DAWN OF DAY 4
and
END OF THE GAME
By the time you read this, it might have been a long time already. Maybe a thousands years — to her, a thousands are but a mere blink. She would wait.
I suppose I’m the last person alive that knows the most about her. And soon no one will be left that know of it. Her first creation, maybe. But I don’t know when that would be, or whether it would happen at all.
She is a terrifying spirit. It wasn’t because she was good at fighting or strong; it was the mind. Her strength is in the mod, where she could corrode and possess you, seeping and destroying you from inside. Even as I write, I am trying to fight her back with all my strength, but it is futile. She’ll be here soon.
I know she will be, it’s my duty after all.
She seem flawless, and Father did say she was flawless, but I think otherwise. She doesn’t understand emotions. Love, care, innocence...it was foreign to her. She was the embodiment of chaos and destruction. The creator of destruction.
This might not be useful. But, with the same belief that the star should fall, I believe this would be useful to you, reader a thousand years later.
Goodnight.
Saffrona
——
The last one.
They found the last one.
Night approached, the sky turning a deep blue as the museum stayed shrouded in darkness. The weary survivors gathered in a circle, sitting around a small campfire started with a lighter and a stack of brochures. All was tired, minds stretched to their limit as they tried to comprehend the situation they have ended up in. Why were they all here in the first place?
The fire crackled, paper crumbling and blackening as the flames licked at its edges. It casted a soft glow in their faces, lighting up the fatigue in their eyes. But everyone knew better to sleep; it was too dangerous to fall unconscious now, even for a few minutes.
You never know what lurks in the dark.
The Master Thief sat at the back, trying to control their breathing as they calmed down. Despite having been nearly strangled to death by an immortal, they seemed comparatively calmer compared to the others, some of whom looked like they would pass out any moment.
He shifted his hands slightly, holding his sleeves to hide the shotgun. The same shotgun that blasted apart 13-Y’s head. His swift hands had snatched it from the believer the other night. The disciple had no use for it anymore anyways.
And now he would put it to better use.
Crackle.
The fire sputtered, flames rising in the air, right as the gun sounded with a bang. A man fell backwards, the force of the bullet splitting apart his skull. His glasses toppled off his nose, shattering as it hit the floor beside him.
Everyone gasped, instantly rushing to the man’s side. It was only then, did they realise something abnormal about him: a pair of dark blue horns stuck out from his hair, which was matted with blood and sweat. From his bag the contents spilled out, revealing little tubes of unknown chemicals, now broken and shattered, the luminescent liquid pooling around the dying man.
The Sheriff stepped forward, bending down to pick up an empty syringe, its tip dried with blood. “I see,” he said quietly. “It was you who attacked me in the night. It was probably you who was killing all these nights.”
The Scientest spat out a laugh, smiling from ear to ear. He glanced at the crowd, meeting every single one of their eyes:
“Fools.”
Crackle.
The Dagger began glowing, emitting a fiery red light. Below it the Book spinned, its pages flipping out of control, as if it was powered with excitement. The flower left by the Creator in the previous night was wilting, petals peelings off into fine dust.
3-C lay on the cold marble floor, completely still. The wide smile was frozen in his face, a small celebration of “victory” for his mission.
Crackle. Crackle. Crackle Crackle Crackle
The fire roared, throwing up the trembling shadows of the people. Everyone raises their hands, shielding themself from the sudden blast of light. The flames turned crimson suddenly, as the shadow of another being appeared on the wall.
The Creator sat among the campfire, prodding her arms onto a stack of burnt brochures. Her eye was still bleeding red, the other one sparkling it’s original golden colour. The fire wrapped around her hands, contrasting her too pale complexion. A smile hung on her face still, but it was different:
It was an evil, maniacal smile.
In the fire beside her, almost as if asleep, was 1-A. Supposedly arrested the other day. Yet she lay among the ashes, eyelids closed in a peaceful slumber, unaware of the chaos around her.
”Hehe.”
One by one the people backed off, out of fear. The immortal paid no attention to them, instead brushing off a few embers, reaching for the dagger that had summoned her to the earth. With one swift flick she sent it flying into the fire, where it stabbed into flesh with a dull groan.
1-A lay in the fire, throat slit open, blood spilling and running on the ground around her. She didn’t even have time to gasp or open an eye, dying in her sleep like trance.
“The worthy sacrifice,” the girl in red announced, eyes observing the mortals in front of her amusedly. “You thought I meant you all, didn’t you? Alas, you are not worthy.”
She gestured at her creation, as if they were just toys meant for disposal after she had gotten all out of them. “But they are. You were just the altar, mortals. You were the priests to offer them.”
The tone as she dismissed the death of her most loyal servant… it sent a shiver of dread down everyone’s spine.
“Thank you, I suppose.”
The Artefacts were flung into the fire brutally, clanging with the impact. It melted, dust and molten metal mixing into a pool of liquid that was quickly vaporised.
Unknown to the survivors yet, all around the world, thirteen monuments began to vibrate with a red glow. They shuddered, stones and metals shaking uncontrollably, however managing to not collapse. Everything around them, humans, plants. animals, objects alike, disintegrated into nothingness, leaving a trail of barrenness behind them.
Golden threads began to weave out of the buildings, creeping up its structures, reaching out to its fellow possessed monuments. Soon a tidy circle was formed, the thirteen buildings hand in hand, bound together by a band of magic.
Back at the museum, the immortal smiled, crimson eye bleeding even more furiously.
She had waitied for a thousand years, and now is time to feast.
——-
It’s time
The soul peeked out from the darkness she was in, shuddering at the energy that was pulsing through her former body. She didn’t dare imagine where these came from — millions of lives, consumed the moment the spell was activated, probably.
This is the only chance.
She unfurled herself, a small spirit wrapped up in sleep for as long as her body was taken. That would be around a thousand years.
Do not underestimate innocence, immortal.
———
zona has been killed. They were No. 3-C, Changeling/Mafia
RugaQwarcall has been killed. They were The Journalist, Town/Mortals
TastyPastry has been killed by Puppet Show. They were The Schoolboy, Town/Mortals
A game ending wincon has been achieved!
Town has won!
