#peculiararts

Player silently thanked the Wizard for the potion as the shockwave phased through them. The imp-like creature in front of them returned to its true form as Player felt the side effects of the Ghost Potion. They were hit with a brief yet intense wave of exhaustion. They hated this feeling, this feeling of not being able to fight back. The fatigue wore off, yet the supposed hero felt so tired. That didn’t matter right now. They tried to tell themself that this thing was no different from the other embodiments.

Why would this be any different?

…

They had been hesitating for far too long.

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Player’s trembling hands reached for a familiar card in their belt bag. Player looked at the crown engraved on it. The same crown as the king. The same crown as the man they killed. They sighed briefly, that didn’t matter right now. Honestly, they were desperate. They knew what they had to do. They flicked the card.

“Please… help me…” they croaked. Player waited for the tingle under their fingertips. The brief flash of light before Cruel King appeared in front of them. The sensation never came.

“Please!” Player begged.

No one answered their cry for help. They fell to their knees, both out of desperation and exhaustion. Tears began to stream down their face. IT let out a satisfied growl. Any hope left in Player’s eyes was replaced by dread, the same dread that struck them in the heart.

“ P A T H E T I C . “

They weren’t strong enough. They were never strong enough. They were an idiot. They were so gullible.

They were weak.

Corruptable.

Exposed.

They truly were pathetic.

Why couldn't they stop crying?

They couldn’t even stand up.

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They didn’t dare to open their eyes. They felt something on them. They didn’t know what it was, nor did they want to. What they did know was that it hurt. So much. They felt like their entire body was being ripped apart, yet they were being tightly compressed. They wanted to scream, but nothing came out. All they could do was sob. What a miserable little thing they were. If they had just listened to the Ghost Chef, this wouldn’t have happened. Hell, if they had just listened to Fear. If they had just listened to anyone. There was no one to save them now. Their body moved involuntarily. Despite them killing their Fear, they were terrified. They didn’t want to die. Not yet.

…

There was nothing they could do.

They had dug their own grave.