Angelo makes his way down the red carpet throne room. The King has requested an audience for the one who slayed the Beast threatening the city. As he reaches the steps up to the throne, Angelo kneels before the King with reverence. The King retrieves the ceremonial sword from his royal guard and begins the knighting ritual, an honor reserved for those recognized as true heroes."What do you make of this?" the seer asks.
"I don't know: seems like a good guy." the Captain observes.
"We'll see."
Angelo is at his wit's end. Skeletal soldiers, fiends, and more vicious creatures surround the warrior. He grows fatigued; but, one-by-one, Angelo slays all that oppose him with his trusty claymore. The massive Beast in the distance towers over the city walls, calling in more creatures to ravage the city. Angelo finds a break in the encirclement and fires a blast of force through the ranks, annihilating his enemies. Path cleared, he dashes over to the Beast, which has broken through the city wall."

Arthur was beginning to think that the old man was some kind of half-crazed supervillain. He could have overlooked the loud Hawaiian-print shirt, cargo shorts, and socks-with-sandals ensemble; that was typical old guy fare, stupid-looking but ultimately harmless. The carved wooden hiking stick he carried around despite being hundreds of miles from the nearest hikeable patch of nature and the sunglasses worn even though it was night…that pushed it a bit more. The honest-to-god real live owl perched on his shoulder--was it even legal to keep a pet owl in this city? Arthur had no idea--that was…especially eccentric, to be kind about the phrasing.
But what really took the cake was him showing up out of nowhere, saying they needed to talk, and then…well, Arthur wasn’t really sure what he’d done. All he knew was that he’d blinked and somehow his surroundings had gone from a lonely street to the roof of a skyscraper, traffic lights blinking li

Once upon a time there was a terrible dragon, which crawled along the ground on endless feet. The dragon was an ancient beast—forged long before Little Red was born—and only Grandmama was old enough to remember it. But Little Red had heard stories, and so when she saw the dragon coming she rolled her bike into a wooden bunker nearby and waited for it to pass.
     But the dragon saw her inside with eyes of infra-red, and so it spoke: “Little Red, Little Red, let me come in.”
    “Not by the spikes on your tinny-tin-tin!”
    “Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your fort in!”
    The dragon breathed out a huge gout of fire that burned the wooden bunker to ash, but Little Red was clever, and so in the commotion she escaped and rode away across the wasteland to a bunker of steel.
    Here too, the dragon saw her, an

A new world was coming to life under his fingers. A snow-covered mountain of a landscape that he forged new valleys in with every pass over it he took. The sun beating down on his world with inescapable heat that he wanted to apologise for. The snow and glaciers on his mountain melting in waves that would cause avalanches if he wasn't careful, but he took his time and paid attention to it; removing the rivers of melted ice before they could become more than that.
Sometimes he took more than just the meltwater though, in his hunger and his greed. Sometimes he took it upon himself to cleanse the sinners from his world. Sometimes whole villages were removed with a mere flick of his powerful and mighty tongue. Sometimes--
Oops.
The little boy accidentally dropped his icecream and sat down hard on the pavement in dismay. Glaciers hit the hot tarmac desert and forged new rivers in front of him, the inhabitants of his world screaming with the change, but he was too busy crying to care.

Things were not going well. He'd knicked his hand on a sharp edge at the first hotel and had to swap to this one at the last minute. He had also forgotten his lucky pick, and his second set was missing a crucial tool. No, Adrian was definitely not having a smooth run of it today.
He was still jimmying the lock several minutes later, and the noise was attracting attention. A tourist -- recognisable by the wide-brimmed hat and extra large sunglasses she wore -- was staring in his direction. Adrian swore under his breath, affected a grin, and waved at her.
"Locked myself out," he called, bringing forth a slight blush, and thanking the Gods that he'd practiced that. He heaved a sigh of relief as she nodded hesitantly and went about her business.
Finally, the lock clicked, and he pushed open the door.
"Good morning," the gentleman on the other side said, quite amiably. He was wearing a moustache, a bathrobe, and a pair of terry cloth hotel slippers, and sipping calmly at what smelled like a