Goretober 2023

30. Insanity

**who knew writing everyday would drive us to this point?
*Crazy? I was Crazy Once. They locked me in a room, a rubber room, a rubber room with rats. And rats make me crazy. Crazy? I was

He gave everything to this multiverse. His pain and suffrage to hold up everyone. He was exhausted, everyday he came back to the only place of refuge where he would sit down for just a minute before he was back on his feet. He barely had time to take a break, his feet were sore with wounds and foreign objects lodged into his bones because his shoes were constantly ripped and a waste of overall time to get a new pair. His clothes hadn't been repaired leaving him to look worse than death with his robe. His coat was no longer in its former glory, being ripped and disheveled from the years of abuse and attacks he took. It used to be black but was now covered in blue strings to have some hope of keeping it in shape. His turtle neck that was supposed to keep him warm and give him some form of comfort and warmth was replaced for a sleeveless top because it too was ripped to shreds. His pants were torn open at the hems and completely asymmetrical. His clothes provided no warmth and were just a useless form of defense against the constant weather he faced in every universe.

His sockets were accompanied by bags from the countless days he's destroyed. Universe after universe the cries and begs for mercy became nothing but dialogue of characters with the same concept. A store employee, children of the next generation, a dying hope, a forgotten king, lovers who fought for the life of their spouse. They all blended and meshed together to form a symphony of cries and screams that would plague his every waking moment. A cry for help would be replaced by screams of children, angered screams of fallen heroes. It made him put at his skull in an attempt to make. Them. LEAVE.

His bones burned at every bit of connection he had in reality. His clothes brushed up against old wounds and stuck to the blood mixing in with his magic. He didn't know if it was his or some other poor monsters'. Holes and cracks stacked on top of one another, leaving his bones to crumble at random points in time. It hurt to move his body, it hurt to think, it hurt to exist. This pain wasn't at the forefront of his mind but it drove him up the wall everytime he was hit by an attack. His bones would scream just as loud as the innocent lives he KNOWS HE KILLED THEM ALL! IT HURTS TO BE REMINDED DAY AFTER DAY THAT HE HAS TO DO THIS AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN EVERY SINGLE DAY!!

HE CAN'T RUN! He's tried! He's tried to hide in his small endless void.

But that was only the beginning.

It was where everything started...

But where it'll never end.

His life has gone on for generations, eons; time was limitless and completely fruitless to him. He didn't need to know how long it took until the screams stopped, what day it was, if he could take a break or holiday. It was all meaningless. All he needed to know was what he needed to destroy and the overall balance of the multiverse.

Balance.

The balance HAD to be fabricated. The multiverse hadn't fallen because there was never an influx of crowded space.

Yeah. Because HE was keeping it that way. Of course it was real. It had to be real. He didn't just spend his entire life holding up this multiverse, giving up his own life and freedom for the absolute abuse he goes through everyday. Everyone treats him as if they're better, as if they didn't kill on a daily basis or were biased themselves. They proclaimed and praised peace, hearts, and acceptance. Yet they continuously beat him to near death, screaming at him that he was a mistake. A murderer. A true monster. A killer. A genocider. Soulless. Worthless. Disgusting. Insane. Ill. A maniac. A weight on everyone's shoulder.

He continued to carry them on his shoulders, the only reason for them living was because he cared enough to save their sorry asses. He was the difference between their survival and horrible death through the void.

He was a god.

Not only of destruction.

But of them all.

The FALSE gods of Reapertale and their precious guardian and God of Creation were nothing. They didn't hold the entire multiverse on their shoulders. They could afford a break. They could have freedom from their jobs. Because that's what they were. JOBS. his "job" wasn't a job. It was a duty he was placed in. HIS responsibility alone.

He was obligated to go through less he received a Fate worse than death.

Well...

So be it.

They wanted a murder. An insane glitch. A genocider.

Well. that's what they'd get.

He'll make them wish they were wrong about him. Because they were.

But why should he care about the monsters who could CARE LESS about him??

He'd give them a MONSTER.

because that's all he is...

...a monster