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The Magicientific (TFTG)

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posted on May, 22 2012 @ 12:54 AM
Sipping water, the old wrinkled lips of Mark Bentham, the fourth of the name, tremble a little. Not out of fear or expectation, but simply because of Bentham's age; 145 years, with 123 of them as the most successful business man in the history of the world.
Of course, in his lifetime he initiated many successful projects, but his fortune had already been made by the 3 generations that preceded him, giving him more than a solid foundation from which to work.

Known to the public of the Earth, and of the colonized moons of the solar system, as a generous man, having established 27 non-profit organizations to help those less fortunate, he is known by the people working directly with him as the “Angry Whore”, though no one in their right mind would say it out loud in Bentham's presence.
Knowing that fact pleased Bentham, seeing voluntary submission from those he “towered”, as he loved to think, and sometime say, as a sign of His supremacy.

Cold, merciless and driven, nothing seems to resist Bentham's will.


An intercom announcement takes Bentham out of his reverie; the voice heard is that of the Captain of the star ship HPL-Rowlings, telling the 300 crew members that the destination has been reached.

Assisted by a micro exo-skeleton, barely visible, Bentham the Fourth raises up, and make gestures in the air, as if trying to catch a fly. But instead of a fly, two bulky artificial beings start to move in his direction, ready to protect him at all cost.

At the same moment, the door of Bentham's cabin opens; it is an elf like creature, conceived in Bentham's biological department, to perform work too subtle for robots or computers to achieve, and beyond humans ability to perceive and act upon. The elf speaks.

-”Master Bentham, the Room is being prepared as we speak. But there was a problem...”. Waiting for a sign of anger from Bentham, that doesn't come, the elf continues; -”More than 60 liters have been lost in transport.”

-”We can then be glad I brought that many crew members on this trip, no?”, said Bentham, not even glancing at the elf. -”Take the necessary measures to have the quantity necessary replaced by 3 this afternoon, am I clear?”
Bowing in answer to his Master, the elf promptly leaves to have his deed performed.

A few moments later, Bentham leaves his cabin, followed by his two artificial bodyguards.


Captain Udina has just received a message from the elf Bhar, the boss' favorite “toy”. He orders his assistant to have 15 crew members to meet in the Master's ring chamber, where they will be met by security forces.


Bentham, and his bodyguards arrive in a large room with walls as dark as space itself. But if someone was given the opportunity to examine them, tiny sentences of a forgotten language, accompanied by symbols of many shapes would be found decorating them in every direction, even the ceiling, except for the part where there is a large circular bay window.

For the moment, only Jupiter is visible through it, but Bentham ignores the planet and goes to see the three trolls working feverishly on the floor, decorated with a pentagram made of a sentence written in uninterrupted cursive language, all the words joined by a line. Words of Blasphemy so intense that no men has ever dared write them before Bentham the First.
Words only the most sadist of men would dare to use...

But the trolls were working on the last touch of wielding correctly some parts of the circuitry connecting with the pentagram; no mistake could be tolerated on such an intricate design, covering the whole of the floor.
One of them, the oldest, leaves momentarily his work to meet with his Master, seemingly not impressed by who was facing him.
-”Meh!”, said the troll in a scrappy cavernous voice, “ We're almost done, bwah.” “Garh! Gah! If you survive this incantation on such a arghh! scale, we will become legends across the dimensionssignhh!”

-”You know I care not about your pretensions, so spare me if you want to rejoice in your legendary babbling...”, said Bentham in a casual tone, imprinted by an indomitable confidence in himself, despite his age.
The troll, suddenly standing straight before his Master brings his face closer to him and growls; -”Grrhh! The worlds will really know why we are reputed to “sleep under the bridges”...” Turning to go back to work, the troll adds; -”Truly, Gnnekh!, we are Masters in crossing boundaries unseen by others who are as blinds. Hahk!”

Mentally adjusting his artificial vision, Bentham looks more closely at the circuitry, thinking to himself; -”Yes, trolls ARE geniuses of their craft. But I was the One to understand their true power, and how to force these mythological creatures to work for my own will.”
-”Stupid beasts is what they are, nonetheless.”, continues to think Bentham, amused that all that was needed for protection against the trolls was such a simple one.

Sometimes, in the world of the Holy Technocraft, simple measures were the answer for the most complex of problems. Alas, it was not the case with the Major Incantation Bentham was preparing. Nonetheless, it was going to see the light of day; -”...or rather the darkness of eternity.”, thought Bentham, satisfied of the trolls wonderful work.


Despite being surrounded by 15 suspended bloodless corpses, the elf Bhar, as well as the room he was in, were as clean as a surgery block.
The job had been well done and Bhar was satisfied. He gave orders for the bodies to be prepared for the Masters enormous dogs that were contained in the cargo bay of the ship.
Bodily fluids had been separated and sent to their appropriate place, in the finest of measurement; the formula needed to be very precise unless one wanted to be part of a very powerful, and unforgiving process of destruction.

posted on May, 22 2012 @ 12:54 AM
It was now the time for the incantation.
Bentham, naked, stripped of even his exo-skeleton was lying in the center of the pentagram, looking through the circular window bay at the soon to be destroyed colony on the surface of Jupiter’s small moon.

First, the reaped fluids of more than a hundred victims were flowing on the floor, through tiny holes in the walls, near the floor.
The fluids, as if knowing what to do, were following every line of the circuitry as well as the letters forming the pentagram. Soon enough, Bentham felt comforted by the touch of the fluids on his back; the time was near, he thought, rejoicing in his heart.

When all the fluids had been used to cover the circuitry of the floor, five little transparent boxes, each containing a trio of fairies, were lowered on every point of the pentagram. Fairies, sparkling little creatures, would serve as the ignition mechanism for the incantation.
To do so, Bhar was sitting at a desk, feverishly typing a formula on a virtual keyboard.

Upon pressing “enter”, the fairies exploded all simultaneously, sending waves of z-energy across the fluids, activating the pentagram.


Above Bentham, just below the window bay, a vortex appeared, filling the room with a roar only a powerful wind can carry. Then, the face of a Dark One appeared.
-”You again...”, said the Dark One, telepathically. “And more ambitious than ever, I can see.”

Giving the impression of getting closer to Bentham, the Dark One asked; -”What do you want, this time?”
Bentham simply replied; -”Relentless Chaos, I ask of you what I have always asked of you, no more and no less, but according to the proportions offered to you.”
-”Behind you is a colony of many thousands of souls, all for you to take and dispose as you see fit, in exchange for the realization of my will!”

Pleased and disgusted, the submitted powerful Dark One laughs angrily, evil echoing in his throat.


One week later, on Earth, in the complex of Bentham Industries, there is a news conference going on.

Mark Bentham, Fifth of the name, is the one giving the speech.

-”Unfortunately, I am saddened to announce to you today that two great tragedies have hit us all, a week ago, and only now do we feel its effect.” Pretending to wipe a tear from the corner of his eyes, the Fifth Bentham goes on; -”A week ago, my father was killed, as well as the whole of the colony of Soref. My father had been invited to see the demonstration of a new type of generator, and something went horribly bad as the generator exploded, destroying one eight of the moon, and all we had built on it. Bentham Industries would like to...”

Later that evening, Mark the Fifth gets to sit in his vehicle, ready to go home and begin his new life. Waiting for him is Bhar, his ever faithful elf servant.
-”Now that you have found youth again, what do you intend to do, Master?”


-”Well, that's easy; convince everyone else that I am the Only God they will ever need again, or face my eternal wrath.”, says Bentham. “But first, let's make a stop at West Boston's beaches for a few weeks of leisure time. The Pacific is very nice this time of the year...”

The End

posted on May, 22 2012 @ 01:00 AM
OK, I admit I forgot the word count and I didn't see it as splittable. I tried, but it would have needed too much rewriting, and I didn't see it either as a two part story.

So there it is, in a single thread. If I'm out of the contest for the word count, I understand... but will internally rage until it passes, I guess.


To the memory of the Soref Colony, and the HPL-Rowlings crew...

posted on May, 22 2012 @ 03:48 AM
I really enjoyed that one, Nowen. definitely cool

Loved the idea of the exploding fairies lol got a really vivid picture of that one lol

posted on May, 22 2012 @ 08:27 AM
reply to post by Jomina

Yep! Faeries are the flintstones of the future!

Sparkly little things... I think Edward, from Twilight, is a faerie in disguise...


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