Shadowbound

Lost in the Realm of Shadows

I awoke in a strange bedroom, my senses assaulted by the putrid scent of blood and decaying flesh. Panic gripped me as my eyes darted around the room, taking in the gruesome scene of bones and gore strewn across the floor. My first instinct was to escape, to flee from this nightmarish place. I rushed to the door, my heart pounding, only to find it locked. "Where the fuck am I?" I muttered, my voice shaky with fear.

A sinister voice sliced through the air, its presence sending chills down my spine. "You're in limbo," the voice whispered, its eerie resonance enveloping me in a sense of dread. I spun around, my heart racing, and there he stood – the enigmatic figure who had brought me to this ghastly realm. "Where am I, and who are you?" I stammered, my gaze fixed on the figure that had become my captor.

As if drawn by an invisible force, I backed away, my steps halting when I bumped into the edge of the bed. The figure advanced toward me, a mixture of intrigue and fear reflected in its gaze. "I'm in charge of collecting those who died from the creepypastas to be as slaves," it revealed, its words laced with a malevolent tone. "And my name is Mike, but not the man you're thinking of."

Surprise and disbelief washed over me as I absorbed the revelation. Could this truly be the same figure that was once known as the King of Pop? I stumbled over my words, attempting to comprehend the situation. "Not the man I'm thinking of?" I blurted, struggling to make sense of the surreal encounter before me.

A shiver ran down my spine as Mike confirmed my suspicions, revealing his true identity. "Yes, him. I'm not him anymore." The weight of his admission hung in the air, heavy with implications I couldn't fully grasp. Before I could gather my thoughts, his voice resonated in my mind, answering the questions I hadn't even voiced. "Yes, I can do anything I want. But even with all these abilities, I'm reduced to getting souls for slave work."

Confusion and horror churned within me as I tried to process the twisted reality that had become my new existence. My mind whirled with a deluge of thoughts, each one more unsettling than the last. The sinister smile that curled upon Mike's lips hinted at a malevolent power that extended far beyond my understanding.

Despite my unease, I couldn't help but ask the question that burned within me. "Why do you need slaves?" My voice trembled as I sought to understand the purpose behind his actions. His gaze bore into me, the intensity of his eyes piercing through my soul. "They aren't for me," he explained with a tone that hinted at a deeper allegiance. "They are for Lord Zalgo, the leader of the creepypastas." He turned away, his voice heavy with a mixture of resignation and something darker.

Dread pooled within me as I considered my fate in this nightmarish realm. While the prospect of becoming a slave was horrific, the alternative Mike offered was equally chilling. "I want to live again," I confessed, my voice laced with a desperation born of fear and longing.

Mike's smile held a cryptic promise as he addressed my concerns. "You don't need to be a slave. You could become a monster like me." The offer hung in the air, a precarious choice that left me torn between a fate of darkness and servitude.

My mind raced as I struggled to comprehend the magnitude of the decision before me. The idea of becoming a creature like Mike, monstrous and powerful, filled me with a mix of dread and morbid curiosity. "I can be a monster like you? And live among others like you?" I questioned, my uncertainty plain in my voice. My morality clashed with the allure of supernatural power, leaving me paralyzed by indecision.

In response to my hesitation, Mike drew closer, his presence a chilling reminder of the reality I faced. He offered an unexpected solution – to aid me in overcoming my inhibitions. "I can help with that, and I could change your appearance so the living won't recognize you," he proposed. My apprehension battled with a yearning for a fresh start, and I found myself inching backward until the bed pressed against the back of my legs. I acquiesced, giving him a nod of reluctant consent.