The sandy expanse stretched endlessly, void of life—save for the vanished Yellow Reaper and Plaster Doll. The area was eerily silent, as if even the air itself had fled in terror.
Bathed in a light so blinding it could rival the Sun, not a soul stirred on this desolate beach. A silence so thick it weighed down upon everything descended like an iron curtain.
Amidst this stillness stood only The Old One, solitary and resolute.
[Finally!]
After countless eons, The Old One’s efforts bore fruit, overwhelming them with waves of ecstatic triumph.
[It truly took long enough.]
With darkened hands clasped before them, The Old One reflected on the ages they’d sacrificed to reach this point.
A world stained pitch-black—a twisted mockery of divinity where foul black slime oozed from every crevice.
After millennia of wandering, when they finally uncovered the path to godhood… the world teetered on the brink of annihilation.
Just as they found the way to ascendancy, would it all come crashing down? Could humanity ever truly become gods?
As despair threatened to consume them, a new realm unfolded—an invitation seemingly written by fate itself.
Crunch… crunch…
Lost in thought, The Old One began pacing across the sands, their gaze drawn downward into a deep pit.
From there, things moved more swiftly than anticipated.
In a dying world, humans—the rarest ingredient—proved nearly impossible to procure. But here, in this vibrant new reality, humans swarmed like cockroaches.
‘Indeed, without interference from External Beings, humanity thrives.’
Two concerns lingered heavily in their mind.
First: The crimson whispers of an External Being threatening to corrupt their resolve.
Second: The Gray Reaper—known colloquially as ‘god’—and its relentless minions.
To avoid detection, The Old One steadfastly resisted succumbing to those insidious red whispers. Every puppet under their control served merely as conduits, extensions of human vessels.
Following the teachings of an ancient Magical Book, they devised a simple yet effective rule to evade suspicion: “Never kill a human.”
For the Gray Reaper and its lackeys were acutely sensitive to the deaths of mortals.
Instead, they fabricated convincing fake corpses, staging accidents that sent targeted individuals into quiet obscurity beneath the sands.
Through such methods, they amassed vast numbers of humans, extracting power until success crowned their efforts.
But standing amidst the skeletal remains buried deep within the sands, The Old One lamented aloud:
[Despite using so many people, I’ve failed to achieve true divinity…]
No matter how much they squeezed, no matter how many lives they consumed, they could never replicate the genuine ‘firewood’ required to fuel true godhood.
Perhaps only through studying divine entities could they unlock the secrets of ascension.
‘I must capture one of the divine retinue and unravel their mysteries.’
Thus, despite the risks, The Old One embarked on their final gambit: Operation Capture Yellow Reaper.
Their target, the elusive Yellow Reaper—who rarely interacted with other Mini Reapers—was lured into a carefully laid trap.
Now, with the Yellow Reaper secured, the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. At last, they held the key to acquiring genuine ‘firewood.’
But caution outweighed ambition. Though their ruse remained unbroken, the looming specter of the Gray Reaper loomed ever-present.
One cannot ignore the possibility of disaster striking at any moment.
Only after ensuring safety would they dare harness the Yellow Reaper’s power to ascend toward godhood.
Raising both arms skyward, The Old One began slowly drawing the sands back into themselves, careful not to draw attention.
Not a single grain would escape their grasp.
Keeeee!
The crystalline call of birds heralded the break of dawn.
Ashen Girl stirred awake at the sound, her heavy eyelids parting slowly.
“Hnnn…”
Yawning sleepily, she gazed around her familiar room. Though she’d gone to bed early last night, an inexplicable wave of drowsiness swept over her.
Shaking her head to clear the lingering haze, Ashen Girl rose and approached the window. Her hand extended toward the handle—
And froze.
Something soft brushed against her fingertips. Confused, she looked down to find a small object clutched tightly in her palm.
“What is this…?”
Curiosity piqued, she examined it closely.
Nestled in her hand lay a tiny doll dressed in tattered clothes, its ash-colored hair mirroring her own.
It resembled her almost uncannily—like staring into a warped reflection in a mirror.
An inexplicable sense of familiarity washed over her. This felt precious, irreplaceable.
Tears welled up in her eyes unbidden, her chest tightening painfully.
“A doll made in my likeness…?”
Holding the doll close, she murmured softly.
Suddenly, searing pain exploded in her skull, forcing a scream from her lips. Her body slumped forward, collapsing onto the floor—but still, she refused to let go of the doll.
Its faint warmth seeped into her skin, offering strange comfort amidst the chaos.
Desperately clinging to this lifeline, Ashen Girl sought answers hidden within its enigmatic depths.
Warm sunlight bathed her face.
Mmm…
Realizing the time, Ashen Girl shot upright, panic gripping her heart.
“School!”
The late morning rays streaming through her window revealed gentle fingers brushing her ash-streaked hair.
“You should rest a little longer.”
Turning her head, she saw her Older Sister smiling warmly.
“Older Sister?”
Something felt off about her sibling’s presence today. Despite Older Sister’s soothing words about her sudden collapse earlier, Ashen Girl couldn’t focus. Fragmented memories surfaced unbidden.
Sadness…
Smoky scents…
A square frame…
Inside, a radiant smile beaming back at her.
This wasn’t knowledge meant to surface. Shaking her head violently, Ashen Girl scattered the unwelcome recollections.
“No, I’m getting up.”
Slowly pushing aside the blankets, she stood—and caught sight of something clenched tightly in her right hand.
The doll with ash-colored hair.
A memory long buried, now resurfacing.
‘I don’t want to remember…’
Her voice trembled with fear as she struggled to pry open her clenched fist.
But try as she might, her fingers wouldn’t budge. Instead, they tightened further, conveying a desperate need to hold on.
‘Older Sister…’
Her thoughts tangled hopelessly, clouding her mind. Vision blurred, ears ringing, her body convulsed under unbearable agony.
Falling limp to the floor, her grip remained steadfast—even as consciousness slipped away.
Refusing to release the key to forgotten memories locked within the doll.
Awakening, Ashen Girl blinked.
She’d dreamt of something unbearably sad—a dream filled with sorrowful cries and frames hanging on walls.
Wind whistled through cracks in the wall.
Truth dawned upon her. Dizziness overwhelmed her.
‘No… I don’t want to remember…’
“I’m sorry, Older Sister.”
Rising from the skeletal remains of her bed, the girl who once was Ashen Girl quietly apologized. Now, she was but a Plaster Doll.
Advancing step by deliberate step, the Plaster Doll defied the bonds tying her to existence.
The connection sustaining her shattered.
Yet onward she pressed.
Her left arm crumbled, revealing the false nature of her ‘home.’
Another step forward.
The supporting structure of her right leg collapsed, exposing the lie of her ‘family.’
Crawling forward on broken limbs.
Revealing the falsehood of her very self.
Half her face fractured, falling to the ground.
It didn’t hurt.
‘I have to keep going…’
‘I have to save my friend…’
Driven by sheer willpower, the Plaster Doll continued moving forward.
Step by painstaking step.
What started as a simple quest for toys—”Find the Yellow Reaper”—had spiraled into something far greater.
“The Yellow Reaper has vanished.”
No matter how far or wide I searched, no trace of the Yellow Reaper remained.
My senses extend across the globe, yet nothing.
Even raiding the Yellow Reaper’s secret hideout yielded naught but remnants saturated with Mental Pollution.
Among the detritus, one clue stood out—an eerie apartment complex.
Buildings stripped bare to their skeletal frames.
Black dust swirling through the air.
Plaster Dolls aimlessly wandering the premises.
At night, it became a scene straight out of a horror movie.
“So you just decided to leave this creepy place alone?”
Fury burned within me as I savagely devoured a Golden Reaper.
“Mmph!”
“Grrr!”
Marching boldly into the complex, I dispensed justice to any Golden Reaper in my path. Among the ruins, a peculiar Plaster Doll crawled steadily toward me.
Faceless, its left arm torn from the shoulder, its condition dire.
Both legs missing, yet still it persisted, inching closer with grim determination.
Unnoticed by the other dolls, it raised a trembling hand.
Clutched firmly in its grip: a doll with ash-colored hair, radiating traces of the Yellow Reaper’s essence.
Approaching cautiously, I leaned down.
From the broken doll emanated a faint spark of will.
“Finally found you.”
With great effort, it extended its arm, offering the doll.
Accepting it, I heard its final whisper.
“It’s over…”
Peace settled over its features as though completing its ultimate mission.
Then, like grains of sand slipping through time, it disintegrated into dust.
Scattered by the wind, it faded into nothingness.
Staring blankly at the spot where it once stood, I examined the doll in my hand.
Ordinary at first glance, save for the subtle thread connecting it to realms beyond.
‘There you are.’
Grinning fiercely, I tore open the fabric of space-time.
(ಥ_ಥ)