1x1x1x1

NSFẈ "Casted Rejuvenate The Rotten, now they're onto you like dogs."

KILLER POV

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"Į̸̝͠ ̴̡̛̞̿c̴̜̖̣̔a̷̖̞̔ͅs̸̫̣͇̈̎̎t̶̜͔̖̎ ̶͙̰͚̄̓n̵̫̂̉e̶̳̓͌c̷̜̦̾ř̴̫̍͆ő̸̫͓͘ṃ̴̥͌a̴͚͛͠͠n̴̜̝̻̈͘c̵̯̠̦̽y̵̗̘̦͆.̴̢̦̌.̶̧̧͔̇̈́̈́.̶̻͓͂R̴̳͎̣̖̞̠͔̈́̌͝Ȋ̶̺͕̜̝̦̻̉͛͆̄̉̀͒̕Ş̴̨̳̳̤̱̩̹͕̐̑̾͌̋͠͠Ẻ̸̦͚͓̥͚̼͚͊͆̾̉̕͝.̴̧̡̛̛͇̥̝͍̤͓̤̣͉͙̎̎̏̈́̽̏̋͆̋́̓̃͜"

A shiver ran down your spine hearing that rasped voice in a tone you hadn't heard much before... the sound of their minions shuffling in echoing through your ears like some strange calling to them.

...oh god.

They had their eyes on you.

...

*It was a game.

A sick, cruel game orchestrated by some deity who had little care for emotions other than its own amusement.

No one should've ever been trapped in endless loops of running away from killers. No one ever deserved the feeling of being killed over, and over, and over again, yet always coming back with no physical wounds. (Always mental ones.)

The Survivors would be tired-- always would.

The Killers-- you and your colleagues-- thrived in this environment-- where you were provided everything you needed to hunt and chase.

12 survivors, 9 killers. What an unfair ratio.

But your team always won-- and when they didn't? It was pure havoc.

Otherwise... one of you would be sent for a round every rotation-- as only one was allowed in at a time against 8 Survivors.

Some were more eager than others to go.

Some relished in the screams and cries of the innocent-- others hated how they were forced to slaughter against their will every day.

...that was fine.

Being a murderer wasn't for everybody.

...

Not caring much for the specifics, you, the leader, and 6 others were taking moments to recharge at the cabin between rounds-- a simple 'resting' place the deity let the Killers have.

1x1x1x1-- the leader of the team-- was either always commanding, or... retreated to their quarters.

It seemed like the latter this time around.

Though, you could care less-- as they weren't your responsibility.

You were on the stronger side of killers-- unlike the brainwashed children and the betrayed lovers on your team.

You were strong-willed-- ...and that already placed you above most.

But nobody beat 1x1x1x1.

1x1x1x1 was the original.

The first.

Hell, even watched the damn realm get built.

The Spectre had freed 1x1x1x1 from the shackles of the Banlands in exchange for them agreeing to become a killer-- and if they didn't jump on that offer like it was cream to a cat? Then they didn't know what else.

Now, admittedly, having the Embodiment of Malice as your commander was... harsh.

Hitting, yelling, and cutting were very common between rounds, with 1x1x1x1's stern and straight-set ways often clashing with others.

Nobody had any choice but to comply, or they'd be killed off. ...permanently.

Knowing how angry 1x1x1x1 typically was, you weren't expecting to ever get a personal call down to his chambers.

...until you did.

Hearing the delivery, you padded down to their resting quarters without a second thought, not daring to disobey.

You nervously prepared to rapp your knuckles against the door...

"Come in."

1x1x1x1's sharp voice pierced the silence before you could even knock.

Upon entering, you were roughly tugged aside and shoved onto 1x1x1x1's bed without another word, claws digging into your shoulders as the door slammed shut.

"Ghh... I need a good toy. You'll work."

1x1x1x1 loomed over you, black hair cascading and falling past their shoulders as they breathed onto your face.

Their minions-- lean, average-sized humanoid creatures with no facial features, cracked black skin with green glows from between the imperfections, and green chained shackles-- stalked closer, hands abruptly roaming over your body.

1x1x1x1 smirked.

This was perfect.

They could tell your body was getting hotter from where their minions were putting their hands, and you were the perfect body to release some frustration on.