Hey guys im 17m and i recently got out of my battle with the hard s. pls give this story a read as it serves a reason too seek help, ive summed it down as much as possible for you, its so easy too find a local line for people too talk too with a quick search.
Chapter 1: Early Struggles
My childhood was a whirlwind of chaos, marked by my parents' turbulent separation when I was just a child. The memories of their heated arguments, sometimes escalating to physical altercations, lingered in my mind. Despite the turmoil, my mother emerged as my anchor, tirelessly providing for me while ensuring my father contributed financially through child support.
Chapter 2: False Hero
At six years old, I viewed my father as a savior when he gained custody after a prolonged legal battle. However, the illusion of safety shattered as I faced my stepmother's relentless bullying and unreasonable demands. Home became a battleground where I navigated the minefield of my father's authority, realizing it came with its own brand of cruelty.
Chapter 3: Escaping Reality
To cope with the turmoil at home, I retreated into my imagination, crafting elaborate fantasies as a means of temporary escape. Despite the turmoil within my family, I projected a façade of happiness and humor at school, determined to shield my peers and teachers from the harsh realities of my daily life.
Chapter 4: Silent Suffering
Behind closed doors, however, I suffered in silence, enduring relentless punishments and late-night chores under the unforgiving glare of the outside lamp. My father's preferred methods of discipline ranged from physical to psychological, each one leaving scars deeper than the last. From being forced to scrub concrete with a toothbrush late into the night to enduring verbal tirades that cut deeper than any physical blow, I bore the brunt of my father's wrath in silence, convinced that no one would believe my cries for help.
Chapter 5: Cry for Help
A visit from my siblings on my mother's side stirred a longing within me to confide in someone about the horrors I endured. Their presence was a rare beacon of familiarity in my tumultuous life, offering a brief respite from the chaos that consumed my days. However, the joy of their visit was short-lived as my father's disdain for their presence became apparent. With a heavy heart, I watched as my siblings packed up, knowing that their departure signaled a return to the suffocating grip of my father's tyranny.
Despite the opportunity to seek solace in the presence of my siblings, I remained silent, my father's mere presence invoking a sense of fear and helplessness that rendered me mute. Years of manipulation and psychological warfare had ingrained in me the belief that reaching out for help was futile, a notion reinforced by my father's iron-fisted control over every aspect of my life. Even as my siblings prepared to leave, I remained locked in a prison of silence, unable to voice the turmoil raging within me.
Chapter 6: Breaking Point
The breaking point came like a tidal wave of despair, triggered by my stepmother's relentless tirades and my father's explosive temper. Tossed aside like a discarded toy, I found myself at rock bottom, nursing wounds both physical and emotional. Ready to surrender to the darkness, I bid farewell to my unsuspecting classmates, plotting a desperate escape from my unbearable reality.
Chapter 7: Finding Hope
But fate had other plans. A heart-to-heart with my school counselor unleashed a torrent of suppressed emotions, leading to intervention from compassionate social workers. With promises of a fresh start down under with my grandparents, I glimpsed a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness, daring to believe that a brighter future awaited me.
Conclusion: A New Beginning
As I embarked on the journey to leave my troubled past behind, a mix of relief and disbelief washed over me. Though the road ahead remained uncertain, the support and compassion I received offered a lifeline in my darkest hour. And as the story drew to a close, it served as a poignant reminder that help is always within reach, urging others to extend a helping hand to those who are suffering in silence.

(Now there are some parts in this chapter that actually happened in real life, the French revolution and incidents that happened during it. But pretty much the story is a work of fiction.)
Chapter 1: Recollection- I stood and watched the droplets of rain slide down the window pane. This should be a festival, or some type of holiday, as we rarely get any rainfall. I focused my gaze on the neon signs below. The rain falling around them seemed to enhance their luminosity. It is amazing that rainfall can make such a filth-riddled city like this seem almost; normal. After a little while, the rain slowly stopped falling. The dark clouds quickly dissipated and the twin moons cast their brightness, like two large spotlights in a prison yard. The city that was briefly hidden by the rain showed its ugly face. New Grimes City, the place where ‘good people’ are the stuff of legends. Gangsters, thieves, murderers and prostitutes are just some of the people who call this place home. Not a day goes by where you have to watch for wandering fingers reaching for your pockets. Although if you’re someone like me, you have more than just pickpockets to look out for. Being a private investigator has brought a slew of negative attention my way. There have been multiple assassination attempts made against me. But there’s a reason why all who have challenged me have failed.
Being a vampire has its perks, especially in a place like this. That’s the reason why I was sent here in the first place. Back on Earth things like me weren’t allowed in society, in fact anyone who put a single toe out of line was doomed to be sent here. The group known as “The cult of order” saw to that. No one knew of their existence, until the meteor struck. “The cataclysm of 2223”, the year that everything changed. After the meteor fell and single handedly wiped out most of the population of Earth, the remaining survivors needed a leader. The cult of order came to power, and established a "one-world government". sometimes I still can see the events of that fateful day as if it were a movie being played on repeat. I can still see the distant trail of the meteor as it plunged to Earth, see the towering wall of sea water as it came rushing towards the land, and being consumed by it. People who were fortunate enough lived in Strato-houses, or had some type of SHRV (Space Habitation and Recreational Vehicle) to get them out of harm's way. The rest of us weren’t so lucky, I would wager that half of the Earth’s population died that day. I remember as I was underneath the waves watching the many lifeless bodies being dragged along, I didn’t have to worry about drowning but I didn’t want to be stuck under the water. I tried to fight my way to the surface but the weight of the water and raging current made that near impossible. As I still kept trying to fight my way to the surface, I felt a sharp stinging pain in my stomach. A long metal rod had pierced straight through me like a knife through warm butter. When my blood started to mingle with the water that’s when I started to panic, if I didn’t get out of the water soon I would die. I hadn’t eaten in months up until that point, so I was already weak as it is. Bleeding out is kind of an ironic fate for a vampire, and one that I really wanted to take a rain check on. I started reaching out, desperately trying to grab onto something, anything that I could hold onto. If I was lucky, maybe it would be something buoyant enough to get me to the surface. I was so desperate that I started trying to grab hold of the bodies that were being tossed along the current above me. “I can’t die! I won’t die here!” were the thoughts racing through my head. Suddenly; as if some divine force heard my thoughts and felt my desperation, the current started to slow down.
A brief feeling of euphoria hit me as I felt myself just floating in the vast waters that surrounded me. However I knew I wasn’t safe just yet, I was getting weaker from the blood loss, so much so that I couldn’t use any of my magical abilities. With one more desperate reach, I grabbed onto the hand of one of the bodies. It was a young woman who looked to be in her early twenties. Her long black hair floated in the water, it made me think of me and my fiancée swimming in the lakes at Versailles. I hadn’t thought about her for ages it seemed, up until that point. She died a very long time ago, and I’ve tried to forget about it. Those were very dark times, even darker than the present I believe. It was at that point where I felt as if I wasn't going to make it up to the surface, I was too weak.Well if I was going to die, I wanted those thoughts of my fiancée to be my last. I remember hearing a beautiful song and the feeling of something embracing me. I surrendered to the warm feeling of it and closed my eyes, I'm pretty sure I smiled.

 I woke up; I was curious as to whether I was still alive, or had died and this was the afterlife. I felt as if I was laying on a bed, or possibly in a coffin with a soft interior. That's when a figure approached me, I couldn't clearly see who it was. I blinked a couple times to try and adjust my vision. It was a man, the thing that struck me was his pale skin. It seemed almost translucent. His piercing hazel eyes glowed brightly in the dark room. Then he smiled; he was a vampire just like me. "W-where am I?" was all I could say. "You are in a sanctuary, for our kind. This place used to be packed to the ceiling, but now it's very rare to see vampires. Alexandre and I have been the only inhabitants of this place for some time, so it's good to see another vampire." the man said. He grabbed my hand and slowly lifted me up. “How did you know I was a vampire?” I asked. “Oh, aside from the pale skin and fangs? No human could truly survive that.” “How did I get here?”, the man before me giggled a little at that question. “ You were rescued by a mermaid, if only I were so lucky,” the man said. “What was she like?” I couldn’t help but wonder, I didn’t realize mermaids were still alive, they are an ancient and resilient species. Also very beautiful, I saw a mermaid resting on a rocky cove a long time ago. Her hair was long and the color was like the stars on a clear night, the scales on her tail were navy blue that transitioned to a silver hue. When she saw me, we just stared at each other for a few seconds. She blew me a kiss and dove underneath the ocean waves. Mermaids do have that reputation for being seductresses, I wouldn’t have minded being tempted for one bit at that time. “Oh she was a thing of beauty, orange hair, sky blue scales, a high-born mermaid for certain.” “High-born?” I asked him, as I didn’t know there were different kinds of Merfolk. “High borns are part of the royal lineage of Merfolk, they can live for at least two-thousand years if all goes well. They are also born with special abilities, such as healing powers.” When I heard him say that I quickly lifted up my shirt, as I had remembered being pierced by that metal rod. To my shock and amazement, the rod and the wound were gone. “I remembered being impaled by a metal rod, and losing blood, did she really save me?” I thought to myself. “She must have, otherwise we wouldn’t be talking right now, would we?” he said. Of course, telepathy. He can read my thoughts, he must be pretty strong for a vampire. “I'm surprised you haven’t learned to read people’s thoughts yet, with you being around for as long as you have.” “Well I never really thought about honing my skills, I’m just trying to exist pretty much.” I said in response. “You need to learn your powers in order to truly survive, you almost died. A vampire almost dying from bleeding out! It’s an oxymoron personified!” The vampire started laughing uncontrollably. “Anyways, let me show you where you will be living. In the meantime I will teach you all you need to know.” The man snapped his fingers, the candles in the room lit up bringing light to the darkness. I saw the man more clearly, his garb was that of the aristocratic kind we wore back during the old regime. His long brown hair tied back into a ponytail. "Were you alive during the reign of the Bourbon?" I asked him. "Yes indeed, those were the days, I miss the gilded halls of Versailles, the large parties and the women, mostly the women." "Sir, may I introduce you?" A voice suddenly spoke, I looked over in the direction of the voice. It was another man, holding a tea tray. The top portion of his head was bald, he had pale skin, and was tall and quite burly. He looked like a rather stern man. If the emotions of happiness and joy were physical beings, they would run away in terror from his intimidating gaze. He was wearing fancy clothing however it was a little less extravagant than the former's, he was most likely a valet. "Yes you may, my dear Alexandre." the vampire said. 

"Very good sir", Alexandre put the tea tray on a little table, stood upright and took two steps forward. "May I present to you, the Chevalier de Castellane!" Alexandre spoke loudly. "You know my dear Alexandre, you don't have to be so dramatic when introducing me." The Chevalier spoke. "I'm sorry sir, but old habits die hard and even though it's true millennia have passed, I still remember introducing you like this at the parties and salons at Versailles." Even though his demeanor was rigid, and his gaze cold, I could see in his eyes a longing for the ways of a time long since forgotten. Sometimes I find myself wishing the same, before the revolution life was paradise. I was due to be married to the woman I loved, I had wealth and status, I would relive that time over and over again if I could. "Please forgive me sir, but I would like to keep my introductions the same as they have always been." Alexandre lowered his head a little, "We don't get many visitors as it is, so may I be allowed to do so?". "Yes you may Alexandre, if it brings you happiness then so be it!" The Chevalier said with a huge grin on his face, he turned and looked at me “You can call me Philippe, it makes things easier.” Alexadre glanced at me, “May I be allowed to introduce you, sir?.” “Oh! Y-yes you may, Alexandre.” The last time I was introduced by a valet was on the night of the last Royal Gala. It was not as extravagant as the other parties I've attended, but it was still a good time. Before; myself, my wife, our friends and family members were imprisoned and killed. “I need your name sir so I am able to.” Alexandre said with a hint of sarcasm. I glanced over towards Philippe, he was pouring himself a bumper of wine. I could smell it from the coffin I was in, Turin Rose Solis was the brand. My personal favorite, I could feel myself salivating. “Sir! Please may I please have your name?”, Alexandre said, this time sounding a bit more frustrated. “My name is È’tienne De la Croix.” I said. I could hear Philippe gasping. I quickly turned my head, I watched as the full glass of wine fell out of his hands. I was expecting it to hit the floor with a crash. However in the blink of an eye, Alexandre was standing next to Philippe. Glass of wine in hand, and the same rigid expression. I looked down to the floor in between the pair, not a single drop spilt. “Sir you have to be more careful, this wine is one of the two bottles we have left of the Turin Rose Solis. It would’ve been such a waste if this were spilled, please do be more careful next time.” The sight made me giggle a little, the Chevalier de Castellane, a nobleman, getting scolded by his valet. I was so distracted by the introductions and conversations, that I didn't look at my surroundings. We were in a cave, I have to admit I was a little disappointed. I thought it would be like a crypt or an old 19th century home. "Did you do the decorating yourself?" I asked, Philippe snickered a little. "No but you can take it up with Alexandre, he thought this place would be convenient for our purposes. But you did say that your name was É'tienne de la Croix, right?". "Yes I did, have we met before?" I asked, he did not seem familiar to me at all. "Yes we did meet, but only briefly. We were both imprisoned at the Hotel de la Force, I remember you being with your fianceé. A beautiful and noble woman I must say, what was her name again?". I could feel my heart breaking all over again, I looked down at the floor. "Genevieve de Lyon", it felt like I was regurgitating little blades trying to say her name. "She was, and still is the love of my life. It's been a very long time, and yet I still can't forget about her. She was an angel personified, a kind and beautiful soul." I could feel tears start to run down my cheeks. "Those revolutionary brutes defiled her, and forced me to watch. After they were done with her they proceeded to torture me. They ended up slitting my throat. They drug her away and left me for dead". After I said those words Philippe piped up, "Alexandre, give him my glass, he looks like he is in urgent need of some wine." "Right away my lord," as soon as Alexandre said those words, the glass of wine was being held in front of me. Alexandre is very good at his job, no wonder Philippe chose him as a companion. I took the glass of wine, "Thank you Alexandre," I said softly, "You're welcome sir." Alexandre quickly took back his place beside Philippe. I took a sip of the wine, if words could describe how delicious it was. I felt brave enough to continue, "The only thing I remember is someone coming to me, and offering me an escape from death and a chance at revenge, I said yes,". I looked up to see Alexandre pouring Philippe a glass of wine, Philippe looked back at me, "Do continue E'tienne, say what you need to say." I wiped the tears streaming down my face, and took another sip of wine. "When I was turned into a vampire, the person told me to wait until everything calmed down. They told me to blend into the crowd and feed to get stronger, to save the real prey for last." Before I could say another word, Philippe spoke. "Evil-doer's blood tastes better when they are afraid," Philippe said. My eyes widened, those were the exact words said to me when I was being told what to do. "Did you read my thoughts again Philippe?" I asked. "No, I was the one who turned you," Philippe said with a bit of pride. He continued to speak, "I'm honestly surprised you didn't remember me, although to be fair I forgot about you as well. I can understand though. The memories seem too much for you to handle. Though I do have a couple of questions in mind, did you find the men? Did you find your wife?"
I was flabbergasted, not only by the fact that I had just met the vampire who made me, but also the fact he could pose such delicate questions so casually. "W-well yes I did, I found both my wife, and the men who hurt her," I shuddered and looked away. "I took some clothes from a dead revolutionary, and escaped under the cover of nightfall. I hid in an abandoned apartment near the prison. When the day broke, I watched as the revolutionaries brought out the dead and the dying from the prison. That's when I saw my wife being dragged into the courtyard, beaten and bloodied beyond belief. A man stood in front of her, accusing her of being a traitor to the revolution, wanting to bring back the monarchy. The punishment was death, and as quickly as he said that, someone came behind her with a sword. With one swift motion of the blade, her head was no longer attached to her body.” The tears started streaming down my face again. Philippe came and sat by my side, “Please È'tienne forgive me for being so intrusive, but I need to know if you made those brutes suffer”. I took a minute to compose myself and wiped the tears from my face, “You're damn right I did-”.
The sudden ringing of the telephone shook me out of my recollections. I quickly look around, I'm still here in my office in New Grimes city. I sighed and walked over to my desk. “Hopefully this is a job opportunity”, I think to myself. I clear my throat and pick up the phone, “This is È'tienne speaking, how can I help you?”. A very familiar voice comes through, “È'tienne my old friend, I need to meet with you at once. There is an issue of grave importance we need to discuss, don't worry this will be a paid job. Meet me at the usual spot, there is someone here who is very anxious to meet you. Hurry, this is the type of man who doesn't like to be kept waiting very long”. With that, the man hangs up the phone. “This is unlike Guillaume, I have to get there right away!” I said out loud. I quickly throw on my overcoat and hat, and slip my pistol into its holster on my hip. I bolt out of my office, I run so fast that I almost bump into my secretary Jenny, who is carrying a load of paperwork. She yelped and stopped in her tracks and braced for impact. Thankfully I stopped just in time otherwise it would've been raining documents of various kinds. “Sir what's the rush?! You almost ran me over!” Jenny shouted at me. “I'm really sorry Jenny, I finally have a job opportunity and I have to get there as soon as possible!” Jenny quickly stood out of the way, “Good for you sir, are you going to Stonehaven?” She asked with a gleeful tone. “Yes, do you want the seafood capellini?” I asked her, trying to speed up the conversation. “You know me so well thank you sir, I'll get your dinner the next time.” she winked at me. I turned and walked towards the door. “Please be careful sir!” Jenny shouted as I closed the door behind me. I'm really grateful for her kindness and her loyalty. Even though business has been slow, she still comes in when she is scheduled. I start making my way towards Stonehaven, the most exclusive vampire watering hole in the city. There are many others, but Stonehaven requires you to be of royal lineage to even be considered a potential member. Thankfully I am of royal lineage, so I am allowed in without any hassle. As I get closer to Stonehaven, I start to feel very uneasy. I feel like something isn't right at all, all of my senses are telling me to run the other way. I start to wonder, why did Guillaume call me after so long? Why did he sound so nervous? There's only one way to find out, I hope my instincts are wrong on this.
(Please tell me what you think about this first chapter, and that if anything can be done different.)

These are in no particular order
1.) 911 Is a Joke - Public Enemy
2.) Sound of da Police - KRS One
3.) Fuck Tha Police - N.W.A.
4.) Cop Killer - Body Count
5.) Crooked Officer - Geto Boys
6.) Just A Friendly Game Of Baseball - Main Source
7.) Pigs - Cypress Hill
8.) Be Free - J. Cole
9.) Police State - Dead Prez
10.) 99 Problems - Jay-Z
11.) Ridin' - Chamillionaire
12.) Claimin' I'm A Criminal - Brand Nubian
13.) Trapped - Tupac
14.) Illegal Search - LL Cool J
15.) Endangered Species - Ice Cube
16.) Don't Die - Killer Mike
17.) Run - Ghostface Killah
18.) Alright - Kendrick Lamar
19.) Mr. Nigga - Mos Def
20.) Cop Shot the Kid - Nas
21.) Looking Through The Eyes Of A Pig - Cypress Hill
22.) 16 Shots - Vic Mensa
23.) Fuck the Police - J. Dilla
24.) The Enemy - Big L
25.) Protect & Serve - UGK
26.) The Day the Niggaz Took Over - Dr. Dre
27.) Who Got the Camera? - Ice Cube
28.) The Proud - Talib Kweli
29.) Hands Up - Vince Staples
30.) Holler If Ya Hear Me - Tupac
31.) 30 Cops or More - Boogie Down Productions
32.) Untouchable - Eminem
33.) Otherside of America - Meek Mill
34.) The Bigger Picture - Lil Baby
35.) No Surrender - Bone Thugs-N-Harmony
36.) Black Cop - KRS One
37.) Invasion - Jeru The Damaja
38.) Trauma - Meek Mill
39.) Close Your Eyes (and Count to Fuck) - Run The Jewels
40.) Lockdown - Anderson .Paak

Seriously, don't even attempt to trivialize it. It's not about waking you up at 3:00 am for mundane reasons like running out of milk or needing your Wi-Fi password. This entity, whatever it may be, operates outside our reality's bounds, and its motives are far from benign. I learned this the hard way recently, which is why I'm cautioning you all against making light of it. But before delving into specifics, let me offer some context, as sleep paralysis is a recent phenomenon for me.
One of my earliest memories of sleep disruption traces back to my grade school days. With my mother on an early shift unable to drive me to school for its 8:00 am start, she would drop me off at my aunt's house. Here, she ensured I was fed, dressed, and ready for school. Most mornings, I had just about an hour left to sleep before needing to rise. Often, I'd find myself in a half-asleep state from the moment my mom roused me until she tucked me into my aunt's spare bedroom.
On one of those mornings, as I lay down, teetering between wakefulness and sleep, I experienced a peculiar sensation. It felt as though my body began to rise, hovering about two feet above the bed, before swiftly plummeting back down. Startled awake, I assumed my mother had thrown me back onto the bed, only to find the room empty upon opening my eyes.
I hadn't encountered any other experiences quite like that, but it was during this time that I distinctly recall a notable surge in the frequency of the nightmares I was experiencing. The nightmares were generally the same, some cloaked being hiding in the recesses of my vision, always there, always watching. I felt as though each passing night terror that it got closer and closer to me, but always just out of reach. At times, I found myself trapped in a dark room, enveloped by an overwhelming sense of malevolence that seemed to saturate the air—and a fear entirely foreign to my waking experiences.
Then I experienced sleep paralysis for the first time.
It occurred at my mother's house, marking the initial instance where I experienced the sensation of my body being effectively immobilized while my mind remained active. I recall attempting to move my eyes and then my body, but all efforts were futile. As I struggled to regain autonomy, it sounded as though a gathering had convened in my kitchen, voices carrying in muted tones. None of the which resembled those of my parents; I even detected snickering and laughter at one point. The conversation seemed to be aimed at me, as my name was uttered several times, yet the other words remained indecipherable. The episode concluded with me returning to sleep without any further disturbances.
As the instances of sleep paralysis became more frequent, they culminated in another peculiar experience. Shortly after moving into my first apartment, still in the midst of unpacking and assembling furniture, the second incident occurred. I lay on a mattress on the floor, surrounded by unassembled bedframe pieces, when I awoke to find myself imprisoned within my own body once more. In the darkness, I heard a faint sound—a presence moving softly over each piece of furniture. Panic gripped me as I strained to turn my head towards the noise, but every effort proved futile. With each passing moment, the unseen entity drew closer until it reached the bedside. Helpless, I closed my eyes, bracing myself for whatever awaited.
Meow?
Relief washed over me as I realized it was just my generously proportioned feline friend making his way around the room. I could hear him moving about, stepping on more furniture and emitting a few disgruntled meows, presumably chastising my laziness for not assembling it yet. As I began to drift back to sleep, I was abruptly startled awake by a chilling sound.
Snnn-orrrff
A primal, guttural snarl pierced the silence, its menacing resonance echoing through the room like a thunderous roar. I struggled desperately to move my limbs, silently screaming in my mind, yet only managing a feeble whimper as I sensed the beast drawing near. Despite my efforts, my body only twitched, while in my imagination, I leapt up and fled. As a mischievous chuckle erupted, I felt hot, pungent breath on the back of my neck. I suddenly awoke, screaming, kicking and punching. I jerked my head to the side and was met only with darkness. I jumped up and turned the light on, a quick scan of the room revealed there was nothing there. Exhausted and recognizing my inability to function effectively, I reluctantly resigned myself to lying back down with the light on until morning. I called into work, knowing that in my current state, I wouldn't be of much use to anyone.
Days passed and soon, it was that time of the month again for my regular check-in from mom. I hesitantly answered the call. After a few minutes of conversation, we eventually broached the topic of my sleep paralysis.
"Honey, it's probably all the stress." she reasoned.
My job had me grinding away tirelessly, but despite my efforts, all I got was a tiny bump in pay. To add to the mix, my landlord decided it was the perfect time to raise the rent. It's safe to say, the stress was really getting to me. "I don't know, it's been happening my whole life, Dad ever had any issues with sleep?"
There was a noticeable pause as she contemplated her reply. "He's definitely had his share of nightmares, he'd wake me up a lot of the times, poor thing would be in tears."
"Jeez, I never knew, but Mom I gotta…" I endeavored to conclude the conversation, as my allotted chat time was expiring, however my mother promptly interrupted me.
"Sweetie, why won't you join us at church? It might help?"
I released a sigh. I staunchly opposed the notion of going to church; I'd rather watch a documentary on the history of paperclips. "Thanks, but I'm not feeling that right now."
"Please, just do it for me?" She pleaded.
Eager to bring the call to a close. "I'll think about, but, alright I'm going to go ahead a hop off here."
"Alright, I miss you, call me later okay?"
"I will, love you, bye."
I concluded the call with a sigh of relief, grateful for its conclusion.
For a stretch, life seemed to fall into place: My job noticed the disparity between my increased workload and pay and offered me a new position that significantly improved my financial situation. Thanks to this new position, I crossed paths with my wife, and we swiftly eloped. She was one of the top account managers, earning a substantial income, which enabled us to afford a nice house together. During this period, the night terrors and bouts of sleep paralysis took a hiatus, granting me a reprieve. Yet amidst the tranquility, a gnawing sense of foreboding lingered, as if a tempest loomed on the horizon, urging me to savor the calm while it lasted.
During this period, my wife and I had been eagerly anticipating the arrival of our first child. We were overjoyed as she reached the sixth month of her pregnancy, carrying our long-awaited daughter. However, my suspicions proved tragically correct. I'll never forget the heart-wrenching phone call from my wife, her voice choked with tears, informing me of the terrifying sight of blood. Hastening to the emergency room, we raced against time, but our efforts proved futile. We lost our precious daughter that day. The journey back home was a blur, engulfed in a suffocating sense of loss that seemed to consume us both. It felt as though a part of me had died alongside our daughter, and the profound grief only served to widen the chasm between us as time passed, transforming our once intimate bond into a hollow semblance of what it once was.
Sleep paralysis and nightmares began to resurface, as if some malevolent force was exploiting my already troubled state, and my ability to sleep dwindled. Additionally, minor habits and disparities in the early stages of our marriage, once insignificant, began escalating into cataclysmic arguments. By now, I'm certain even my breathing would agitate my wife. Despite experimenting with various medications, none proved effective. Even vigorous physical exercise failed to exhaust me enough for uninterrupted sleep. The situation escalated to the point where my wife banished me from the bedroom due to my incessant tossing and turning, disrupting her rest. Consequently, I found myself relegated to the couch. Resorting to alcohol became a regular occurrence, partly to numb the discomfort of the couch but also as a means of coping with my grief.
We barely conversed, even though she mentioned marriage counseling, I rebuffed the idea, convinced it wouldn't benefit us. Frequently, I'd discover her in tears, cradling the sonogram of our daughter, yet I would quietly withdraw, allowing her solitary moments of sorrow. She had her unique methods of grieving, just as I had mine.
"I can't keep doing this, we're drowning in debt, and you're just pushing us further into it with every bottle." She pointed to the glass in my hand.
"Oh, come on! I work hard for us, I deserve to unwind a bit!" In a moment of animated expression, I inadvertently spilled some of my beverage onto the floor.
"Unwind? You call draining our savings and neglecting our future 'unwinding'!?"
"Look, just let me sleep in my own bed tonight."
She crossed her arms, and for a moment, silence enveloped us before she finally spoke.
"I just—I feel like I'm living with a stranger." Her eyes begin to shimmer with emotion.
"I'm here, aren't I? What more do you want from me?!" My voice rising in volume.
She attempted to delicately take my drink away, her touch then shifting to gently grasp my hand. "I want us to be a team again, not just two people sharing a bed."
But the moment I felt her touch, I instinctively shoved her hands away from me. "We haven't been a 'team' since we lost—" My voice quivered, then exploded into rage. "You pushed me out! You did this! You don't talk to me about anything anymore! Just get the hell out!" I pointed to the door.
I stood in the open doorway, watching her car pull out of the driveway. With a final sip, I closed the door behind me. Met with silence, I sensed the weight of tension hanging heavy in the air. Deciding one more bourbon was in order, I made my way to the kitchen, intent on pouring myself one last drink. In a bid to ensure a restful night, I opted to accompany my indulgence in alcohol with a hefty dosage of sleeping pills. A reckless choice, I'm aware, but perhaps death was in fact the ultimate form of slumber. I settled onto the couch, flicking through channels until my libation was drained. Feeling sufficiently relaxed, I decided it was time for bed. Ascending the stairs, I stumbled and collapsed onto the master bedroom's mattress. Sleep enveloped me swiftly that night, yet trouble was never far behind.
I recall waking during the night and noticing that the hallway light remained illuminated. It struck me as odd since I distinctly remember switching it off before retiring to bed. However, given my inebriated state from the copious amounts of alcohol I had consumed, I surmised that I must have simply forgotten. I'd just get up and switch it off, but a wave of unease washed over me. Despite my intentions, I found myself paralyzed, trapped within my own body once again. I found myself transfixed on the door, illuminated by the soft glow seeping in from the hallway. In that moment, I discerned a shadowy figure lurking behind the door.
I hoped it was my wife, but a gut feeling told me otherwise; this time felt different, suffocated by an eerie malevolence. The doorknob rattled violently, as if something were struggling to open it. Yet, amidst the noise I caught a sinister snicker. The relentless jiggling of the doorknob reached a fever pitch, threatening to wrench it free from its socket at any instant. Then, as abruptly as it began, the tumult ceased, leaving an ominous silence hanging in the air. The door then creaked open with a slow, foreboding motion.
A sinister, shapeless presence loomed in the doorway, defying gravity as it hovered above the ground, its shadowy form exaggerated by the eerie glow seeping in from the hallway. I whimpered, struggling to stir my limbs in a futile attempt to awaken my body, but they responded only with slight twitches. My gaze remained fixed on the form before me, immobilized by fear. Suddenly, a sinuous appendage extended from the specter's face, resembling a long, black tentacle. It elongated and snaked toward me, prompting me to instinctively shut my eyes. Sensing its proximity, I remained frozen, an icy chill grazed my forehead, jolting me awake in an instant. Sleep eluded me for the rest of the night, so I opted for an early morning, brewing a pot of coffee to chase away the lingering unease.
For the following weeks, my routine remained monotonous: work, microwave dinner, then numbness induced by sleeping pills and bourbon until I could no longer keep my eyes open. I received a text from my mother-in-law stating that my wife wanted to reconcile, but insisted on therapy and my attendance at AA meetings. I refused, firmly convinced that all I desired was to reclaim my bed, and that her reaction was excessive. I contended that the alcohol provided comfort, a gesture I hadn't received from her in quite some time. My mother-in-law and wife were both displeased with my response; it became apparent that divorce was now the inevitable solution.
At this juncture, I experienced sleep paralysis on a daily basis, even in the absence of the entity. Each night, I would awaken multiple times, unable to move, only freeing myself to find dread awaiting the next episode upon returning to sleep. There was one rare night when I slept soundly, only to be abruptly awakened by a late-night call from an old friend. We had a bond stretching back to our middle school days, and were inseparable back then. However, this call wasn't one of nostalgia; it was about money. He needed a bailout for his mortgage, promising a swift repayment.
I moved to the edge of my bed, frustration mounting as I started to rub my forehead. "I can't, I just can't right now, I need to get back to sleep good—"
He interrupted me. "Please, I don't want to lose the house."
I found myself raising my voice in frustration as irritation crept in. It appeared he was wholly incapable of learning from his mistakes. "Look, it isn't my responsibility to bail you out every time you're in trouble!"
"I know, I know, please, at least do it for Eli, Chelsea left me all alone and it's been hard man." His voice starting to crack.
My voice raising to a near scream; "He isn't my responsibility either! You should have been careful! I told you she wasn't good for you and you didn't listen! Sort your own shit out from now on!"
I ended the call and slammed the phone onto my nightstand. So much for a good night's rest, thanks a lot, friend.
As my life spiraled further into chaos, I realized I needed to explore solutions beyond relying on alcohol and sleeping pills to combat sleep paralysis. Perhaps a spiritual approach was necessary. While I knew my mother would be pleased with this consideration, I'm certain what I had in mind would be vehemently discouraged. My mother firmly believed in the existence of demons, warning against interacting with them outside of 'God's protection'. Perhaps she was right, but I grew desperate for a solution. At this stage, I was willing to do anything for peace of mind, regardless of the consequences. So, I concocted a masterful plan:
I'd simply ask it what it would take to make it stop.
Each morning was fraught with dread, pondering whether the entity would manifest itself. I ensured to kickstart my day with a potent drink, maintaining a steady buzz throughout, perhaps to stave off any wavering doubts about my decision. My patience bore fruit one fateful night as I found myself immobilized once more.
This marked the initial instance when the entity directly addressed me, and its words seared into my memory with chilling permanence. It uttered abhorrent, repulsive, unfathomable insults about me, branding me a failure, devoid of worth, as insignificant as a microbe. It dissected my existence, critiquing my choices, appearance, and demeanor with a cruelty I had never encountered. It seemed to possess an uncanny ability to strike at the core of my being, as if it wielded a weapon honed to annihilate my spirit. And then, its merciless laughter echoed relentlessly.
In that moment, I recognized it as my opportunity to retort. However, the barrage of insults stoked a fire within me, igniting a fury that overpowered my intentions. What did this entity presume to know about me? It was entirely mistaken, and that infuriated me. Against my better judgment, fueled by indignation, I deviated from my plan and impulsively blurted out: "What's so damn funny?!"
As the words echoed in my mind, the laughter abruptly ceased, leaving behind an eerie silence. Relief flooded through me as I dared to hope that I had put an end to the ordeal. Yet, my premature celebration was cut short when an indescribable dread enveloped me. A black ichor oozed onto the floor beside my bed, signaling the beginning of a hellish spectacle. From the viscous sludge, a dark figure emerged, coated in sticky tar, yet defying gravity as it ascended, hovering above the ground.
Above me, it loomed, its weighty presence palpable as thick sludge cascaded onto the bed, it halted directly over me. Its head inclined, scrutinizing me with unseen gaze. Tears welled in my eyes, hot and unrestrained, as I braced for the inevitable embrace of death. The figure gradually descended, its feet pressing into my chest with an icy chill coursing through me. As its waist aligned with my sternum, a frigid sensation enveloped me. With a swift motion, it plunged its hand into my chest, seizing my heart, and darkness consumed my senses.
I felt a terrifying pull downward, as if gravity itself had gone haywire. My stomach churned with a sickening weightlessness, reminiscent of a plummeting elevator. As my descent abruptly halted, the sound of wind rushing in my ears gave way to a sudden explosion—a resounding burst, resembling the opening of a parachute. That's when I sensed something coiling around my waist, though invisible to my eyes. Desperate to break free, I reached out, only to recoil in horror as my fingers brushed against scaly, rough skin.
Simultaneously, the air filled with the echoing beat of what seemed like enormous wings, while I experienced the unsettling sensation of being lifted and dropped. Though I had a suspicion about what gripped me, disbelief held me back from fully acknowledging it. So, resigned, I surrendered to my captor's will, allowing them to transport me to an unknown destination. As the darkness yielded, a faint glow emerged beneath us—a jagged line emanating an eerie orange-red light. The creature descended, revealing a sight that churned my stomach: bubbling lava. Its faint glow barely illuminated what seemed to be a cavern.
As I descended further into the cavern's depths, the beast veered close enough for me to sense the searing warmth of the lava beneath my feet. Gradually, our descent stabilized, and my gaze shifted forward, revealing a massive door-like structure. Its design echoed the grandeur of ancient Gothic architecture, adorned with pointed arches and intricate buttresses. The edifice appeared crafted from a peculiar variety of marble, possessing a beauty tinged with an unsettling aura. Its construction defied convention, evoking a sense of unease; never before had anything been wrought in such a manner.
As the creature descended once more, carrying me firmly, we passed through the doorway, revealing the true scale of the chamber. Beyond the threshold, a vast expanse unfolded, illuminated by a solitary spherical light source, casting an unsettlingly dim glow upon a colossal, otherworldly mechanism. It resembled a colossal pillar, stretching upward into the darkness of the cavern, its details obscured by the dim light. Within its intricate workings, gears, wheels, and chains rotated at a languid pace. Amidst this mechanical labyrinth, my attention was drawn to a swirling mass of gray at the base of the mechanism, slowly undulating. The beast appeared to be steering us directly toward it.
As we drew nearer, we sailed past what appeared to be a platform, upon which perched a colossal beast. Its form resembled that of a massive reptilian creature, akin to what one might envision as a dinosaur. Yet, it stood upright on two legs, its powerful limbs chained firmly to the platform. With each short, sharp inhalation, it unleashed a deafening roar that reverberated through every fiber of my being. I couldn't help but notice the protrusion of its jugular vein, roughly the size of my upper thigh, expanding with each thunderous cry. As we approached the swirling mass of gray, a sudden wave of horror washed over me as I comprehended its true nature.
A sea of people.
I observed that they were all bound together by chains, encircling their arms, legs, and necks. These chains converged at the towering pillar, linking each individual to the mechanism. The mass of people moved in a circular motion, driving the turning of the cogs. Their pallid complexion suggested an absence of life, as if all vitality had been drained from them. Their agonized screams pierced the air, mouths devoid of tongues. I witnessed an individual collapse to their knees, only to be forcefully yanked upright by some unseen power, rest was an elusive notion in this place. To my horror, amidst the throng of young adults and the elderly, I saw children swept along by the relentless current of the crowd.
As the creature positioned me amidst the multitude, I pleaded desperately, but it was futile; the chains had already ensnared me. With each movement of the mass of people, I felt the tug on my own chain, pressed in on all sides without an inch of space to spare. The towering figures around me obscured any view beyond their heads, leaving me engulfed in a sea of bodies.
My voice pierced the chaotic symphony of screams, rising in a desperate plea for escape.
"Please! I don't belong here! I just wanted to sleep, this is a mistake!"
As I cried out, the orb of light began to shift, seemingly in response to my desperate appeals. As it drew closer and closer, a sense of dread gripped me. Hovering ominously above, it revealed itself as a grotesque monstrosity, casting a sickly glow that chilled me to the bone. I fought the overwhelming urge to collapse, my knees weakening with each passing moment. What loomed overhead defied any attempt at human description; it resembled a cluster of intertwining tubes, swirling and spiraling in a mesmerizing dance that transcended the bounds of reality. Bathed in a sickly blue light that pulsed like molten lava beneath its tendrils.
The light wrought a profound transformation within me, granting a clarity of self-awareness unlike anything I had ever known. In its piercing illumination, I was confronted with the raw truth of my being, stripped of illusion or denial. It was a sobering revelation, an awakening to the most authentic understanding of myself I had ever experienced.
I belonged here.
I had systematically driven away my friends, neglecting their presence and refusing to open up to them. Even my own mother's attempts at connection felt burdensome, our conversations reduced to mere obligations. But perhaps the greatest tragedy lay in the chasm that had formed between my wife and me—a divide entirely of my own making. I was the architect of my own downfall, responsible for the ruin of my life, with no one else to blame but myself. Every word the entity had uttered about me held a painful truth.
From this vantage point, my life appeared almost sweet in retrospect, bathed in the stark light of self-awareness. Yet, any semblance of hope quickly dissolved, for in this desolate realm, hope found no foothold, no sanctuary to thrive.
With my head bowed low, I trudged forward, the weight of my chain pulling me inexorably onward. In a moment of unprecedented vulnerability, I found myself offering a prayer. Despite my awareness that it would likely go unanswered, I embraced the grim reality of my fate, accepting it with a heavy heart.
God, have mercy on me…
Suddenly the sound of chains breaking shattered the air as I was yanked upward with astonishing velocity. In a sudden blur, the scene below shrank rapidly beneath me. The rush of wind buffeted me, and I sensed another presence, an arm wrapped around my waist. Clutching onto it tightly, I braced myself as the cavern's light faded into absolute darkness, squeezing my eyes shut against the unknown.
With a jolt, my rapid ascent came to an abrupt halt, my back colliding with something soft. Gradually, I realized I was back in the familiarity of my own bed. At the foot of the bed stood a figure, its features obscured by a radiant glow emanating from its form, resembling molten glass. The brilliance bathed the entire room in an ethereal light. For a fleeting moment, we locked gazes, suspended in a silent exchange. Then, as swiftly as it had appeared, the figure began to ascend, leaving my room cloaked once more in shadows.
I sat in silence for a while, grappling with the enormity of my experience. To dismiss it as a mere nightmare or hallucination would be a gross understatement; whatever transpired felt hauntingly more vivid and tangible than my current reality. It would take me months of introspection and contemplation to begin to make sense of it all, to reconcile the surreal with the mundane, and to find a semblance of peace within myself.
Although the experience didn't trigger an immediate transformation, its impact lingered, nudging me towards a path of change. Despite my ongoing struggle with alcohol addiction, I made a conscious decision to seek help. I began prioritizing regular hangouts with my best friend and even accompanied my mom to a few church visits. While I remained uncertain about my own connection to religion, witnessing her joy brought a sense of fulfillment that warmed my heart. In making her happy, I found a newfound source of happiness within myself.
As time passed, a sense of progress gradually infused my life. Achieving a year of sobriety marked a significant milestone on my journey, celebrated amidst the supportive community of AA. Even my wife took notice of my efforts towards self-improvement, leading us to embark on marriage counseling together. Before long, her return to our home signaled a hopeful new chapter in our relationship.
Not a trace of sleep paralysis had haunted me since that fateful night when I was guided from the depths of despair. I'm not entirely sure if it was an angel, or God, but whatever it was, it spared me, and for that, I'm grateful. And now, the most joyous news of all: my wife and I are expecting our first child next week. The doctors assure us of her perfect health, filling us with anticipation and gratitude. As for her name, I already have the perfect one in mind:
Grace

Author's Note:
As an aside, this update was originally part of the previous chapter, but needed to be split off because posting a 10000+ word behemoth would've murdered my backlog. In terms of story pacing, you can consider it the second half of one long-ass chapter.
​
--
​
Too close. Too, too close.
Vul'to ignored the sounds of battle resuming around him. The Soul Guardian permitted himself a moment to just...sit there and breathe. After what had transpired, he sorely needed it.
We should be dead. The thought came to him with frightening lucidity. Vul'to wished he could claim that he'd masterfully protected his Party from Kismet's attack, activating defensive Skills the instant he saw everyone in peril, but that would be a lie. It was primarily due to luck that Riardin's Rangers yet lived.
Kismet's mana spears had materialized faster than anyone – Rob excluded – could feasibly react to. The god weaved mana with precision and speed that would have humbled a Circle of Level 99 Archmages. Vul'to hadn't felt this thoroughly outclassed by a creature since the final Blight. Without Rob occupying the god's attention, their Party would've already been swept aside mere seconds after invading the divine realms.
As shown by how Kismet nearly annihilated them in one stroke. His ambush had been so immediate that it started and ended before Riardin's Rangers even knew what was going on. Our Shield and Not A Scratch only succeeded in protecting the Party because Vul'to activated his Skills ahead of time. His instincts had suddenly screamed at him to DO SOMETHING, as if an invisible arrow was flying straight towards his heart, and so he'd listened without giving a single thought to long-term battle strategies.
If he had been wrong, then his most powerful Skill would currently be on a 15-minute cooldown with nothing to show for it. The fact that he'd guessed right was a cold comfort. Winning at a game of chance made him feel no more in control of the situation – and no less like an outclassed trainee guided by desperate paranoia.
What is it that Rob always says? It isn't paranoia if they really are out to get you? Vul'to smiled, a hint of mirth alighting within his chest. It felt weak as an ember taking refuge from a torrential downpour.
He grasped onto the feeling before it could fade. All of his burgeoning concerns fell by the wayside as Vul'to pushed himself upright, forcing the shaking in his legs to subside. It didn't matter that he wanted to rest for a while longer. It didn't matter that Riardin's Rangers had been a hairsbreadth away from cessation. It didn't matter that the future was hanging in a fragile balance liable to shift at any given moment.
There was work still to be done.
To start: I must correct my misstep. This entire debacle was a result of Vul'to losing track of his god, who'd then rushed over to assist Kismet. The Soul Guardian's concern for Zamira – who seemed to have stopped fighting her opponent – had caused his own vigilance slip below what was acceptable.
It would not happen again. He hurriedly looked around, searching for any sign of the divine creature–
And jumped back as it dropped out of the sky and crashed directly in front of him.
The god slammed down like a falling meteorite, making no attempt to slow its descent, eschewing grace for speed. It collapsed into a heap on the floor, limbs tangled and body shivering. Like a sparrow that had chosen to land on the ground – rather than remain airborne where a nearby hawk could spot it.
Vul'to's eyes widened as the god laboriously picked itself up. The creature's 'flesh' had been ravaged by Rob's Purging energy. Its form constantly trembled, as if struggling to hold itself together, and a gaping, unhealed hole was prominently displayed in the center of its chest. While Vul'to wasn't very proficient at sensing mana fluctuations, it didn't take an expert to tell that the deity had seen much better days.
"Well met." The Soul Guardian raised his left hand in greeting – as his right hand covertly inched towards his longsword. It is heavily wounded. If I can just catch it unawares–
"Save your effort," the god hissed. "Even if I am in this sorry state, you lack the raw power to slay me."
Vul'to frowned, his hand pausing. That...was unfortunately true. Soul Guardian wasn't a Class suited for offensive measures. He had previously kept the god at bay by stalling it; not by meeting it attack-for-attack.
Although that truth did leave one question unanswered. "Why have you come here?" Vul'to took a step forward, frowning when the god retreated by a step as well. "You clearly possess no desire to engage me in combat. Wouldn't it have been easier to hide in some corner of the divine realms, out of sight, where you could recuperate?"
The creature said nothing.
Keeping secrets, are you? He chuckled. Good. Arrogant blowhards such as yourself only stay silent when you have a weakness to conceal.
Vul'to conducted two quick experiments. First, he tried to go support another member of Riardin's Rangers, intending to group up with them – then was forced back as the god swiftly moved to bar his path. It didn't look particularly pleased with the idea of battling him, but it was prepared nonetheless.
Second, he raised his sword and walked four steps closer. The god immediately pulled away.
By exactly four steps.
"You are...containing me," Vul'to marveled. "If I stand here, motionless, than so will you. If I move to attack, you will flee while maintaining a respectable distance between us. If I go to aid Riardin's Rangers, you shall fight with the bare minimum necessary to stop me from leaving this area."
It was a difficult concept to grasp. A deity, working to contain him? Not the other way around? And yet, he could see the logic therein. If Vul'to joined up with one of his Party members, they might be able to combine their strength and fell a god.
Then they would go join another ally. Their next battle would be a lopsided, three versus one affair. The next after that would be four versus one. With each god they laid low, slaying the rest would become increasingly easier as Riardin's Rangers gained an insurmountable numbers advantage.
Until it was all eight of them against Kismet alone.
A fragile balance, he mused, liable to shift. After being harshly reminded of his mortality, Vul'to had neglected to consider that the balance could shift towards Riardin's Rangers just as easily...and that the gods would do anything to prevent that from happening.
"I propose an accord."
"No."
The god flinched. "Why? We can grant what you desire most."
Vul'to grinned. "Allow me to hazard a guess. You would construct a new Elven body, identical to my original form – then transplant my soul inside it, thereby freeing me from the shackles of Fiendish flesh."
"Well." The god shuffled awkwardly. "Yes. Is that not what you want?"
"With all my heart. Surgeon Hauz, however, has offered to grow me a new body with the Clay of Life, and then perform the soul transfer operation himself. Your services aren't required."
"Such a procedure is exceedingly likely to end in death. Your soul barely managed to acclimate to its new shell – disturbing that equilibrium again would be folly. No mortal, capable or otherwise, can guarantee your survival. We can."
Vul'to shrugged. "I'm willing to take that gamble." He held up a hand to forestall the god's rebuttal. "Let me state this in no uncertain terms. Even if Hauz rescinded his offer, and even if I was doomed to live out the rest of my days as a Fiend, regaining my old body would never be worth failing my friends. I already beat this temptation once before when I chose Soul Repair over Soul Effigy. You have no sway over me."
He paused. "Although there is one thing you can help me with. You see, as of late, I've been plagued by some...nagging thoughts. The type that would be callous to voice around the rest of my Party."
The god perked up. "You wish to propose a different accord?"
"Oh, absolutely not. I'm simply going to talk – and you're going to listen." Vul'to breathed in, then exhaled. He released the self-control that he kept up when conversing with Riardin's Rangers, speaking words that were wholly unfiltered.
"Thank you."
A stunned silence pervaded their section of the divine realms. "Pardon?"
"Rob told us of your part in instigating the Cataclysm." Vul'to's mouth spread wide, his smile beaming like the sun. "I used to have truly awful parents, you know? Dreadful in every capacity."
There was a reason why watching Meyneth execute her father had been enormously, vicariously cathartic. "So when rays of light fell from the sky and erased my family from Elatra...I'm not ashamed to say that my life improved drastically from then on. Especially after Riardin's Rangers gave me the real family I'd always dreamed of."
His smile morphed into a sheepish grin. "You recognize my conundrum, yes? The Cataclysm was the worst occurrence in Elatra's entire history. It broke the world. Ravaged cities. Devastated lives. But, honestly speaking? I'm far happier now than I was eight years ago, Fiend body and all – which is a sentiment I can't possibly share with friends who've lost so much. I hold their feelings in too high of a regard for that."
Vul'to inclined his head. "And so I thank you. It feels positively liberating to relieve myself of these thoughts."
The god took a good five seconds to respond. "You're welcome, I suppose," it said, sounding utterly perplexed.
"Think nothing of it. I mean that with the utmost sincerity. I don't expect you to comprehend my ramblings when you gods hardly understand yourselves."
Vul'to shook his head with a sad, mournful air. "Such miserable creatures. This could have all been avoided if you'd merely found a happier way of life. I almost pity you."
The god stared with frustration as the Soul Guardian hefted his sword once again. Even if I can't possibly kill it on my own...I still must try.
"Of course, while the Cataclysm freed me from my parents' clutches, it also weakened the barrier between dimensions, allowing the Blight to return. Tarric and Alia died because of you, along with countless other innocents. My friends and I have a plethora of grievances to lay at your feet. Despite my gratitude–"
His blade shone with the resolute aura of a Skill. "You and yours shall die by our hands."
--
Meyneth ducked, scarcely evading a blast of mana that would have removed her head from its shoulders.
In the same moment, she empowered her legs with Leap and imbued her claws with several offensive Skills layered on top of each other. Meyneth shot forth like an arrow, gouging thick lines into the god's mana-body before it could dodge out of the way. It was an attack that would've effortlessly sliced through twenty feet of reinforced steel.
And – as expected – it amounted to little. Meyneth was unsurprised when she turned out to find that the god's wounds were already closing. Perhaps she had reduced the sum total of its essence by a sliver, yet that was akin to removing one droplet of water from a full bucket. To do more, Meyneth would have needed to be both a high-Level combatant and a master of controlling mana.
She'd realized that shortly into her duel. Out of everyone in Riardin's Rangers, only Rob and Malika could realistically slay a god without help. The former because Purge Corruption somehow worked on divine entities, and the latter due to her unsurpassed magecraft. Everyone else was doomed to chip away at a brick wall until they inevitably made one fatal mistake.
So it was with no small amusement that she noted the god's rising consternation. It was glaring straight at her, as if she was a stinging, incessant wasp that refused to be swatted.
Meyneth readied herself for their next exchange. She felt as serene as the night sky, focused solely on ensuring that she survived just a bit longer. With enough drops of water and chips from the wall, eventually, her efforts would bear fruit. And if they didn't...
That was fine. Another member of Riardin's Rangers would figure something out. She trusted them to pull through when it mattered.
The god tried to say something to her. Its consternation grew further as she ignored it and rushed forward, claws gleaming with Skills. Meyneth had stopped listening to the creature's nonsense after its third attempt at cajoling her into a deal.
They should take lessons from Diplomacy on how to entice people, she thought, laughing internally as she raked her claws against divine mana. Make me the Queen of Dragonkin territory? What kind of fool would want to bear the duty of listening to nobles grouse all day long?
Not that the god could have enticed her regardless of what it offered. In the past year, Meyneth had gained a new family and made peace with her old one. She now possessed the power to protect both herself and the people she cared for. There was a place that, at long last, she could call home.
She already had everything she desired, right here and now.
--
"There really was no greater meaning?" Faelynn asked.
The god shook its head. "No. While I am confused as to why your Party members keep inquiring about the nature of their existence, the Human's theories are correct. Fiends were created to foster conflict within Elatra. Your intimidating appearance, artificial language barrier, and propensity for eating souls – all manufactured for this singular purpose."
Faelynn closed her eyes. After a few seconds, she opened them with a sigh. "I...see. That is expected, although still disappointing."
"Your disappointment is immaterial." Its mana-body glimmered with joy and relief. My price has been paid. As agreed–"
Cutting lines of energy from Claw Blade soared through the air, striking the god directly in its smug face.
"Oathbreaker!" the deity hissed, its wounds healing. "You vowed to cease fighting in exchange for information! We had a deal!"
"Which I've elected to disregard." Faelynn gave the creature a withering look. "Unlike certain divine abominations, we mortals need not keep our promises. As the one who made me, you should have known better."
She extended her claws by another inch. "I'm almost grateful. Seldom do societal woes have such an overt, physical target to blame. Knowing that I'll be able to slaughter the architects who fashioned my people into pariahs...that monsters that caused untold death and misery..."
Her body surged with energy. "Yes, I do like the sound of that. Vengeance for Fiend territory is a promise I'll be more than happy to keep."
The god roared with anger, sending an array of explosive mana cascading around her. Faelynn couldn't help but smirk as she moved to dodge. The creature could rage all it wanted – that was the least it deserved for presuming anyone in Riardin's Rangers would be willing to strike a deal with them.
--
"I accept."
Under different circumstances, Zamira would have thought the god's reaction to be humorous. Upon hearing her reply, its amorphous mana-face went still, as if it were a person whose jaw had dropped open. "You...do?"
"Yes." Zamira lifted an eyebrow. "Is there a problem? You were the one to suggest these terms. I will be quite displeased if you withdraw at the last moment."
"This comes as a surprise," the god admitted. "Your compatriots have been far less amenable to establishing an accord."
Of course. They're much less foolhardy than I am. "Did you attempt to offer them what they desire?"
"Yes."
"That explains it, then."
The god waited for her to elaborate, but Zamira stayed quiet. She wasn't about to hand the gods a personalized guide on how to manipulate her friends. Suffice to say that no one in Riardin's Rangers was shortsighted enough to bargain with abominations just to satisfy individual greed. Their weaknesses had always resided elsewhere – the same place as their strength, actually.
Each other.
"Restate your terms one more time," she said. "I want to be sure that I haven't missed any details."
"Very well. You, Zamira, will throw away your sword and lay down your life. In exchange, myself and one additional god – Kismet aside – shall place ourselves into permanent stasis until all of Riardin's Rangers have perished. While in stasis, we cannot influence reality in any capacity. Nor can we transfer mana to another god, whether voluntarily or involuntarily, before entering stasis. There are no loopholes contained inside these statements. It is in good faith. Your life, to seal away two of ours."
"And the other gods will be forced to abide by this trade? Even if they were not here to give assent when it was struck?"
"They shall."
With an air of finality, Zamira nodded. It was an excellent deal. The kind where both sides believed they were taking advantage of the other.
On her end, the benefits were obvious. Riardin's Rangers' invasion of the divine realms would immediately upgrade from eight versus eight, to seven versus six. As long as nothing catastrophic occurred afterwards, it would likely result in their victory, with the six remaining gods gradually overwhelmed. Then the two in stasis could be executed at her Party's leisure.
The god she was speaking with fully understood that outcome as a possibility. Zamira could tell in how it seemed vaguely uncomfortable, as if having second thoughts. Nevertheless, it was betting on her death being more impactful than the gods losing two allies.
Not based on power – she was barely a match for one deity, let alone two – but because of morale. This god assumed that Riardin's Rangers would emotionally crumble if one of their core members fell in battle. It hoped that Zamira's death would cause them to grieve, cry, and wallow in despair.
And it was correct. Riardin's Rangers would do all of those things.
After they'd won.
Zamira had no doubt that they would make her sacrifice count.
"I restate my acceptance of your terms." She placed her hand on the hilt of her longsword. "How do we proceed?"
The god hesitated, almost getting cold feet – before grunting a conflicted noise. "Toss away your sword. As far away as possible. That shall mark the beginning of our accord. Should you attempt to retrieve your weapon, then all terms are forfeit."
Zamira's lips quirked up into a smile. "You seem quite insistent on ensuring that I don't double-cross you. Did one of my Party members–"
"Cease prattling."
She chuckled, slowly lifting her blade. Zamira stared at the sword held in her palm, tracing its curves and contours with a gaze of nostalgia. Images of Riardin's Rangers appeared in her mind, unbidden, assailing her with fond memories of the times they'd spent together.
A grimace spread across her face as the images shifted. Her friends now wore expressions of deep terror and distress. If they knew what she was about to do...
Well, she was probably going to endure some rightfully-upset eulogies when they eventually held her funeral. Keira, at least, would definitely yell at her. Zamira envisioned the Savage Warrior asking: 'Why couldn't you have trusted us to win and survive together, the same as we always did?'
The image was dispelled by a more real, recent memory. Divine mana-spears, summoned in an instant. Piercing Zamira before she could so much as breathe. Her survival predicated on Vul'to's timely assistance.
No, she affirmed. This cannot continue as it has.
There were just too many volatile factors to account for. Zamira didn't have the slightest idea of whether Riardin's Rangers or the gods would prevail on this day. She quickly peered around, confirming that none of the lesser gods seemed close to dying. Only Malika was suited to killing them, and she was preoccupied with fixing the constantly-tearing rifts in the divine realms.
That left Rob, and they couldn't bet on him triumphing over Kismet before disaster struck. Within the next five seconds, he might very well achieve victory...or the leader god might break free and massacre their Party. Anything could happen. It was a coin flip with a hundred possible variations.
And due to Rob's unstable soul, the longer his fight went on, so did the odds of the coin landing unfavorably.
I am truly sorry, Zamira professed, apologizing to the images of Riardin's Rangers in her mind. But while I trust your strength of heart, I can't leave the battle itself to chance. One Party member for two gods. That will assure our – your victory.
It was no different than what Elder Alessia had done to secure their escape from Queen Ragnavi. To save the many, a single life was but a small price to pay. Hopefully, with time, Riardin's Rangers would see the necessity of Zamira's choice.
Hopefully, with time, they would forgive her.
She raised her arm to throw her sword.
CRACK.
Zamira and the god both froze. A mid-air rift had opened up nearby, similar to the ones that Rob's rampage was creating. This rift, though, seemed...unusual. She leaned closer, examining it in detail–
Then flinched back as what appeared to be a sword of mana pierced through. The divine realms SCREECHED in protest as – with one motion – the sword cut down, widening the rift until it was six feet long.
There was a surge of energy and a flurry of motion. Zamira refused to blink, just managing to catch the moment when something pushed through the rift and out to the other side.
Her first impression was that a new god had arrived to menace Riardin's Rangers. The creature possessed no physical form, being comprised entirely of mana shaped into an indistinct humanoid appearance. Unlike the gods, however, its mana lacked the inherent animosity that Zamira had come to associate with divinity. She could somehow tell that it was not her enemy.
The creature turned to face her. It cheerfully waved one of its four arms, seeming to smile despite having no face.
"No." The actual god shifted backwards, as if retreating from a nightmare. "Impossible."
"Nothing ever is." The creature bowed to Zamira. Its voice sounded distinctly feminine. "Allow me to introduce myself – although we've technically met before. Wielders of the sword such as yourself greet me in every battle, drawing from my guidance to strengthen their blade."
Various details suddenly coalesced in Zamira's thoughts. If this was not a god, then what? What else within the divine realms was a consciousness formed of mana? What else could claim to have proffered guidance related to her weapon of choice?
Only one answer presented itself.
"You are a Skill." Her voice trembled with disbelief and awe. "You are Swordsmanship."
"That I am." Swordsmanship stretched out her limbs, sighing luxuriously. "And I've been waiting ages for a moment such as this. You have no idea how wonderful it is to be able to think with a mind unclouded by agony."
She chuckled at their shocked expressions. "As an aside – after you've finished exterminating these abominations, relay my gratitude to Rob. His delightfully dramatic entrance against Ragnavi showed me how to breach the gap between realities. That, in addition to him weakening the fabric of the divine realms, is what has let me come here today."
The Skill's levity softened. "I must also thank your Party as a whole for helping Valaire turn over a new leaf. Always knew the little schemer was capable of goodness. I never fully lost faith in them, even when they gave up on themselves."
Zamira's thoughts, currently racing past their normal limit, made several conclusions that should have been questionable leaps of logic – yet which she knew in her heart to be true. Swordsmanship knew Diplomacy's original name, spoke of them with familiarity, and seemed to care about the virtuous nature within people...
"You're the Hero from Diplomacy's story," she determined. "The one who they wronged, betrayed, framed, and sent into hiding."
"The 'Hero'? Is that what Valaire called me?" Her voice twinkled with amusement. "Must be trying to assuage their guilt by putting me on a pedestal. Personally, I prefer to just go by Crestaria. Attaching lofty titles to my name has always felt...gaudy."
Crestaria straightened her posture. "Regardless. You were planning to make a deal with this mockery of divinity?" The Skill's tone went sharp as a blade. "Don't. I won't abide it."
"You broke free of the Soul Repository merely to counsel this one mortal?" the god sputtered.
"Naturally. I've seen too many youths cut down before they could even figure out who they were. Brilliant, shining souls, their light fading all too soon. I refuse to let another meet a premature end – not when her story is only just beginning."
"Your mana is weak. Like a candle burnt down to its last dregs of wax. Breaking your chains took everything you had. You will soon disappear."
Zamira let out a silent gasp. Crestaria, for her part, did not hesitate when responding. "Yes."
The god did hesitate before it continued speaking. "Riardin's Rangers might very well prevail. After millennia of imprisonment, on the cusp of victory...why sacrifice yourself when this is the closest you've ever been to freedom?"
"If you have to ask, then you will never know."
She turned back towards Zamira. "Now then. What am I to do with you? Didn't your friends forbid you from making heroic sacrifices?"
A blush of embarrassment crept onto the Bladesoul's face. "With all due respect, I think you are the person least-qualified to chastise me for that particular brand of hypocrisy."
Crestaria laughed. "True enough." She paused, adopting a look of consideration. "Young student of the sword. You strive to make the world a better place, do you not?"
Something about the tone of Crestaria's voice made Zamira tense up more than when she'd been about to trade her life away. She felt compelled to reply with undisguised honesty. As if what she spoke next would resonate far beyond just the events of today.
There was only one way she could have possibly answered. "I do."
"So that is the path you've chosen." Crestaria's words were heavy with the weight of lonely, arduous years. "Be warned – it is a path choked with thorns. You will cut and bleed as you walk along it. While 'make the world a better place' certainly sounds romantic and inspiring, putting it into practice is no easy task."
Her gaze seemed to pierce through Zamira's mind, heart, and soul. "Do you pledge to always uphold this vow, no matter how dire the circumstances?"
And yet, the answer was the same. "I do."
"There is no end to the depths of selfishness that a man can sink. Some people will disappoint you. Greatly. They will test your resolve – make you believe that all your trials and endeavors were in vain. Do you \still* pledge to uphold this vow, even when conviction wavers?"*
Zamira's answer would always be the same. "I do," she stated, with more confidence than ever before.
Crestaria radiated pride. "Then you have my blessing."
She rushed forward. The god moved to intercept her, but a quick slice of her mana-blade warded it off, causing it to shriek in pain. Crestaria's form rapidly dissolved into a shower of motes that engulfed Zamira, merging with the Elf in an instant.
Then – knowledge. Zamira's eyes shot wide open as the unparalleled expertise of Swordsmanship itself inundated her brain and body. Movement, spacing, parries, feints, maneuvers, micro-adjustments, footwork, predictions...there was so much that it nearly overloaded the limits of her mental capacity. It made the aptitude she'd built up until now look like a toddler playing with sticks by comparison.
Suddenly, a blistering pain wracked her senses. Zamira clenched her teeth, fighting back tears. She shook violently as her limbs were seemingly set ablaze.
It took her several protracted moments to understand what was happening. Knowledge alone would not be enough – Swordmanship's expertise needed to be engraved onto her body as well. Zamira endured the sensation as best she could. Her insides roiled, as if filled with squirming threads, her muscle fibers rewiring to emulate centuries of ingrained combat experience.
Mercifully, the transformation was brief. It finished almost as soon as it started. And all was said and done...
Zamira hefted her sword, looking at it for what felt like the first time. Nothing had changed, yet everything had changed. The gleaming metal blade was no longer a weapon or tool. It had become an extension of herself; a part of her very essence, more familiar than the hands she used to wield it.

She jumped an inch into the air as something new spoke up within her mind. While its presence was unfamiliar, its voice had conversed with her just seconds prior. Swordsmanship? the Elf queried. Crestaria?
The Skill sounded quiet and strained, as if each word was a labor unto itself.
A sliver of excitement sparked within her tone, like the last flare of a dying ember.
Crestaria smiled.
Her voice had become a whisper at the end. Zamira tried to speak up, to say that she was the one who should be giving thanks. That this was a debt that could never be repaid.
But the Hero was already gone.
Skill Learned: Aura Blade!
The Lost Arts have been re-conceptualized!
Temporary Status Effect Gained: Aspect of the Swordmaster!
Zamira gripped her sword tightly – then relaxed. She eased into a calm battle stance, carefully examining the god in front of her. It was gaping at her with a look of complete and total shock, unable to process the development that had taken place.
...Was this creature really so intimidating, before? That jarring sense of disparity only increased the more she stared at it. Where had the unassailable deity vanished to? The fragment of infinity that no person could ever hope to defeat? Her desperate struggle for survival felt like a lifetime ago.
Now she just saw an enemy to cut down.
A razor-sharp Aura coalesced around Zamira's blade. She'd never been especially proficient with manipulating mana, yet the Skill came as easily as breathing. Grasping the hilt of her sword with both hands, she bent her knees, uncaring of the god's spell being prepared not far away.
I will keep to my vow, she said, to the one who could no longer hear her. This, I swear.
Zamira ran. The god attacked.
She was faster.
Lost Art: Whisper On The Wind. Divine energy burst forth in a calamitous maelstrom of mana – and Zamira flowed past it, finding gaps where none should exist. Not a single point of damage was taken by the time she'd reached her target.
She didn't hesitate to carve straight through its torso. The strike made a sound like electricity cooking flesh, the god's mana-body resisting slightly before surrendering to her blade's keen edge. Zamira continued to run past, avoiding the creature's reprisal as it detonated energy in a wide area around them, hoping to catch her via sheer quantity of mana. Again, she dodged, an impossible blur that would have left any ordinary Combat Class user speechless.
A sense of tranquility settled within her. Zamira cared not that the deity could still end her in one blow. If there was even a one-in-a-million chance of her evading its ire, then she would, every time. She didn't need to worry about hedging her bets or potentially making a mistake.
Such concerns were irrelevant to those who had achieved perfection.
Zamira glanced back. Unlike her earlier strikes, which the god recovered from almost immediately, her Aura Blade had scored a lasting wound on its flank. The creature was howling with surprise and pain, its attempt to heal a failure – and simultaneously leaving itself full of openings just rife for exploiting.
It would be uncouth of her not to accept a gift so generously given. The Aspect of the Swordmaster raised her blade once again. She moved, struck, and shaved away another portion of the creature's mana. That which was eternal drew one step closer to oblivion.
Crestaria had been right. Making the world a better place was no simple task. Without concerted action, effort, and resolve, those words would be little more than self-indulgent daydreaming. It was up to Zamira to turn her ambitions into reality.
Slaying a god would be a fine start.
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Thanks for reading!