June 14Jun 14 Incipit: Totem (Here Beggineth...) Lost. I was lost, but not in time or space, but in my own thoughts. I was fully aware of my existence, but unable to project the slightest trace of emotion; there was a barrier in my being that chained me. However, I did not care. Looking down and looking at my left hand, I found a sword, and in that instant, I understood my purpose. So I waited. I was not alone. Around me stood others like me, armed with shields, bows and arrows, static in the silence. But there was one who was different and answered to the name of Brutalist. Looking at him, a profound respect flooded me, I felt the irrevocable need to thank him for something as immense as my own life. Although… was I really alive? There was no time to decipher the dilemma. The sands shook under the attack of the last mammoth. It was a fierce battle, a whirlwind of violence where many of those who seemed to be my brothers fell, destroyed by the brutality of the beast. But every storm has a beginning and an end; after a final effort, the creature collapsed. While Brutalist raised his arms celebrating the victory, I felt my body begin to fade. I looked back one last time and saw how a totem of bones collapsed. It was at that precise instant when the noise in my mind turned off, I ceased to be lost in my thoughts, and I simply waited. Explicit: Totem (Here endeth...) Incipit: Flowers You are preparing for the storm. In a small village of Irselnort, you know for certain that the elves will not be long in arriving. Around you, the trade of war is breathed in the air. You can notice it in the faces of the barbarians, death knights, and reapers. Everyone longs for the imminent chaos. You observe how they release the dogs, whose jaws drip an insatiable bloodlust. You see Brutalist along with other necromancers, they invoke the totems, monoliths of bone that, in turn, invoke soldiers identical to you, but with swords and shields. No one doubts. Everyone knows that many lives are about to be extinguished. Then, you look at the sky and remember. Returning to that adventure in Ayvondil, when you walked alongside Brutalist under the shadow of the black oak forest. You remembered that unique specimen: a tree from whose branches grew beautiful and delicate pink flowers; you had been dumbfounded by its beauty. It was at that precise instant when your consciousness understood how beautiful life could be. But reality is not a tree with flowers. A fireball impacts you directly. The war has begun! There is no pain. You feel how the impact disassembles your body, each of your ribs and phalanges separate, flying through the air, far from the epicenter of the conflict. You believe the end has come, but miraculously your consciousness remains intact. Now you are nothing more than an inert skull cast upon the grass, a simple spectator forced to witness the horror unfolding in front of you. Knowing that you can no longer shoot arrows, you make an unimaginable effort to cling to that single thought that gave you peace. You visualize the tree. The screams of the village begin to silence in your mind. You are no longer in a war; you are resting at that tree of pink flowers. And there you will remain, waiting for someone to find you by accident. Explicit: Flowers Incipit: Regretful He woke up in the middle of a combat arena where the crowd screamed with excitement. With only a few seconds of existence, it was not hard for him to understand the situation. The one who through death had brought him to life, the necromancer Brutalist, had summoned him to fight and take the victory. His opponent was another necromancer, he noticed that they looked at each other’s faces with fury and small drops of regret. Then, the biological commands were activated in his empty marrow. Brutalist's will pulled the invisible threads of his structure, forcing him to act. Without questioning, the skeleton charged forward. His opponent advanced with the same mechanical rigidity. It was another skeleton, an exact replica of himself born from the rival necromancer's totem. It was in that fraction of a second, just before their swords clashed, when he experienced something deeper than his purpose. Looking into the empty, glowing eye sockets of his adversary, he recognized his own prison. There was no hatred in his being; what invaded him was a silent and devastating regret. He understood that they were two identical souls, forced to destroy each other for a prize that neither of them would enjoy. In the deepest part of his mind, the skeleton wished to lower his weapon. He yearned to extend a hand to his brother and refuse to participate in the cruel theater of the arena. However, his body did not belong to him. While his consciousness wept, his arms executed a flawless and lethal thrust. Explicit: Regretful . . . Author's Note Spoiler First, I need to clarify something in case anyone missed it: these stories are parts of my adventures, but told from a different point of view, that of my skeletons. After all, we shared the same experiences, and I thought it was a great concept to explore. AI was used to translate this work. As you know, it tends to alter and exaggerate everything it touches, so I asked it to provide a literal translation without falling into incoherence. Below, I will share my story as it was originally written in my native language: Spoiler Perdido. Estaba perdido, pero no en el tiempo ni en el espacio, sino en mis propios pensamientos. Era plenamente consciente de mi existencia, pero incapaz de proyectar el más mínimo rastro de emoción, existía una barrera en mi ser que me encadenaba. Sin embargo, no me importaba. Al bajar la vista y mirar mi mano izquierda, encontré una espada, y en ese instante comprendí mi propósito. Así que esperé. No estaba solo. A mi alrededor se alzaban otros como yo, armados con escudos, arcos y flechas, estáticos en el silencio. Pero había uno diferente y respondía al nombre de Brutalist. Al mirarlo, un respeto profundo me inundaba, sentía la necesidad irrevocable de agradecerle por algo tan inmenso como mi propia vida. Aunque… ¿realmente estaba vivo? No hubo tiempo para descifrar el dilema. Las arenas temblaron bajo el ataque del último mamut. Fue una batalla feroz, un torbellino de violencia donde muchos de los que parecían mis hermanos cayeron, destrozados por la brutalidad de la bestia. Pero toda tormenta tiene un principio y un fin; tras un último esfuerzo, la criatura se desplomó. Mientras Brutalist alzaba los brazos celebrando la victoria, sentí que mi cuerpo comenzaba a desvanecerse, Miré hacia atrás por última vez y vi cómo un tótem de huesos se derrumbaba, Fue en ese preciso instante cuando el ruido en mi mente se apagó, dejé de estar perdido en mis pensamientos, y simplemente esperé. Te estas preparando para la tormenta. En una pequeña aldea de Irselnort sabes con certeza que los elfos no tardarán en llegar. A tu alrededor el oficio de la guerra se respira en el aire. Puedes notarlo en las caras de los bárbaros, caballeros de la muerte y en los reapers. Todos ansían el caos inminente. Observas cómo liberan a los perros, cuyas fauces gotean una sed de sangre insaciable. ves a Brutalist junto con otros nigromantes, invocan los tótems; monolitos de hueso que, a su vez, invocan soldados idénticos a ti, pero con espadas y escudos. Nadie duda. Todos saben que muchas vidas están a punto de extinguirse. Entonces, miras al cielo y recuerdas. regresando a aquella aventura en Ayvondyl, cuando caminabas junto a Brutalist bajo la sombra del bosque de roble negro. Recordaste aquel espécimen único: un árbol de cuyas ramas brotaban unas hermosas y delicadas flores rosas habías quedado anonadado por su belleza. Fue en ese preciso instante, cuando tu conciencia comprendió lo hermosa que podía ser la vida. Pero la realidad no es un árbol con flores. Una bola de fuego te impacta directamente. ¡La guerra ha comenzado! No hay dolor, Sientes cómo el impacto desarma tu cuerpo cada una de tus costillas y falanges se separan, volando por los aires, lejos del epicentro del conflicto. Crees que el fin ha llegado, pero milagrosamente tu conciencia sigue intacta. Ahora no eres más que un cráneo inerte arrojado sobre la hierba, un simple espectador obligado a presenciar el horror que se desata al frente. Sabiendo que ya no puedes disparar flechas haces un esfuerzo inimaginable para aferrarte a ese único pensamiento que te dio paz. Visualizas el árbol. Los gritos de la aldea comienzan a silenciarse en tu mente. ya no estás en una guerra, estás descansando en aquel árbol flores rosas de Y allí permanecerás, esperando a que, por accidente, alguien te encuentre Se despertó en medio de una arena de combate donde el público gritaba de emoción con solo unos pocos segundos de existencia no le costó entender la situación. Aquel que con la muerte lo había traído a la vida, el nigromante brutalist, te invocó para luchar y llevarse la victoria. Su contrincante era otro nigromante, el notaba que se miraraban las caras con furia y pequeñas gotas de arrepentimiento. Entonces, los comandos biológicos se activaron en su médula vacía. La voluntad de Brutalist tiró de los hilos invisibles de su estructura, obligándolo a actuar. Sin cuestionamiento, el esqueleto arremetió hacia el frente. Su oponente avanzaba con la misma rigidez mecánica. Era otro esqueleto, una réplica exacta de sí mismo nacida del totem del nigromante rival. Fue en esa fracción de segundo, justo antes de que sus espadas chocaran, cuando experimentó algo más profundo que su propósito. Al mirar las cuencas vacías y brillantes de su adversario, reconoció su propia prisión. No había odio en su ser; lo que lo invadió fue un arrepentimiento silencioso y devastador. Comprendió que eran dos almas idénticas, obligados a destruirse mutuamente por un premio que ninguno de los dos disfrutaría. En lo más profundo de su mente, el esqueleto deseaba bajar el arma. Anhelaba extender una mano a su hermano y negarse a participar en el cruel teatro de la arena. Sin embargo, su cuerpo no le pertenecía. Mientras su consciencia lloraba, sus brazos ejecutaron una estocada impecable y letal. Literature requires knowledge. Writing from different types of narrators seems easy in theory, but in practice it was more difficult than creating the drawings. Third-person narration, especially, challenged me more than I would like to admit, but the result was definitely worth the effort. My goal was for each story to feel unique, and I believe I achieved that. To be honest, this contest came as a surprise, especially for artists like me who were preparing by drawing a greeting card. Edited June 19Jun 19 by Brutalist Error correction 1.0
June 15Jun 15 20 hours ago, Brutalist said: If all goes well and time isn't against me, this story will be out. Hahaha paradoxical For sure this won't be AI
June 15Jun 15 Author 6 hours ago, Jollier said: Hahaha paradoxical For sure this won't be AI I'm doing everything I can to keep from losing my mind watching time tick away, especially since I still need to illustrate the key moments of my unfinished story in pixel art. Sure, AI would take a lot of work off my plate but honestly, it feels humiliating to let AI tell your own story
June 19Jun 19 Author Finally, my work has come to light. I hope you like it! On 6/14/2026 at 11:21 AM, Brutalist said: Author's Note This is important!
June 20Jun 20 Author 6 hours ago, Higgings said: That's maybe one of the most original ways seen to tell a story! Amazing!
June 22Jun 22 senhorrr que incrivel que criativo falar na visão de um esqueleto, vc sempre se superando
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