe, can re-order, what has decayed and rundown? Or is there some answer to be found in the human spirit? Is there an art? An elixir, some intoxicant, --a chaser... Which leads one wreckless, free-- in those vivid, timeless ways, to revolution.