i just love your scary villains !! can’t get enough so if ur ever in the mood please write an intimidating baddie. thanks i love ur writing<<333
The protagonist stopped dead, visions ripping through their brain, terror seizing every atom of their body.
"They're coming."
The room around them warped to a massacre. Brutal most of all in how economical it was - like the lives stolen were barely worth the seconds it took for the villain to end them.
"They're coming," the protagonist gasped again. "We need to go. Now."
"How long?"
"I-" In their brain, the villain caught sight of them. Their head tilted. "10 minutes? 20 minutes max. It's-"
The future quivered, pressing close, and the villain smiled. Then, they were gone, and the protagonist was simply standing in the room surrounded by pale faces. Still alive faces.
They would not all make it.
"-It's not an exact art," the protagonist finished. "But I can buy you some time."
Who had the protagonist seen, broken on the floor? No. They couldn't focus on that.
Hope helped. Hope always helped.
Everyone stared back at them, frozen, as if they hadn't bloody heard '10 minutes'.
"Run," the protagonist said, "for your lives."
It broke the dam. They scattered. The protagonist turned and sprinted for the roof.
"They're coming. They're coming. They're coming." They hissed it at every person they hurtled past; ever-made omen and sign. They watched the horror follow them like a ship's wake, but there was no time.
The roof was freezing, wind biting straight through their hoodie. They whirled on the spot, clutching their head as the visions pulsed through them again.
"Please," they said. "Come on, please."
The future-rooms below them shifted, changed, vanished. The protagonist exhaled. They braced, at the sight of a dark shadow on the horizon.
The villain landed lightly upon their arrival. A perfect touch-down a few metres away. Their head tilted.
"Were they smart enough to listen to you this time?" the villain asked. "To run?"
The protagonist braced their feet for a fight, keeping their centre of gravity low, heart hammering.
"Ah." The villain smiled. "They're on their scurrying way, I see. How long are you hoping to give them?"
"As long as I can."
"The rest of your life?"
The protagonist swallowed. Hard.
"How foolish of them," the villain moved closer, "to abandon the only early warning system they have."
"As opposed to what? Coming up here and dying too?"
"Taking you with them to their little rat holes, perhaps?"
"So you can follow them there? Hunt them there too?"
"Hunt you, you mean," the villain said.
The protagonist flinched, despite themselves. "Yeah." They managed to keep their voice steady, if a little hoarse. "Hunt me."
It had become clear, over the last year, that they were the villain's target. They were the thing that the villain wanted, more and more, with every life that the protagonist managed to save by warning people that the villain was coming.
"Did you finally realise that you couldn't run forever?" the villain asked.
"Maybe I just got sick to death of being your harbinger."
The villain laughed, softly, at that. Then, they crooked a finger. Come at me. Fight for their lives.
There was no future, waiting, when the villain was right there. Only the torturous present. Dizzying and claustrophobic. Impossible to predict.
The protagonist feinted, lunged, and then the villain's hand was around their throat. The protagonist was in the air, legs kicking, arms flailing. They clawed at the villain's wrist but their nails wouldn't burrow through skin. They slammed a knee into the villain's body, but the villain didn't seem to notice.
They studied the protagonist, holding them up at face height. If not for the squeeze of fingers around the protagonist's throat, the protagonist had the absurd mental image of a monster scruffing a kitten.
Eventually, exhausted, they sagged in the villain's hold. The villain let through just enough air that they could draw in thin, strained lungfuls.
"Go on then," the protagonist spat. Tears pricked their eyes. "Finish it. Just - finish it."
"I didn't come here to kill you."
What? The protagonist's eyes bugged.
"I simply can't have an early warning system running around," the villain said. "It's very inconvenient. So if you're done with the theatrics, let's go. Can I put you down or are you going to do something silly again?"
"You're taking me with you?" The protagonist's insides bottomed out. They tried, desperately, to shake their head. "No. No. Just - why wouldn't you kill me? You kill everyone else!"
"But you're not everyone else," the villain said, softly. "You're my harbinger."
Before the protagonist could possibly hope to respond to that, a blast sounded in the distance. A missile hurtled towards them. The villain turned their head, eyes narrowing at the interruption, and it disintigrated inches away from impact.
A moment of thick, choking silence followed.
"Oh god," the protagonist whispered.
The villain sighed. "They really should learn to run when you tell them to."
"Don't," the protagonist said. "Please don't. I'll come with you, I won't fight, I-"
The villain slung the protagonist over one shoulder, holding them firmly in place as the protagonist began to thrash all over again. Then, they started stalking in the direction of the attack.
"Fight all you like, my harbinger," the villain said. "It's all the same to me now I have you. But they don't get to. You know that, don't you? You know me."
The future flashed.
The bodies hit the floor.
And the protagonist screamed.
