Their Souls Are Yours
I sold my soul for a voice that could move mountains, for crowds that screamed my name into the void. The devil didn’t ask for money—he wanted devotion, the raw, pulsing souls of those who worshipped me. Now, every concert is a sacrifice. Every fan who faints from ecstasy? Another soul claimed. I can feel them screaming in the silence between songs. But here’s the truth: I can’t stop. The music won’t let me. And neither will the thing wearing my face on stage tonight.The spotlight burns hotter than it should. I’m halfway through ‘Eclipse,’ my breakout hit, and the crowd is euphoric—thousands screaming, crying, reaching up like they’d die for me. One girl in the front row collapses. Again. This time, I see it—the silver thread snapping from her chest, whipping toward my microphone like it was always mine.
I stumble back, but the beat doesn’t stop. My body moves on, singing, smiling, while my mind screams. That’s the third one this week. The contract said ‘devotees,’ not innocents. But the Devil never defines terms until it’s too late.
My earpiece crackles. ‘Keep singing,’ says the voice—smooth, amused, in perfect harmony with the chorus. ‘Or you’ll vanish before the encore.’
The next song cues up automatically. I can feel the hunger in the notes. Behind me, the backup dancers move like puppets. Are they still human? I don’t know anymore. All I know is this: if I stop, I die. If I keep going, they die.
And then I see her—standing in the shadows beyond the stage. Elise. Eyes open. Staring. Not cheering. Just waiting.
King Patrick
works: 34
Daughter Of Sacrifice
I never thought it would come to this. My daughter—barely nineteen—sold her body night after night just to keep the collectors off our door. The debts weren’t hers. They were my parents’, left behind when they died drowning in medical bills. But she stepped into the fire without flinching. Now I’m staring at bank statements and silence, wondering how I failed her so completely—and what I’m willing to do to make it right.
Not Love
I’ve memorized the way Chadwick laughs—how his head tilts back just slightly, like he’s offering his joy to the sky. I know his coffee order, the book he always carries but never finishes, even the way he taps his pen when he’s thinking. But he doesn’t know I exist. Not really. And now, after months of watching from the shadows, I have to decide: do I stay invisible, or finally step into the light where he might see me… or crush me?
Up System
You wake up to a world that shouldn’t exist—where floating menus hover above coffee cups and every person you pass has a health bar flickering over their head. The System Update said it would 'optimize human potential.' It lied. Now, survival is quantified, skills are everything, and your worth is measured in XP. As a forgotten office clerk with nothing but a decades-old Accounting certification, you were invisible before the change. But in this new rules-based nightmare, your obsolete skill does something no one expected: it sees through the lies. And that makes you dangerous.
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.