DLC: The Lost One Mini Ga
The living fragnt of death gasped as it felt sothing reach for it. It reached back, epheral claws seeking to cling to the warmth. As it moved, pain radiated from its neck, threads of fire licking its nerves for the hubris of thinking it could dare use them.
When it had been born, all it had known was pain. A deep voice had spoken to it, ordering it to exist, and it had opened its eyes to see a figure of black and tal standing over it.
The dark figure had given it a purpose, and a place to wait.
The dead thing made of pain had two directives: to hurt soone, and then kill them.
It hadnt, at first, understood why it must hurt and kill this soone. But then its creator, its resurrector, explained in excruciating detail. The soone was the reason that it was dead, and in pain. The soone had let this happen. The soone had been weak, and abandoned it to its fate.
It learned hatred. Every mont of pain experienced was attributed to this mythical soone, and what little sanity it had awoken with was slowly scraped away. And the master that had sought to contain it learned all too well what happens when one attempts to control fire.
It rages.
Everything was lost, save the hatred gifted to it by its creator, and the whispers of the drear.
It didnt know who or what whispered to it. But sotis it caught glimpses of a world it knew but did not rember. Of a family of friends, bright and clear, free from the misery it soaked in.
It clung to those whispers with everything that remained of its mind.
Then the whisper had beco a cry for help. Grief, terrible and overwhelming, had flooded through the fragile connection and the creature of pain and hate had followed that river of emotion to the source.
It ca across the drear in the ruins of her village, struggling to shield herself against the darkness that threatened her, and the creature knew true wrath.
Soone had hurt the drear. It knew, in its borrowed bones, that it was the soone whod done this to the drear. It couldnt lose those whispers. It couldnt lose those fragnts of sanity.
So the living death sought to steal the drears darkness, to share the burden, even if only a little. The drear had repulsed it, but the creature didnt begrudge her that. It was repulsed by itself. But it had been afraid that this ant the whispers would stop.
Its scraps of sanity couldnt continue to exist if the whispers stopped.
Yet, every now and then, the drear would still reach out to it. Sotis for minutes at a ti the creature would connect to the warmth of that bright drear and feel the darkness gather around her, threatening the drears joy. Desperately it offered the only things it had to give: rage and a tolerance for pain.
The drear accepted its gifts, and in return gave it sothing far more precious: Acceptance, and echoes of what it was like to be loved.
The drear was drawing near; it could tell. The more the drear accepted its gifts, the more it could help, the more warmth it gained.
Soon the drear would be with it, and it could burn the soone to ashes, and consu its beloved drear, so it could never be afraid-alone-lost again. It would protect the drear, and help it with its hatred.
A giggle stuck in its severed throat as it pictured the joy of having the drear within it forever.
It would finally be whole.
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