#morthy

Whyd i write this what the hell

Inspired by that one scene from gravity falls. I mean like obviously its the same dialogue. I changed it a lil tho enjoy!!!!

Morthy lay face-down on his desk, his head nestled softly on his crossed arms. His eyes were gently closed, and his breathing was deep and steady, punctuated by the occasional soft snore. Around him lay a small pile of messy notes and scribbles, the result of countless hours of work and contemplation.

Suddenly, the world shifted. Morthy’s tranquil repose was interrupted by an awakening sensation that jolted him into a state of acute awareness. He was no longer in his study; instead, he found himself standing upright in an expansive field. His clerical robes fluttered gently in the breeze, their flowing fabric mimicking the swaying tall grass that stretched endlessly around him. The dreamscape was bathed in a surreal, golden light that flickers like sunlight through a thin veil of mist.

Morthy knew he wasn’t truly awake—this was just another fragment of his dreams, a landscape of his subconscious. He took a deep breath, his fingers weaving together in a gesture of calm focus. His eyes scanned the horizon, the verdant sea of grass gently undulating in the wind. It wasn’t often he had such surreal dreams, he enjoyed it.

A distant, unsettling laugh pierced the calm of the dreamscape, sending a shiver through Morthy's frame. The sound was eerie and distorted, reverberating through the endless field like a cruel echo. Instinctively, he tensed, his muscles tightening as he tried to pinpoint the source of the disconcerting noise. He muttered a frustrated curse under his breath, his voice tinged with a mix of irritation and apprehension.

"I know that laugh," Morthy said, his voice carrying an edge of recognition. The laugh was unmistakable, a twisted sound he had heard before. Although he couldn't see anyone, he knew who it belonged to.

"Show yourself!" Morthy's voice cut through the dreamlike silence, breaking the usual softness with an unexpected intensity. It was rare for him to let his voice rise so sharply, but the situation demanded it. For a long moment, the field remained eerily quiet, the gentle rustle of the grass fading into a heavy stillness. The wind died down completely, leaving an oppressive calm in its wake.

Suddenly, a powerful gust of wind swept through the field, flattening the grass and nearly toppling Morthy off balance. He stumbled, his heart pounding as he struggled to steady himself against the unexpected force.

Turning on his heel, Morthy's eyes locked onto the form he had dreaded. There, emerging from the swirling grass, was Gadreel. The demon stood with a theatrical flourish, his arms spread wide in a mocking gesture of welcome. His presence seemed to distort the very fabric of the dream, casting a shadow over the once-peaceful field.

"Well, well, well, wellwellwellwell~!" Gadreel's voice dripped with a sinister amusement, each word rolling off his tongue with a smooth, mocking lilt. "Father Morthy! Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" He laughed at his own joke, a cruel and unsettling sound that echoed through the field, further disturbing the already fractured tranquility.

"Gadreel." Morthy's voice was a low, fierce growl, his patience wearing thin. "What do you want from me?"

Gadreel's mocking grin widened as he dropped his arms to his sides. "Oh," he said with a smooth, almost theatrical flair, "Quit playing dumb, priest. You knew I'd be back. You think cutting off our contact would stop me?” Gadreel slithered closer, his claws laced together, “I've been making deals, chatting with old friends," he tugged at his shirt collar with an exaggerated, sarcastic bow, "Preparing for the big day! You can't keep that rift safe forever."

With a flick of his wrist, Gadreel conjured a shimmering, false rift in his claws, holding it up for Morthy to see. His eyes gleamed with malicious delight. "You'll slip up and when you dooo~" he sang, letting the rift slip from his grasp. It shattered dramatically against the floor, splintering into a jagged tear in the fabric of reality. For a fleeting moment, the rift revealed a glimpse of Gadreel's dimension—a chaotic, nightmarish expanse teeming with unsettling shadows and flickering flames.

"Get out of here!" Morthy's voice was a thunderclap of authority, his anger burning bright. "You have no place in our world!"

Gadreel's smile twisted into a smirk, his face obscured by the dark shadows of the portal behind him. His eyes glowed ominously as he hissed, "Maybe not right now, but things change, Morthy. Things change." His words dripped with an unsettling promise, leaving a chill in the air.

Gadreel’s laughter echoed through the dreamscape, its cruel sound weaving through the fabric of Morthy’s subconscious. The field around him began to distort, bending and twisting as if under the influence of the demon’s dark amusement. Images of chaos and destruction flashed before Morthy’s eyes—visions of his world being torn asunder, ravaged by the malevolent force Gadreel would unleash if ever he broke free from his prison. The scenes were vivid and horrifying, each one more apocalyptic than the last, creating a tapestry of dread that seemed to stretch on endlessly.

With a sudden jolt, Morthy shot awake. He was back at his desk, his surroundings bathed in the familiar, comforting light of the church. His heart raced, and he was drenched in sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The warmth that enveloped him felt unnaturally intense, almost feverish. He was overcome by a wave of disorientation, his body trembling as he tried to reorient himself.