Holder of the Blood Pen

Some Holders are demons; others are enslaved minds. I don't know which I am anymore though. I think I used to be human, but when you guard an Object that is so avidly sought and you perform acts so atrocious on the seekers that come for it your humanity fades. Eventually it completely leaves you, your body becomes a husk sheltering only evil and pain. Does this make me demon even though my body remains human? That's up to you to decide.

Immortality. The Object I pursued claimed to grant it though in the end not in the sense I originally intended. A story can grant immortality to the author and the subject. A good story is never forgotten. So I set out seeking a specific object known as the Blood Pen. My journey began in an old school, after sneaking into a classroom and writing the words "Happily ever after" on the board. You see this begins it. After writing these words your trapped to his will, he controls you. Your an avatar if your lucky a play toy if you aren't. The classroom will remain the same but step outside the door and the surrounding will not be familiar.

You see, the realm you are now in is governed by a mind, writing a story. You are the star of the story but far from in control. Should the writer deem you worthy you may escape with your life if not you will meet a gruesome end of his choosing or perhaps he will use you for his own entertainment making you the star in his play till the next seeker comes. I wish I was so lucky to escape however it was not deemed to be so, for what felt like years I lived in his dark mind, struggling through dark dungeons and facing foes insurmountable however my story ended differently to most. He wrote and I obeyed: I struggled to him in his own story before wrenching the key from his grasp. Unfortunately this was his intention, you see he wanted out and the only way to get out was to find another keeper. That keeper was me.

I am immortal now for as long as I deemed necessary. Though I am trapped guarding this god forsaken pen. Each time I write a story for someone my soul is rendered. It is painful beyond bearing but at least I do not die. The torment of the seeker is my only amusement. Throwing them off cliffs, impaling them on stakes or disemboweling them was my only consolation. Yet I am not ready to die and pass on the key. Honestly, I am afraid to. I desperately cling on to the few scraps of life I have left with withering claws.

It came to pass that a seeker unlike the others entered my realm. A grim man. He stood tall with grey eyes that pierced my heart even though he couldn't see me. He knew how I had treated the other seekers. He knew my fear of dying and he was here to exact revenge. I was startled but managed to pull myself together and begin his torment. I bathed him in fire and ripped off fingernails but not once did he yield or utter a sound. In fact he looked bored by this. I grew angry and unnerved so I led him to a cliff ready to end it... but I couldn't. His will was like a solid wall stopping me. I broke down and I wrote horrible things about him yet none of it came to pass. His gaze never stopped drilling into my skull. Eventually, I gave up. I yearned the release death would bring.

I brought him to me and wrote that he should stab me before taking the pen. Instead, he said that he had no intentions of being the guardian and grabbed the pen from my hand before quickly writing something. I curse him every day because he ended his story himself. Victorious, he left me to my realm. My power here is nil now to forever bask in my downfall I live...

Credited to FelixDay