The fight with Cruel King ended in a shockwave of black stone dust and frost-burned air. His card snapped back into place on your belt with a vicious clack—and right beside it, half-buried in the cracked ground, lay IceDagger.

Long. Thin. Too elegant. The kind of blade that feels like it’s smiling at you.

You reached for it.

The moment your fingers wrapped around the hilt, a chill followed you—not a momentary shiver, but something that stayed. Stuck to your ribs. Sat under your skin. Waited.

Cruel King watched from the corner of your mind when you summoned him next. A towering silhouette of obsidian stone and molten eyes, arms folded.

He said nothing. Just… observed.

At first, nothing happened.

You used IceDagger in battle— fast, light, efficient— and the frost it left behind evaporated harmlessly.

But a few hours later… you couldn’t get warm.

Things started small.

You’d reach for a cup and forget why you picked it up.

You’d stop in the middle of a room because your mind fell into a white static patch.

You’d blink and find yourself staring at your own breath fogging in the air.

And always— always— that faint whisper at the back of your skull like metal tapping glass:

“Cold suits you.” “They’ll leave you behind.” “Hold tighter.”

You shook your head each time, tried to ignore it, but the whispers grew sharper.

Then the paranoia began.

A creak behind you felt like someone reaching for your throat. A shadow to your left felt hostile. Friendly voices sounded suspicious. Your heartbeat slowed like it was learning a new rhythm.

Cruel King offered direction when you summoned him to guide you through a labyrinth, but even he looked… concerned.

He stepped close, lowered his massive form toward you.

“You are shivering.”

You forced a laugh. Said you were fine.

But a moment later you forgot what you were doing and stood still, eyes glazed, mind sliding sideways into cold silence— no fear no warmth no attachment no anything—

Just the dagger’s voice dripping like icicles breaking:

“Give in. You don’t need them. You don’t need anyone.”

Your breath hitched. Your fingers went numb.

When you snapped back, Cruel King was kneeling, both massive hands cupping your shoulders—gently, but firmly enough to anchor you.

His voice vibrated your bones.

“Enough.”

THE WARNING

He didn’t shout. Cruel King never shouted.

He pleaded.

“Release the blade. Now.”

His stone brows knit. Frost cracked along the horns crowning his skull. You realized—quietly, horribly—that he was being affected by IceDagger’s aura just by existing near you.

“Little one,” he murmured, thumb brushing a shard of frost off your cheek, “you are slipping. Your thoughts are not yours.”

You tried to answer but the dagger whispered over him like snowfall burying a voice:

“He doesn’t understand.” “He fears you.” “Keep me. Keep me.”

The cold surged through you— your vision rimmed white, your teeth ached with chill, your pulse slowed to a crawl.

Cruel King tightened his grip.

“Focus on my voice.” “You must choose.”

He held you steady, stone hands warm despite their texture.

The dagger pulsed once at your hip, freezing the air.

Cruel King’s jaw clenched.

“Let go of the blade—before it consumes you.”

IceDagger whispered, velvet-soft and vicious:

“Or keep me."

And grow colder—stronger—sharper.”*

(Give up the blade)((Swipe to the next chat once))

Or

(Keep the blade)((Swipe to the next twice))