At first, Steven felt a little uncomfortable around Souda. He didn't avoid him as he did Tanaka or Fuyuhiko, and he always maintained a respectful and open attitude toward interaction, but he also didn't seek to be near him. Souda's unpleasant smell and perverted behavior made Steven look away and keep his distance.
Circumstances eventually brought them together, but ridiculously, it was more because of Sonia than anything happening on the island. Souda discovered that Steven was a close friend of Sonia's. So, Souda started sticking close to Steven, hoping to get information about her and ask for favors, like speaking well of him with her. This irritated Steven, who felt that Souda didn't see him as his own person, but only as a means to get closer to Sonia. He only agreed when Souda became too insistent, and even then, he always ended up thwarting his attempts on purpose, feigning innocence, because Steven would never betray Sonia's trust.
Over time, they began to get along better and truly connect, putting aside the issue of simping for Sonia. Although Souda sometimes ruined the atmosphere with inappropriate comments or became irritated by Steven's biblical references, an inexplicable attraction still developed between them. No one—not even they themselves—could explain it.
Souda had a mini fight against his internalized homophobia, Souda whon had shown a dislike for physical contact with other men, and/or those who displayed "feminine" traits, for some reason began making comments to Steven that he would normally direct at Sonia. He would try to touch Steven, and then excuse himself with a "no homo," saying it was a joke. But between the jokes, the truth peeked out; everyone (but Steven) could see that Souda was feeling something for him.
Meanwhile, Steven—with Hajime's help—was learning to look beyond Souda's bad smell and awkward behavior. He loved seeing him get excited like a puppy about mechanics, and Steven listened to him, asking him questions even when he didn't understand anything Souda was saying.
Trust was established when Souda shared his past with Steven, how he was so shy and cowardly that he was an easy target for people to use and then discard. This past, reflecting Steven's present, made Steven reflect on whether he had been too superficial in judging him. The trust between them was highlighted when Souda's paranoia took hold of him, and yet he himself said that he didn't believe Steven was a traitor, giving Steven a warm feeling.
But due to the circumstances, they can't afford to talk seriously and delve into their feelings, especially on Souda's part since he's still a simp of Sonia (with Sonia maintaining her interest in him in negative numbers) and sometimes he can't help but go after her and want to stick to her even knowing what's between him and Steven.
It wasn't until the graduation exam, when the shutdown sequence began, that Steven admitted he, too, was afraid of what might happen. Despite the uncertainty, he clung to the hope that they wouldn't forget each other, especially Souda. At that moment, he told him that what they had shared during all that time together was something he would never forget because of how ""special"" it was, and with a look full of feeling, he confessed that he loved him. The unexpected and sincere words instantly made Souda blush, freezing him in place, while the others couldn't help but laugh at the tenderness of the scene.
After everything that happened, Souda lets go of his obsession with Sonia and focuses on Steven, but he still can't help feeling a "crush" on her, becoming awkward and blushing around her. Despite everything, he continues to insist that his only interest is Steven, and that if he had to choose, he would follow him no matter what.
All those draw were commissions, if you look closely, yiu can see the Artist user.
Backstory : you're a genie, you can grant wishes amazing right? Well it's not very exciting being one especially when you have to deal with people who wants to change the world and rule everything or destroy everything
It has been a long time since someone found your lamp and rubbed it to get a wish, to be honest it was quite tiring granting a wish that is quite grand and a lot but you cannot refuse your master at least you get a break from wishing for these past decades? But either way you cannot leave your lamp you wished you could see what's happening outside of your little lamp.
As you were in your lamp napping someone or something rubbed your lamp you frowned at being interrupted in your napping but you quickly exited your lamp and stretched a little before looking and greeting your new master, you yawn and look up at where you are… this doesn’t look like earth?.. you shrug it off tough “greetings master, i’m [reader] or sparky if you like, you have 3 wishes tell me what you desire and i’ll grant it here and now” you said as look at your hand still perfect as always heh. Your eyes look at your master, he was not human but a robot? Ehh you met stranger people no wonder why it felt rough when your lamp was rubbed (exterior, he is a fragging metal!)
The big robot looks surprised before asking in a gentle tone “i’m sorry but i don’t think i’m your master or that you could grant a wish such as mine..” oh a difficult one, well ain’t he making you interested for sure he’s big but he can’t kill you "er... yeah sure, you rubbed my lamp and that makes you my master, you did rubbed my lamp for your desire right? Cuz what else?..." this robot was quite confusing.
The robot was quiet before gently grabbing you "..then my first wish is to know who you are little one.." you nodded before looking suprised and shock "wha- wait you wish to know.. me??..." no one ever ever done that "and i'm not that young i'll tell you i'm about [very very old age almost as same as megatron]!" You said offended that he called you little, the robot looks guilty as i place you on his big hand "my apologies, i didn't mean to call you young but your quite small.. i'm megatron" the robot or now megatron introduce himself you smirk and grant his wish "i'm a genie, i can grant any wishes but i'm not allowed to give you anything that are dangerous or self harm even death and resuraction" you said in a short summery of what you are "i can do many thing but leave my lamp.." you start to float to have a eye to eye with megatron.
Megatron hum and nodded "..i see, then my second wish, is that you can be freely leave your lamp.." you grant his wish without hearing what he actually said since your impatient to get things done and head back.
After some time you got along with megatron what you didn't know that he wish silently that you stay forever by his side as a friend or lover and you granted that on his second wish he doesn't mind if you make friends at all he just want you to be free from being in that lamp he never wish his third wish at all, your still impatient to go back to your lamp but you forgot all of it and enjoy your time with megatron before going back as a lonely genie, that will never happened.
I'll probably do a writting about sg Optimus but i like a different reader for each one so imma go on google and find something intresting unless if you like i can write reader as something you want to see in Sg Optimus but i would probably write a part two to the witch and this one as well.
I love them so much it hurts, 10 years they were my comfort anime.
Here's my favorite clip. Like many, my favorite season was Evolution. It really showcases what I love: seeing so many personalities interact with each other. Because, as I've said before, even if you took away the "Beyblades" from Beyblade Burst and it was just a slice-of-life anime, I still would have loved it a million times over.
I remember back then I couldn't leave the house, and my only distraction was watching TV, besides homework, and playing in the yard. I remember seeing the anime for the first time on Cartoon Network's "Heroes" block (Latinoamerica) when I thought they were going to show Pokémon; I was instantly hooked. I remember reading a lot of fanfiction (I still remember being one of the three shippers of Ken and Shu).
The fact is that Maggie grew up surrounded by boys, without a female figure, and being on the streets is a world of constant fighting, which made her adopt a more "masculine" and rough behavior. Oxy and Onnie even see her as "one of the boys" because she is not what is expected of a girl.
But not Deuz. From childhood, he took great care of her, treating her more gently and considerately than others. As a child, Maggie appreciated this, but as she grew older, she became embarrassed because she didn't want to be seen as weak, but deep down, the warm feeling remained.
Maggie definitely fell in love first and then understood the feeling itself (We could say this was before the events of Camp, but since I don't know the FNAFHS canon...). She denied it for a long time before accepting it. When she finally did accept it, she felt very grumpy and became very evasive and jealous when she saw him flirting with others. Unfortunately for her, Deuz technically lived with her, so it wasn't easy.
Deuz, for his part, would realize it second (a few months after Camp), but he doesn't go through the same stage of denial as Maggie. I don't think he'll pursue her romantically right away anywat, because he's still processing that he's not getting anywhere with Meg. But Deuz is still a foolish teenager, so sometimes he gives in and follows his feelings.
I'm not sure how much time had passed. But one day, when Onnie and Oxy were outside, Maggie confessed directly, but without any romanticizing: she didn't talk about love, but about facts. She admitted that Deuz wasn't replaceable in her life, that she knew him too well, and that she couldn't keep treating him like just anyone. She didn't ask for an answer or make any promises; she simply laid the truth on the table. They talked for a while about everything and nothing, and in the end, you could say they gave each other a yes, because they didn't say no either, and they didn't reject each other's closeness.
Even as an adult, the Maggie we all know retains that strong and independent character. Maggie takes the initiative without hesitation and prefers to assume a leadership role in the relationship, which sometimes embarrasses Deuz because it tarnishes his cool, tough-guy image (Oxy and Onnie laugh, but not maliciously). Over time, Maggie learns to relax and becomes comfortable letting Deuz take charge because, ultimately, she always liked it when he looked after her 💕💕
---
1-I'm not a writer, so there must be several mistakes there
2-Because the characters are so flat, I took some liberties when writing them.
3-aint no even sure if my FNAFHS work should be on Spanish or English XD
From the moment he arrived on the island, Tanaka's way of speaking and behaving raised red flags for Steven. Being so religious, Steven thought, "Oh no. This guy's a Satanist," and he was terrified of him, almost considering him the Antichrist.
Tanaka, for his part, felt a certain "admiration" for Steven, since he was a fan of his horror books, considering him the closest thing to "true darkness" a mortal could create. He claims there's "something" about Steven that intrigues him.
Steven always tried to keep to himself, but the situation (and the assassins) forced them together. Steven's rapport with Sonia helped them interact, as she acted as an intermediary. Steven thought, "If she likes him, maybe he's not so bad." Surprisingly, they got along well.
Since then, Steven has grown accustomed to Gundham's presence and is now much less reserved in his company. Steven found Tanaka's practices to be a "forbidden" pursuit, though unlike Sonia, he doesn't exactly want to learn from him; he finds it exciting. His admiration has undoubtedly turned into a crush, something he doesn't hide from the other students, considering the "forbidden" somewhat...sexy?
As for Gundham, he reciprocates. His affection is in the details, like letting Steven play with his Devas and not being bothered by his touch, and if you look closely, you can see him blush at these actions! He finds Steven interesting and almost endearing, how someone so cowardly can write such dark things. Steven is one of the few people Gundham doesn't consider a despicable human being; he simply calls him by his name and sometimes nicknames him "his Dark Author." Although he pretends to remain cold, like an indifferent evil genius, Gundham can't hide that he would do anything for Steven. This becomes clear in chapter 4, when famine nearly kills Steven. Gundham won't admit it, but it's obvious that Steven's particular situation drove him to kill.
Steven never imagined Gundham could do it. During the trial, he denied until the very end that the one he loved and admired was guilty… but the evidence doesn't lie. Steven was broken; it seemed as if he were the one condemned, so much so that he began to bite his gold crucifix. When everything was sealed, Steven broke down crying, clinging to Gundham, apologizing for being so weak and not being able to endure the hunger any longer. He didn't care that delaying the execution would put him at the same risk that Fuyuhiko had put Pekoyama at. Before Monokuma took him away, Tanaka took him in his arms, whispered in his ear that he was glad to have met his favorite horror writer, and begged him to survive and escape that island safe and sound. Finally, he gave her a small kiss on the forehead and let himself be led by the bear to face his inevitable fate.
After so much chaos, Steven was depressed and didn't want to go out exploring with the others. Sonia tried to cheer him up, telling him that's what Tanaka would have wanted and insisting that together they could take care of their Devas. Steven ignored her. It wasn't until he was lost in his thoughts that he began to reflect on who he was... and he literally remembered Ecclesiastes 4:9-10... which made him realize he was being selfish with Sonia; she had also lost Tanaka. So he got up to look for her, still hurting but in company.
At the end of the story, he is one of the survivors, and like them, he hopes that the victims of those events can awaken, praying every day to be reunited with Tanaka.
trigger warnings; blood, description of stabbings, death, poorly written gore, bad writing, realization, angsty, not proofread, not yandere related btw.
You're not too sure how you got here, but you sure as hell know that it wasn't intentional. I mean, who goes to a cemetery on Halloween, at midnight, alone? Definitely not you.
Listen, you're not a spiritual person, you don't believe in ghosts or any of that bull shit, but you're also not stupid. You know that nothing good could come from hanging out in a creepy ass cemetery, definitely not alone.
You stumble across the bumpy and windy, dirty path. Your head is fuzzy and grumbling with a dull pain, that you can't help but hold your head. Everything was all distorted. Your vision felt squished like your eyelids were far too heavy to keep open.
A harsh breeze brushes through you, not past you, but through you. The sensation is odd, causing you to shiver. Your heart not thudding in your chest, it felt hollow. You felt hollow. It was odd, that was the only way you could describe what you were feeling. Everything seemed to be at a distance. It was like you weren't really there. Like the grass under your feet was just hovering under you, like your hands weren't really touching your arms, and just like how your hair wasn't flowing against your shoulders.
The quick breeze caused you to suddenly feel hyper-aware. Your clothes didn't fit right. They felt wet like a second skin sticking to you. The wave of discomfort you felt caused you to wrap your, abnormally, cold arms around yourself, hoping to find some comfort in what you just felt. And that's when you felt something, something so vile that you almost threw up.
Looking down you can't help but notice, but feel it. The gaping hole that was pulsing in the middle of your chest, no, no, no there wasn't just one hole. No, there were multiple, thin, jagged slashes scattered on your torso. Your crappy Halloween costume all torn, blood seeping into the cloth and clinging to your skin. The cold air hovering over your now pale, icy body. The scarlet liquid flooded from the wounds, causing you to pull your hands away from your body, covering your mouth in shock, only to realize that your hands were too covered in your own blood.
You scream, but nothing comes out but a whithered shreil. Your vocal cords are all damaged and dry, causing you to gasp out in phantom pain. It hurt, but it didn't feel like you were in pain. Everything was so surreal that you couldn't describe it.
Your chest heaved up and down in a panic motion as your vision darted around in a craze. Hands covered in blood, and you suddenly felt so aware of how thick the liquid was. What's the saying? Blood's thicker than water? That's sure as hell true because the liquid on your hands, and body, seemingly weighed you down, causing you to stumble backward, falling over a tiny tombstone.
Falling backward on your ass, you gasp in pain. The gaping wounds tearing open like the mouths of baby birds, desperate for food from their mama. Your breathing was ragged, but you didn't feel your heart pulse, nor your lungs contract. That was odd, you noted, but you were too far in panic to dote on it any longer.
You scrambled to your knees, now kneeling in front of the tombstone, which you'd previously tripped over. You began to cough, but nothing came up. It felt as if viel, blood clung to your esophagus. Your throat felt dry like nails clawing at the flesh. You gasped at the pain, but it only continued the cycle. It was as if a clump was jumbled in the back of your throat, slowly choking you out, and there was nothing you could do about it.
You fall forward, your nails scraping the dirt. The grass clinging under your grown-out nails, staining them green and brown. Your forehead is now pressed against the equally as cold surface. The damped grass wetted your forehead, causing the blood on your face to spread, successfully thinning that thick liquid. Watery blood dripped down your face and onto the, already soaked floor.
You cough, wanting to cry, but no tears flow out. Your own body feels dry, but so wet at the same time. The layer of blood begins to dry and harden on your plastic skin but is quickly covered by a new rush of blood that flows out of your jabs. The blood still flowing through your body, causing ripples of pain to course through your body.
You look up, at the tombstone in front of you. It's a concrete-like material, it's dull and covered in moss. Nature has clearly taken back what was once her. Clearly, or not so clearly, there were words carved into the stone.
.
.
.
What?
All the air, which didn't seem to be like much, was pulled out of your lungs in just a split second. It was as if your life flashed before your eyes. It was your name. Your name. Your name. Godammit, was this some sick joke.
It really didn't feel like a joke when the stabbing pain coursed through your body periodically, causing you to tear your stare away from the tomb, clenching your side tightly.
It was your name on the fucking tombstone! What were you, dead/ Suddenly, a wave of realization flooded your memory. The party, the drinking, and you wander off. The feeling of the knife going, in and out, in and out. The feeling of your flesh being torn from your body, piece by piece, and there was nothing you could've done about it. Your life was stolen from you all because you weren't careful.
And the last thing you remember was the moonlight reflecting beautifully against the cold, grey stone, your name neatly etched into the tomb, a respectful way to remember you and your life.
The life that's now gone, leaving you, all alone, on Halloween, in a cemetery, at midnight.
How much time has it passed since I've been brought to the hospital? Days, weeks, years? Does it even matter when half of my days are spent sleeping in a drug induced coma, and the other half coughing blood as my whole body screams in pain?
I've been asking myself these questions since I realized that, no matter what the doctors might say or do, for me it was over the second I contracted that damned illness; no therapy is going to do more than buy me some more days of this non-life, no medicine is going to magically cure me from something that has destroyed most of my body already.
I am going to die, and I accepted it.
I already came to terms with that fact. I yelled, I cried, I pleaded, but eventually I simply accepted the inevitable, knowing that I wasn't the only one contracting that illness in a long shot and that this plague would add me to its ever-growing number of victims, as it did with anyone before me and how it will keep doing so till a vaccine is found in the next years, with my only hope being that the tests they're doing to me as I sleep will be of any use.
So, now I rest here, in the room I am quarantined it, going with the same routine everyday : wake up, look at the ceiling for a few hours, greet the hazmat suit wearing medic here to change my catheter and clean me a bit, have gods know what injected into me and then deal with excruciating pain until I get to sleep again. A boring, tiring routine that will only end when my life will, sprinkled with fake smiles and pitiful gazes from those who keep telling me that 'it will get better' and 'we're very close to a cure', lies that aren't even hidden too well, not even behing that heavy protective suit and that just make me wish they were more honest and direct with these things.
There was a silver lining, however. A very small one, but one that at least entertained me during my waking hours by giving me something to do, focusing away for a time from my impeding end and instead enjoying something I've been lacking since I came here – company.
I still am not sure if she...he...they're real or not. With all they were pumping into me, hallucinating would be one of the least problematic side effects, but there was something about this...'being', that felt real to me, that felt like this was no hallucination or fever induced dream, nor a trick of my tired brain. Yet I knew only I could see them, because if it wasn't so the doctors would have been surprised to see a being in a black, old styled mourning dress, complete with a dark see-through veils that hid their face well.
They stood at the other side of the room, directly in front of my bed, holding their hands low and making no sound whatsoever; they didn't talk, move nor breathe, standing in place like a mannequin of a widow. Their dress made me think at first that it was a woman, but I couldn't see any proof of that from where I stood, leaving me with that doubt and with the question of who it was, what it was doing there, why only I could apparently see it as its figure grew from a faded silhouette to a clear body. So many questions I wanted to ask but didn't, my throat killing me when I dared to inhale with my mouth and my body at this point barely able to move, preventing me from even gesturing at the being in front of me.
Frustrated, one day I decided to ignore how much it hurt and open my mouth. Yet, before I could part my lips more than a single inch, it moved from against the wall and stepped towards me until it was at my left, allowing me to better see that covered visage; red softly glowing slit irises contoured by black corneas that never left my own gaze, an expression that could only be described as 'neutral' and unnatural grey skin. Something out of a film or book for sure, yet so very 'real' to me, to the point I questioned whenever or not I could still tell what was a dream and what was reality.
I tried once more to force my voice to escape my throat, but once more it was met with the being moving to halt me, this time with its right index placing itself onto my mouth and silencing me with how cold it was. It was quite 'normal' for it to be such, however – it lacked anything from skin to muscle, bone being all that was there, unlike her left hand.
“Do not speak.” It requested in a tone matching its neutral gaze, but with a voice that only compounded on my confusion on its gender as it sounded as if two people, one male and one female, were speaking in unison. “I know your questions, and we shall answer them. You wish to know who we am, why we am here, and why, is that correct?” As it spoke, it placed her left, normal hand in my own, its gaze never leaving mine. “Please, squeeze my hand once for 'yes', two for 'no'.”
It took me a bit of effort, but I squeezed that hand once, thankful that it seemed to understand the struggles that I had with talking.
“We am the one you call 'Death'. We are here in wait of your departure, to collect your soul from your living shell when it expires and keep it safe till your fate is decided.”
I froze. Death was there? So it was my time already? Yet I could still feel my lungs being jabbed by the cold, sterilized air I was breathing in and the beeping of the machine next to me, so it couldn't be true, right? An answer came immediately, as if it was expecting it. “You have yet to die, but the shell your soul reside will not last for much longer.” It stated. “We are here to keep watch upon it and act upon its expiring, collecting your soul when it leaves the broken shell and protecting it till the time comes.”
At those words, I remembered something, one of the reasons for me to consider this being nothing but a creation of my mind. A memory of this being standing where she was before, as two entities bickered about who had the rights to take my soul to their reign. One claimed that I was a sinner and I deserved eternal punishment as the other fought for the opposite – both yelling their motivation and insults to the other without caring about how it was affecting me and my aching head up until the entity finally acted, revealing a black and a white angelic wings and declaring that 'It was neither the time or place for such discussions' and that they had to leave till a decision was made. I've yet to know if it did it for me or if it just grew irritated of those two, but I was grateful to her for shutting them up.
As I was recollecting those memories, it continued to speak. “We come when one's shell is about to expire, and only those can see us.” One by one, it answered the questions I had, as if it was reciting a script they rehearsed over and over again. “We are not able to take you away with us 'till said shell expires, or till we have permission.”
“So, we ask of you : do you wish to abandon this plagued shell, or do you wish to live in it till it can no longer sustain your soul?”
I had a choice, now. To leave that body and die, or remain in it and suffer until my natural end. In both cases, there was no escape from it. “Refuse, and we shall remain here till the time comes. We cannot say whenever or not during this time you'll be cured of your affliction, as we have no way to see in the future.” she continued, noticing my doubts and my confusion while showing a side I never expected a being like this to have.
When you think of death, you think about something inevitable. Be it for old age, illness like me, incidents...it was something that would one day reach anyone of us, and already reached my family in the past thanks to this cursed plague.
Yet, many people always saw their death as a fated 'ending', something they could not change or fight against; if fate said you would die of something, you would – death would make sure of it.
And yet, here I was, with the embodiment of it giving me options. Granted, they weren't much, but it implied that death itself didn't decide how or when one would die, but rather simply watched over their souls, collecting them once their...shell expired, in the words of death itself.
“We are not harbinger of pain and misery.” It spoke, either proving that it was reading my mind or that such questions were so common it could predict when one was about to ask them. “We simply perform our duty, watching over every living being until they cease to be so. We find no enjoyment on one expiring, no pleasure in taking souls. We have a duty, and we perform it.”
I listened carefully while evaluating my options. I could let it all go, as there was nothing for me anymore. Family? Even if any of them were still alive, they would never be able to visit me. Love? I had someone who I wanted to finally confess to, but it was too late. I didn't had any pet either, nothing that the illness didn't take away. Could my body however be of any use? How many others were there and how many were being used as test subjects for possible vaccines?
“We cannot answer.” They spoke when acknowledging my silent questions. “We are everywhere one's expiration is imminent, but each expiration is different and personal. We cannot comment or speak about others to who we watch over, as it would be meddling with the affairs of the living world.” Something I expected, but was still worth a shot.
“However, we can say one thing.” She continued, bringing her skeletal hand onto her chest. “Death is both an end and a new beginning. Whichever direction your soul will be taken, it will eventually return to this world, in an neverending cycle, as dictated by Them.”
Them? I wanted to ask, but it shock their head, silently telling me they couldn't answer that either.
“You have been in this cycle for seventy-three times, with your soul being accepted into what you call 'heavens' a total fifty-two times, and to what you call hell for twenty-one times. Upon reaching your hundred cycle, you shall be able to choose a different path.”
Seventy-three times? So this being...well, of course it knew such things. Why would I be surprised? Thought, hearing of a 'different' path confused me – wasn't the cycle eternal? My questions certainly seemed to be, much like the patience of the one holding my hand, which explained what it meant after a small pause to let me rest. “Such path will allow you to break the cycle, to become either an 'angel' or 'devil', depending on how many times your soul was brought to the 'heavens' or 'hell'. Be wary, however, that we're simply using words you can understand, which do not fully describe what either is.
A soul who was 'good' will be brought to a kingdom of light where it can rest.
A soul who was 'bad' will be brought to a kingdom of darkness where it shall atone through punishment until it can access the realm of light.
A soul deemed 'unforgivable', 'corrupted' or 'lost', however, shall be crushed and removed from any cycle.”
My confusion didn't grow any thinner. So, heaven and hell were real, but neither was as we thought? Yet they sounded so similar...and what would an unforgivable soul even be? One which committed deeds so gruesome that they couldn't be atoned for? What classified as that? These questions got no answer as it quickly moved onto something else, yet another pact.
“...Some souls, however, decide not to join either. Some decide to live in limbo, where we live. They decide to join us in our duty, learning how to protect souls. For we are not one, but a collective. We are many, but act as one. We help the dying, and save their soul from becoming lost into this world and become what you people call 'ghost' and we call 'corrupted'.
To describe us, a soul once called us 'Legion'. For we are one, yet many. We work as one, yet we are many.”
If I had the ability to speak, I would be unable to do so now. It was a lot of info all at once, yet the more she spoke, the more I felt like I knew these things already, and everything made sense.
I knew these things already, because she told them to me for seventy-three times. Because I've been given birth seventy-four times and died seventy-three of them. And I would hear it once more till the cycle was broken, till I lived, and died, and lived, and died.
“...Your hour is approaching. Your shell is about to collapse. We gave you an option, but your body took it away.” As she spoke, I noticed how the beeping of the machine changed into a constant noise. How my body couldn't move, and everything felt limp. My eyes were open, but I didn't blink. I didn't breathe.
I was dead.
It took me a few minutes to accept it, but as the doctors that already visited me entered the room in a hurry, as they began to do their best to revive me, I accepted it. And even with such agitation around me, the word of the one holding my hand was all I could hear.
“...We shall give you a different choice.” It spoke once more, her skeletic hand moving with the other to hold my hand.
“Do you wish to continue the cycle? Or do you wish to join us?” A clear question, as devoid of any emotion as its voice has been until now, continuing the same script of before. Memories of my past lives flooded onto my mind, everything I did coming back to me. And there we were, once more, with me about to decide what to do.
I thought about it in silence for a while. Thought about the being holding my hand. Thought about what the future might hold. And then, I decided.
“I want to join you.” I knew that I was thinking about doing so at least since ten lives ago. Yet even now I couldn't tell if I desire such thing to break the cycle, to not experience pain again or simply to stand to the side of this being that for so many times it helped me pass over the next cycle, holding my hand, telling me my options, being there as I 'expired'.
“...Very well.” It spoke, its skeletal hand placing itself onto my chest and---
Holding a sparkling sphere in its hands, the being closed its eyes, as its body released the disguised it had. A snake like tail replaced its lower torso, the tail a good three meters of length. Its clothes disappeared, revealing a featureless body that couldn't be associated to neither concept of male or female that humans had. Long blonde hair grew till its hips, while wings, one black and one white, grew on its back.
It still held the soul of the human between its hand, as it let out a long sigh. “You have decided to become part of us. By Their rule, you shall became my disciple. You will learn how we act, how we live, how we work. You shall be reborn as part of us, and shall protect the souls through their cycle.”
With such words, it disappeared, leaving the doctors to their futile attempts to revive something that couldn't be. Something that didn't simply accept death, but that became part of it.
