The Forsaken Hero
I closed my eyes and let out a shuddering breath. My fingers were numb and cold, my arm aching where the needle pierced the vein. Something clattered onto the pavement, and I looked down to see the needle. It had slipped out of my hand. Nothingness swirled around me, bringing the first sense of peace I'd felt in my short, miserable life. There was no one to miss me, and no one I would miss. There's always someone else to beat or rape. The regulars would move on quickly. I died. Only...wasn't death supposed to be dark? And since when did 'nothingness' have so many gods? Discord: https://discord.gg/PX3xqJdZMY
The Circle's Ambitions
The street was silent, save for the gentle whistle of the early morning breeze. Helron stood across from us, hands folded loosely behind his back. His group hung back on his orders, though they remained coiled tightly like springs, ready to leap into action at the simplest provocation.
A glimmer of light caught my eye, and I glanced up, finding Rasce's familiar, cloaked form hovering on the edge of a nearby rooftop. On the other side of the street, I could make out Dyson's soul glittering in the alley shadows. His silhouette wavered unsteadily, blurred by some magical technique, invisible even to my demonkin eyes
"Start talking," Sorrin growled, ears twitching in agitation.