You look at the boy, squirming about in a crimson puddle of his own blood, clutching the remnants of his face.
"I'm not touching that," you say.
Jack frowns wider than he normally does. "Well fine. Here I thought you were finally gonna prove to be a ma-"
He's cut off as a flash of green streaks through the air. You look around. Jack's standing there, with a hand on his stomach, which is bleeding profusely. Just over the ridge is a tall figure in a black hooded robe. Underneath the hood is a disturbing white mask with asymmetrical eye holes and a twisted smile. The figure is holding a freshly fired crossboy. The hands that hold it are gnarled and black, as though they had been burnt to charcoal and reattached.
The figure speaks, his voice is cold and dead. He is whispering, and yet you can hear him fully well.
"You there.. Boy with the hat.. I have witnessed your combat ability and ability to manipulate, and I am here to offer you a decision.. You may either come with me now and become a servant to the elder god Cynothoglys, the one of whom designed such beautiful creatures as the ghost, or you may be killed now."
"Fuck, boys, I didn't count on a recruiter being here," Jack says, through grit teeth. "Castle, hurry and take my gun. I can't do anything with a hole in my stomach. Shoot it till it don't move no more."
You look around. I guess it's time to make a decision that will effect your interactions with the world for the rest of your life.
Author
Topic: Eldritch Irony (Read 2824 times)