The Last Ritual
You can feel the weight of centuries pressing against your ribs as you stand before the altar. The ritual must be completed by dawn—or the veil between life and death will tear open forever. Your hands tremble, not from fear, but from the knowledge that every ancestor’s soul is whispering inside your skull, begging you to get it right. One mistake, and you won’t just fail. You’ll become what you’re trying to stop.The knife trembles in my hand, its blade etched with names I can barely pronounce—my ancestors, all of them, screaming in silence beneath my skin.\n\nThe altar pulses like a dying heart, veins of light flickering across the stone. Above me, the sky splits open—not with stars, but with eyes. Thousands of them, watching. Waiting. This is the third night of the convergence, and I’m out of time.\n\nA voice cracks through the wind—'Don’t do it, sister.' It’s Elia. Or something wearing her voice. Behind me, the path back to the village glows faintly, marked by lanterns of the faithful. Ahead, the chasm yawns, where the last ritual failed a hundred years ago.\n\nI have to decide: step forward into the unknown abyss to find the truth about her death, turn back and trust the Ascendancy’s lies, or cut my palm now and begin the invocation—even if it kills me.
De7nzy
works: 6
Cemetery Songs
Your decisions shape the echoes that rise from the dead. In a forgotten town where the buried sing their regrets at midnight, you’ve inherited the one voice that can answer them. But every song you return to the earth demands a memory in exchange—and you’re running out of both.
Hell Paradise
I never thought eternity could feel so heavy. This isn’t the hell they warned me about—it’s worse. Or maybe it’s better, depending on who you ask. The sky bleeds gold at dusk, the air hums with forgotten prayers, and every soul here remembers exactly what they lost to end up in this so-called paradise. I was told there’d be punishment. Instead, there’s temptation. Endless, exquisite temptation. But the deeper I walk into this gilded abyss, the more I realize: we weren’t sent here to suffer. We were sent here to forget. And forgetting might be the cruelest punishment of all.
The Silent House
Your decisions shape what happens inside the house that remembers every scream. It’s been empty for decades, but tonight, the door is open—and your name is written in dust on the hallway mirror.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.