Pure of Mind and Sharp of Knife (Male Reader x Female Creepypasta)

Hiraeth

Gray stares through my mask and into my eyes, still clenching his sword as I peer through gaps in the bandages over his orbits. The inner arches of his eyes are wrinkled as he glares into my mournful pupils. Behind the fog of his wrath, I wonder if my friend remains, or if he's been weathered away by suffering.

He takes one step towards me, and I, one step away.

Gray huffs, "So it's still like that, huh?"

"I trust Gray," I scan the layout of the shadows around us, "not Erebus."

"I could say the same about you, Skulker," he spits my name, "You going to beg like last time?"

I gulp, wishing that his timing when killing Painter could've given me more distance, "It's not too late..."

"I knew it," he sneers, "Since that night... it's been too damn late."

Dread's weight in my pocket becomes heavier, "I told you before, it's never too late."

The subtle, rhythmic movements of Gray's shoulders become discordant, "You say that... but, tell me, where are our friends?"

Leaves pile upon Painter's corpse one by one, grateful for his contribution to the great giants from which they fell. A gust of wind sweeps them away, and a flock of orange and bronze leaves fly between Gray and I before the current dies, leaving them to float to the floor.

"They're in the past, as all things will be," I say, Gray's sword arm tensing up, "Are you going to stay with them and leave me behind?" he freezes, "Or will you be my goddamn friend when it matters most?"

An echoing howl chases the wind between us, and I flinch at its ringing pitch. For a moment, the wind yields to its new, apparent master. When Gray and I look in its direction, the wind picks up again and the forest floor trembles beneath us. Next, it shakes. Then, it quakes until, finally, the trees part and fall.

I glance at Gray – whose gaze is concentrated on the wave of hide and muscle that charges us – he turns his head to me, his squinted eyes void of feeling, "If there's any comfort in saying this... I'll make sure your struggle isn't a waste."

Gray only watches me, unfazed by the approaching wall of death. I take off without a word, the impending monster roaring at my flight. I leap over a bramble bush, casting a glance over my shoulder for a split second to breathe until I hit the ground again. This isn't one of Slenda's monsters; it's the fucking Behemoth.

My legs carry me forward faster than any horse could, the hair-tingling howl of that creature reminding me that I'll never be safe while it lives and breathes. Eventually, I come across a stream and jump across the watery trench, grasping the roots on the other side which reach out to catch me. I lift myself over the top, cursing when my foot catches on a vine of thorns, and I collapse on the dry leaves. I get up again and run, run, run.

The rumbling stops for a single stride until the soil jolts from a heavy impact. My lungs heave as I plead for safety. The trees offer no height, the ground no dirty embrace, and the bushes no sturdy cover. A tree behind me cracks louder than thunder, and a blast of wooden splinters lashes my back and shoots over my head like grapeshot. With nowhere to run, I charge for the closest tree.

Playing to my strengths and comforts, I clamber up the wood until my momentum surrenders to gravity. With a burst of my legs, I backflip off the trunk and over the hellion on my tail. One of its antlers catches on my shoulder, and I lose control of my spin. The ground meets my chest, expelling all the breath in my body as the tree I'd leapt from crashes to the forest floor in front of me. The ground continues to thunder until the Behemoth grinds to a halt in the dirt.