He holds their hand. He picks up the knife and puts himself between whatever is outside of the room and them. Tells them to run.
And there'd be nothing stopping them. In fact, it'd probably be better if they gave up and ran. What's outside the door is something they're terrified of. It's the wall blocking them from being free, the shell they're trapped inside.
What tears the door apart is either a God or a twisted angel. They can't tell. But he's not going to get far with a demand or asking questions. A burst of flame, a blast of wind and the upheaval of the earth below the thing's feet cause it to go barreling right back outside.
They hear it on the wind anyway. "Be good. You are the protagonist of this story. Play your part. Obey. And this will end when we're hap-"
Fuck that.
They stumble to their feet and black and red sludge starts pouring up from the cracks in the floor to start flooding outside. It's a curse. A Death Curse. It pours over the being outside and it starts to scream as its soul is torn apart.
Its will is weaker then their's. They know this and will never stop casting. It struggles to escape the sludge and they wind their arm back and punch it square in the face. Again and again, and again--
"I'm. Not....not your protagonist! I'm me! I existed! I'm still here! And this ends...when I want it to!"
And as they scream these words, this once pretty forest begins to burn under the strain of no longer having a main character to this story. Because they refuse to play along. They refuse to be silent and just take this abuse any longer. The people in the big houses begin to scream and sob at the loss of their wealth and the soul memory can't bring themself to care.
They're angry. They hate humanity and God. And that rage is what they hold onto as they sunk into the abyss, laughing until their throat breaks under the strain.
This is a story with no happy or sad ending, for it has no ending. It has no protagonist.
This is just the story of an angel who became a monster.
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And there'd be nothing stopping them. In fact, it'd probably be better if they gave up and ran. What's outside the door is something they're terrified of. It's the wall blocking them from being free, the shell they're trapped inside.
What tears the door apart is either a God or a twisted angel. They can't tell. But he's not going to get far with a demand or asking questions. A burst of flame, a blast of wind and the upheaval of the earth below the thing's feet cause it to go barreling right back outside.
They hear it on the wind anyway. "Be good. You are the protagonist of this story. Play your part. Obey. And this will end when we're hap-"
Fuck that.
They stumble to their feet and black and red sludge starts pouring up from the cracks in the floor to start flooding outside. It's a curse. A Death Curse. It pours over the being outside and it starts to scream as its soul is torn apart.
Its will is weaker then their's. They know this and will never stop casting. It struggles to escape the sludge and they wind their arm back and punch it square in the face. Again and again, and again--
"I'm. Not....not your protagonist! I'm me! I existed! I'm still here! And this ends...when I want it to!"
And as they scream these words, this once pretty forest begins to burn under the strain of no longer having a main character to this story. Because they refuse to play along. They refuse to be silent and just take this abuse any longer. The people in the big houses begin to scream and sob at the loss of their wealth and the soul memory can't bring themself to care.
They're angry. They hate humanity and God. And that rage is what they hold onto as they sunk into the abyss, laughing until their throat breaks under the strain.
This is a story with no happy or sad ending, for it has no ending. It has no protagonist.
This is just the story of an angel who became a monster.