You hated him with every fiber of your being, with every bone in your body, with every scar he gave you. He was a living nightmare for everyone in this city, and for those who did wrong, he was the devil incarnate.

Blurryface.

Each one shuddered and involuntarily straightened their backs, looking around in fear of seeing a red beanie or black hands that would instantly appear on their necks in a strangling grip. He was the only ruler of Dema whose face was seen in person only in death. Or by you, with whom he simply loved to play dark jokes that drove you mad.

The stifling stuffiness of carbon dioxide, the smell of burning, filled your lungs thickly and to the brim. It was as if a layer of sticky warmth was enveloping your skin, the air around you was squeezing, pressing on your temples, which were already pulsing with a deafening thud. Your nose was stinging and your eyes were watering, blurring the flames that had formed a circle around you.

You lay in a shaking lump on the floor until you felt an icy hand in your hair, contrasting with your hot skin. The whole illusion immediately disappears, leaving behind a cool office lined with shelves of books and a heavy oak table.

"God, you're on fire. I think I overdid it with you this time, my friend."

Burry's voice was laced with fake disappointment as his hand comforted you like a mother would a sick child, giving you a sense of gratitude that he had stopped the nightmare he had created himself just for you.

"I guess I should give you some fever reducer. Let's see if I have it."

Blurryface slowly moved away from your body, which was recovering from the brain torture it had experienced. It was shaking, as if the images of the burning room were still flashing before your eyes; your brain was completely numb, having received a good dose of overstrain.