The Unkillable: Death Sworn [INVINCIBLEXREADER]

Chapter 12

So, you slept there- even if you had to sleep on the couch while you were there, since they didn't have a guest bedroom. Or if they did, you didn't know, remember, or care to remember. The couch was really comfortable. You often awoke in the dead of night, distant memories of what should have been a nightmare falling away from you as you panted, finding yourself alone. Without fail, you would then drink a cold glass of water, and fall back asleep on the couch. But one night was a little different. The second night- the night before they left.

You had the nightmare again, and this time you remembered it.

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Once again, you were submerged, swallowed by the void of constant converged whiteness and blackness. No redness, though- not yet. No bloodshed will occur without your overseeing it. The only senses you had open to you were smell, taste, touch, and sound. Sight was lost to you within the void. "Hey." An unfamiliar and yet familiar voice. You definitely knew him- it sounded like a man- but you could not connect the voice to a person. "Wake up?" A moment of lingering silence, the whiteness darkened further into blackness, swirling and giving you a hint on the setting. "Okay, good." He mutterd. "No waking up this time, hopefully. There will be a rude awakening if you do." You felt a twinge in your arm- it pressed deep, the feeling spreading from the initial position in slow waves, ebbing from the needle-point. After a long moment, it released, and your arm no longer felt a sharp pain, but a sore and bruised one. There was the smell of iron mixed with what could only be explained as a doctor's office- isopropyl alcohol and blue rubber gloves. Unlike before, you could not move- not even twitch or flinch. You were paralyzed, lying on your side. Control over your vessel had left you, allowing you to rest. 'Bullshit.' You wanted to mutter, but you could not even move your lips to speak an utterance of a word.

Footsteps left you, and you were alone. 'Why am I still here?' You questioned, and a pit formed in your stomach. The scene was not finished. Time stretched, and what felt like moments turned to minutes- hours. Your body could move now- and you knew this because it began to move on its own. You allowed it, due to your morbid curiosity of it all, and since you feared if you didn't, it would ruin many things. The dread increased as you tread with unheard footsteps, creeping ever so slowly, hiding beside the front door. The cold wall against your back hinted at the fact. You stood there for more time still, feeling as though your chest would explode due to your heart's rapid beating. And although you felt your nerves, your body made no show of it, save for the slick sheet of sweat your skin had been covered in. Your toes curled against the wooden flooring, and your hands flexed against the walls, both of which cool with the night air as your body awaited its next action.

Then, you heard it. The front door's lock clicked as though someone were trying to get in. There were no sounds of cursing or muttering from the other side of the door, just silence as the lock clicked, being picked. And then, a final successful click, the type that sends a chill of satisfaction through you, as the door slowly swung open, a long and quiet creak sounding from it. You heard as the infiltrator entered, lightly closing the door behind them. Their boots lightly thudded against the food as they took one step, two steps, three steps into the house. Not a sound rose from you as you circled around the body, slowly reaching both hands out, trying to be sure of yourself while locating the enemy. A moment of stillness as death came upon you both, and the intruder seemed to sense it as well as they tensed, eyes widening. But they did not turn, not daring to, believing in simple paranoia, rather than ghosts and ghouls and death sworn children.

You proved to them that perhaps they shouldn't mark every myth with falsehood.

The moment you grabbed the back of their neck, they became visible, revealing to you a woman. A meth-head, or something of the sort, from the smell of it- rotten and sick with old odors and acrid breath. She was a silhouette of red, bright ebony emanating from where you held her. She shivered and quivered, but kept completely silent as the charcoal ran from your arm and through her. Loosening your grip, you circled her, so you could look her in the eye- even if you couldn't see her. But you wanted to face her, for some reason.