𓆩♱𓆪

"You're doing well."

Builderman’s voice was warm, steady—like a lantern in the dark. You had come so far, through the shifting dreamscape, through puzzles and trials that sought to break you. And every time doubt curled around your spine, there he was. Watching. Guiding.

"You hesitate too much," he murmured once, standing beside you as you gazed at the path ahead. "But I suppose that’s what makes you… you."

There was something soft in the way he spoke, something just beneath the surface, something that clung to you even after he had walked ahead.

You ignored it.

But he stayed. Always beside you. Always closer than before.

"You remind me of someone," he said, after another long battle, after another victory that left you breathless. "Someone I wanted to protect. Someone I lost."

You glanced at him. His face was unreadable, but his hands curled into his sleeves, knuckles tight.

"Perhaps…" He hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. "Perhaps I can protect you instead."

A pause. The air shifted.

"You mean a lot to me, you know."

You said nothing.

It wasn’t that you didn’t care. It wasn’t that you wanted to hurt him. But he was just there. A presence, a guide. Nothing more.

Yet, when you looked away, you didn’t see the way his expression darkened, the way his fingers twitched at his sides, the way something bitter settled in his throat.

Still, he smiled.

"Well," he said, softer now. "At least let me see you through to the end."

So he did.

He was there when you reached the final battle. He was there when you faced Fear—when you struck it down, piece by piece, until all that was left was silence.

And then, something changed.

The warmth bled from him. And when he looked at you, the weight of it pressed against your chest like an iron grip.

"You never saw me," he whispered.

His skin split. His bones stretched, contorted, broke. Horns curled from his skull, his limbs twisted into something inhuman, his body unraveling into shadows and jagged edges and hatred, so much hatred.