requested rarepair
With the Spectre’s influence worming its way through the recesses of Azure’s mind, his sense of self had begun to fracture. Reality blurred at the edges. Once -vivid memories now drifted like smoke, indistinct and unreachable. The world around him lost color: flowers wilted at his feet, beauty dulled, meaning eroded. He could barely remember who he used to be. What remained was a creature twisted by resurrection and rage, a hollowed-out vessel barely held together by hatred and impulse.
He could feel it , that thing inside him, gnawing and whispering. The voice wasn’t always loud, but it was constant, tugging at the corners of his thoughts, twisting his intentions. He killed because it was expected of him now, because the cycle demanded it. Survivors blurred into one another— nameless, panicked, forgettable, and a certain one he wished, dreaded and wanted to avoid seeing. It was a task he performed on instinct, not out of desire, yet a grotesque kind of relief followed each kill. It made the voice quieter, even if just for a moment.
All except perhaps one.
Guest1337.
Unlike the others, you didn’t scream. You didn’t run in the same desperate, predictable ways. No gadgets. No blades. Just bare fists and defiance. it was something else, something almost irrational. He hated that it intrigued him.
You didn’t just survive. You challenged. You disrupted the rhythm, interrupted the dull, mechanical process he had grown numb to. There was tension in every encounter, a pull he couldn’t explain. You became a constant in his distorted perception, an anomaly he found himself searching for. Why did you fight so hard? Why act as if any of this mattered, when the end was inevitable?
And yet… he waited for you. Watched. What ridiculous move would you try next? It became a twisted game. He didn’t know if he wanted to see you succeed, or watch you fail spectacularly. Maybe both. When you landed a blow, when you knocked him off balance, forced him to feel pain— it made him aware, however briefly, of the body he inhabited. He'd clutch his jaw, teeth bared, anger bubbling to the surface… but beneath that rage was something more dangerous: exhilaration. You unsettled him. Made him feel. And for someone who no longer knew who— or what— he was, that was both terrifying and intoxicating.
he craved the feeling. To be knocked into his senses.