Origins Stories

"What are you doing." - Cal

Blood spilt, staining what was once pure white void.

It was a constant. Every breath felt like a nightmare he was forced to relive.

At this point, the floor of the void, if there even was one, was an old friend. One that he had been knocked down on several times. Being forced to stand once more, only to be knocked down again.

Insults were thrown, and spread like fire. Each flame hotter than the last. Each fervent.

"Worthless."

"Pathetic."

"Fool."

"Useless."

"Inferior."

"Weak."

The once white void was a crime scene at best, and a bloodbath at worst. Cracks eating away at the space as it slowly began to fall apart.

This was no Corridor of Time anymore. This space was meaningless. Meant to kill. Meant to hide the truth. Meant to lie.

He did nothing. He gave up trying to fight back. He knew he couldn't. So why bother?

It was over anyways. It will be over. He can't run. He can't hide. He may seek, but have no eyes. He may speak, but have no words. He may breathe, but will not live. This was its law.

These were its rules. He should have listened to them.

He should not have befriended so many, only to leave them in the end.

He had no place. Especially not here.

He was no God. He was weak, and a fool.

Pathetic and worthless.

He will die here. He will die here by the blade of a God.

He can only wait, and embrace the cold hands of death.

...

A figure stands behind his soon to be killer.

Polearm in hand.

Looks up from the ground.

Bright and hostile eyes. Burning with flamboyant anger.

...

"What the hell are you doing."

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Yeah so, have this while I work on the Ozymandias chapters. They're taking longer than I thought they would. But I'll get them out I swear.

Also, any guesses on who the mysterious person in this is?