Checkmate, Samael.

Cynthia Mattscheck is the only person the Devil has blocked in his contacts.

After the seventeenth time she fooled him, he knew he could no longer pretend their interactions would end with him getting the best of her.

All of sixteen herself, Cynthia was everything the witch of Rock 'n Roll, Stevie Nicks, wanted to be.

Her jet black hair shot out like a wayward roman candle fight. Her family had raised Cynthia to fear the Devil- the Mattscheck clan was a respected Baptist family in Madison, Wisconsin. Evil was simply against their nature.

Cynthia's aunt Sybil was the black sheep of the prim and proper Mattscheck clan. She smelled of patchouli and independent thought. Sybil fell into the habit of leaving secrets gifts for Cynthia. The ouija board Cynthia found for her fifteenth birthday changed everything.

***

"Fool me once, send me to Hell. Fool me seventeen times?! I'm the God damn Devil!" Samael said. Shadows flickered around his form, never letting light fully outline his silhouette. His phone showed one missed call from Cynthia Mattscheck.

"There's no way she should have this number," he said, flipping through his messages. "I don't even need her soul." Samael kicked a small demon out of his way as the gates of Hell opened before him. There wasn't any reception down there- he'd be safe from Cynthia there.

Masking her intentions was the first vital skill she learned as the child of fundamentalists. Never argue for the thing you want, instead, suggest a parallel opportunity that will allow you to pursue your desire- without ever revealing it.

Cynthia looked like the girl you'd cheat off of in math class and then accidentally run over in the hallway.

After she summoned the Devil for the first time, she realized she could alter the spell and call on spirits and deities across all cultures and faiths.

Like an eager socialite that just got unlimited minutes- Cynthia made calls every chance she got.

The benefits of being the youngest child meant that she had grown up watching negotiations. She made sure to slightly overextend on each deal- giving the illusion that the other party would get the better deal on the back end. Cynthia never asked for an overwhelming amount of power, but she did ask a vast amount of deities for it. None the wiser that their deals weren't the only ones she had made.

For each deity, Cynthia asked, she received a unique power. Each God, Goddess, Demon, Jinn, Angel, and Abyss got the same deal. Cynthia got power, and in several days, the deity could retrieve her soul from a specific location.

None of them expected to see one another there.

Cynthia stood in front of the crowd of immortals

"You can have it-- if you can claim it," she said to a shocked audience. Samael looked on in bemused satisfaction. He hadn't fathered a child in centuries but started to have doubts as he watched a young girl pit the world's powers against each other. An immortal Battle Royale-- in which she presided as queen, not a sacrificial lamb.

No one except Samael put together the size of her coup as Gods clashed together. Cynthia had snagged an ability from each one of them and kept her powers in reserve as she watched from the sidelines.

The crowd thinned as more bodies littered the ground than stood upright. The first challenger to shoot out from the group towards Cynthia met a blinding light and disappeared with a sizzle. Those on the periphery slowed down to watch a globe of crackling fire grow in Cynthia's palm.

Eons of being predators meant their instincts took notice of a more powerful opponent. The globe kept rippling outward as the realization of an apex predator stood in the form of a high school girl surged in front of it.

Cynthia smiled and pushed forward- the globe engulfed the crowd of gods, demons, and beings used to winning immortality. She smiled at Samael before turning back to the scorched earth.

"So, Cynthia, how'd you do it?" Samael asked.

"A little hustle never hurt anyone." The Devil gestured at the carnage beside them.

"I'm sure they'll pull themselves back together."

"You're a wicked girl. Are you sure you're not one of mine?"

"Who knows, Samael?"

A Winged Prophecy

People like to tell you how things are going to be. That's the problem with prophecy- it's just another case of "I told you so."

The oracles at Delphi didn't have to deal with the incessant whining of grubby teenagers. I did. And let me tell you, I would have chosen the creepy old Greek guys.

When the world saw dragons for the first time, it wasn't a storybook moment, unless you count the original Hans Christian Andersen's. The land engulfed in fire, the seas boiled, and the true Gods laughed.

This is part of the story where I tell you that I'm one of the resistance fighters or some hero with a burning tale of vengeance. But I'm not. I'm just a scout leader that got caught with his pants down. NO! Not like that. Bathroom. I saw the dragons return out of the window of a ranger waystation. I stopped to deal with some lingering dysentery (thanks, Ometepe) and found my scout troop missing. If I hadn't had just gone, I would have shit myself when I saw the dragon drop into the valley.

It looked like a fever dream. Nothing that big is supposed to fly. I know you're always supposed to worry about the kids first- but being in Glacier and seeing the winged incarnation of doom, all I could think was, no merit badge is worth this.

If there were enough people left to judge me, I'd be worried, but there aren't.

Global carbon emissions have plummeted as the human footprint disappears. I wish I had downloaded my music before this happened. Internet running out crashed the collective intelligence of our species. Most people don't realize their lack of critical thinking skills until their life depends on it.

Some places adjusted better than others. Siberia's population is the same, as with Alaska, parts of Montana, Minnesota, and Afghanistan. Say what you will, those people know how to survive.

Bicycles found a new love for a brief period. Until the nickname "meals on wheels" came into effect after some gruesome drive-by ingestions. Turns out, humans had to rely on their own two feet. Not exactly fair in a scenario where your opponent has four feet and wings. Tough shit, though.

Outside of the flying horrors and lack of company, life in a dragon ruled world beat the previous one. Not working at a Wendy's any was enough to praise the fire-filled serpents, but the quiet new landscape awoke a guilty peace. Before everything turned to guano, I kept questioning why I pretended I wanted to be anywhere besides the woods. Running the scout troop proved the only viable excuse to be in nature all weekend. Unless I wanted to be like the Zakowski twins, which given their moonshine and chili habits, I didn't.

Is life more mortally stressful with man-eating dragons flying through the skies, hoping to root out the last of my kind? Arguably. Do I get to enjoy trails and abandoned Trader Joe's to myself? Yes. It all shakes out in the end.

The Pulp Wars: A History of Florida's Fall

There are few things in life you need to take a firm side on- and the presence of pulp in orange juice is one of them.

The cultivation of citrus has a contentious history in the United States. Dating back to the initial disappointments of the Florida territory not possessing the fountain of youth, young colonizers smashed oranges to manage their aggression. Outside of the unstoppable flow of time, a brief air of calm held the burgeoning territory in its grasp, until it didn't. A fierce debate surrounded the remains of crushed oranges and the leaked juice. One young man, Francisco Pulplenti, asserted the values of keeping the white detritus. At the same time, his rival, Hernan Alivincoso, slapped Francisco's sloppy goblet away to parade his purified version of the juice.

The history of that day lived within the hearts of every true Floridian. Only through mutual disdain of Louisiana and lemonade were the two opposing forces able to tolerate one another.

Yet, the siren call of conviction corrupted both sides after three hundred years of peace.

Two field hands fell into an argument over which bottle to chill in the mini-fridge for refreshment, and just as it started three hundred years ago, it ended. The groove fell into the two sides of pro and anti-pulp. Small skirmishes peppered the state as chaos spilled onto the streets.

Before the day set, the state had to shut its borders, lest outside forces added to the ongoing battle.

The pro-pulp forces were the vocal minority; their numbers dwarfed by the populist anti-pulp masses.

In the face of overwhelming odds, the pro-pulp prevailed in pitched battles. Whispers began to circle that the pulp gave them supernatural abilities. Soon, the anti-pulp faced internal rumors that they faced a legion of pulp-powered superhumans.

The anti-pulp leadership branded pulp consumption as barbaric and alluded to a connection with witchcraft. The shift from the superhuman narrative towards evil practices quelled the morale loss from the pro-pulp victories.

Just like the noncommital, none were left exempt from choosing sides. Citrus allergy? Still have to choose- otherwise, you'll experience your death allergy.

As with all wars, factions brought it to its knees. The pro-pulp and anti-pulp fought on the pretense of the naval orange being the orange of choice.

Both forces suffered surprise attacks by the Valencia orange and Blood orange armies. The tangerine mercenaries joined the melee while the grapefruit and lemon contingents watched the carnage in disgust.

And so Florida fell- fracturing into several tribes. Each aggressive to defend their groves.

The everglades soon filled with the hum of airboats as covert trade routes formed between former allies, friends, and families. Disney World closed its borders to the rest of the state and used their private airfield to maintain its cult activities. Even still, the Mouse privately funded grapefruit enterprises to dismantle the orange infrastructure.

The corrosive nature of citrus burned into history as the rest of the country drank pale champagne mourning their own tradition. No longer would brunch, nor the nation be the same again.

The Midwesterner Who Would Be King

The coastal elite controls the national news, so when the midwest was taken over and turned into a kingdom, it took about three months for the news outlets to notice.

"What states were it again?...

Kansas, Missouri, AND Nebraska?! ... is that a lot? Oof... We've got forty-something more of them left, right?" the president said. His oval office staff traded concerned glances.

The following weeks brought news of the King, who began a campaign of conquest that saw the Midwestern kingdom annex Mississippi and Iowa. All under the eye of an astonished president.

"Can he do this?" What is happening?!" the president's advisors shuffled papers as they struggled to tell him that as the president, he has to decide how to handle the King.

"This is America! Land of the free-- home of all fifty states and the schmucks that voted for me!" The day presided without a plan in place.

The Kingdom launched giant pumpkins via trebuchets against the military forces blockading the former states. Ranch hands sent cattle herds stampeding against the infantry. Water balloons full of sour milk and eggs peppered the remainders.

The US army troops refused to shoot at the non-lethal enemy combatants, and instead began defecting after hearing about the kingdoms inclusive medical plans-- they included dental and visual! A couple of brace-face cadets started the journey over, but the rest joined when they heard about the four day work week (modeled after Finland's ambitious plan).

The guns the troops took with them were melted down and reforged into community centers. The gun power they extracted from the bullets created the fireworks for the first annual independence festival. It took place on July third- unofficially named "Independence day 2.0."

What had started as an initial domestic oversight turned into an international catastrophe as support from foreign nations for the young Kingdom grew. While the title "The King" was used- in truth, shadows were surrounding the figure that guided the growing nation. However, the data emerging from the residents placed it at the top of the happiness index, pipping perennial winner, Denmark, and with it, garnered further support and envy for its actions.

***

Years soon passed without the reveal of the King on the throne. The world had no face to attribute the incredible rise of a near-utopia within the belly of the American beast.

Year five finally marked the curtain crashing down- exposing a puppet ruler. A literal puppet sat on the throne- behind a velvet curtain.

Journalists discovered a coalition of former film students ran the Kingdom. Their sovereign rise born out of a thesis project taken far too serious.

They had intended to parody a split from the United States and unintentionally succeeded when crowd participants didn't see the cameras and assumed it was a legal separation.

The coalition used film craft to keep the oppositions, spies, from piercing the veil. They also happily accepted all who defected- especially after escaping severe repercussions from the US armed services.

Puppy Spring served as a vital cog in the defection victory. The remaining soldiers not sold on the promise of healthcare and sustainable work weeks were wrought low by the unbearable cuteness of the puppy horde unleashed upon them.

Thankfully the success of Puppy Spring meant plan "Kitten Puffs" wasn't employed. Small studies showed that while adorable and soft, kittens get agitated at great heights and scratch those who pull them from their mini air balloons. An innovative aerial tactic, but a classic case of "cute, but not worth it."

Exceptions for defection did exist, and celebrities and billionaires took the majority of cases. The Kingdom ordered those who possessed immoral amounts of wealth to renounce their assets. The old rules of cut-throat capitalism did not belong in the new nation.

As the Kingdom annexed more states-- it left North Dakota for those who didn't want to join the nation. A rumor circulated through the Kingdom that the Koch brothers fought each other over the last functional oil well in the lone state.

The Kingdom had repurposed Colorado into a solar farm, which Elon Musk applauded from afar in his new role as an orchard owner. He praised the achievement while insisting people stopped calling him "Johnny Appleseed."

The final victory came with the arrival of the former president of the United States. He admitted that the job he took on held too much stress, and wanted to try out the four day work week. Especially since a three day weekend gave him a chance to finally read "Life of Pi" and expand his whittling collection.

The Kingdom made a collective "huh" to feign interest and moved on.

Within the decade, the whole of the former union bore allegiance to the Kingdom. While the fledgling nation didn't have the same military might as their predecessor, they did possess personal security and self-worth, and with it came ungodly amounts of cowbell and yoga.