Kill Them All
I remember their faces—the way they smiled as they burned our village. My mother screaming. My brother’s hand ripped from mine. I was the only one who crawled out of the fire. Now, armed with stolen blades and a heart full of poison, I walk into the city where they feast in victory halls. I don’t plan to survive tonight. But none of them will either.The knife fits my palm like it was forged there. I press against the stone arch above the banquet hall, breathing slow, watching them laugh below—drunk on wine and victory. Commander Vrax raises his goblet, toasting the fall of Hollow’s End. My home.\n\nI count five torches, five throats, five lives that must end. No escape planned. No mercy intended. I drop the first dagger into the chandelier above. It wobbles. Then I let go.\n\nGlass shatters. Screams rise. And I step into the smoke, blade in hand. They don’t see me yet—but they will. One by one, they’ll know my name before they die.
De7nzy
works: 49
GardenOfSinners
I remember the first time I died. It was quiet—too quiet for something so violent. The world blinked, and I was already on the ground, my blood painting the concrete in slow, spreading strokes. But death isn’t the end here. Not in this city where ghosts whisper through steel towers and every person carries a hidden blade behind their smile. I see the cracks in reality. I walk through them. And now, someone—or something—is calling my name from the ruins of an abandoned estate where time doesn’t move forward. I don’t know if I’m the hunter or the prey anymore. But I have to answer. Because silence is worse.
Kill Her Goat
The goat doesn’t look like much—shaggy, stinking, one horn cracked—but I know what it is. What it’s done. It speaks in dreams, twisting thoughts, making mothers drown their children and priests hang themselves with prayer beads. And it’s hers. She strokes its matted fur like it’s holy. But I’ve seen the graves. I’ve counted the missing. This isn’t a pet. It’s a curse with hooves. And tonight, I’m the one who has to end it.
Whispers of the Death Forest
I shouldn’t have come back. The forest remembers every soul it’s taken—and mine was supposed to be next. Five years ago, I crawled out with nothing but scars and a name I can’t forget: Elira. They say she’s dead. But the dreams won’t stop. She’s calling me, not in words, but in blood. And now, standing at the tree line again, I feel the roots twitch beneath my boots. This place isn’t just alive. It’s waiting. For me. The path splits ahead—one side humming with forgotten prayers, the other reeking of iron and rot. If I turn back, I live. But if I go forward… I might finally learn what I did that night.
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.