Slashers x Reader One-Shot Book

Pyramid Head | Innocent

He could always sense these things. Ever since the day he began to exist. That day is lost in time for him now, but he is certain that this has been true. Wandering the streets of Silent Hill, the eternal weight of judgement on his shoulders, he had grown use to it- he had grown used to the writhing, hissing masses of the impure, the venom in their words, the stink of their sins following them around like a plague. When he spotted- no, sensed, the corruption, the wickedness, he knew what his job was, and he did it seamlessly every time. A single slash was all it took to rid these beings of their wrongdoings, freeing them to a higher realm of existence. After an execution, he always felt a warm glow of pride.

Now, it was different. For some amount of time, though he isn't exactly sure just how large that amount was, Silent Hill was empty other than him and the rest of the innocent. He had roamed alongside the angels of the pure trapped in the bodies of beasts, the world fading into a blur as time dripped by. He knew these senses, he knew this feeling of cleanliness, until he didn't. He could tell every sense apart, he knew what everything was, who everyone was, simply by the feeling they gave off, the lack of guilt within their hearts, until he didn't. This one was new. The feeling was distant, an almost overwhelming warmth, something nearly bringing light to the darkness of the tomb on his face. It was innocence in it's purest form. For the first time in his existence, he felt a different need- the need to protect. To protect that guiltlessness before it was tainted, as most new things were.

The glow, the sense of warmth would move, it would grow further and then closer as he travelled in it's direction. He was cunning, and already he knew that this sense was that of an outsider. This realization just made it all the more enthralling. Outsiders were wretched, they were evil. Outsiders were the ones that he had to free, but this time, maybe this outsider would free him. He crossed the entirety of Silent Hill. Nothing dared cross his path, nothing wished for an untimely death. It seemed that they sensed, just as he did, that there was someone new, someone perfect. Anyone here who dared to harm that knew they would be slaughtered. At last, the sense of warmth had gone still. Outsiders needed rest. Outsiders were forced to indulge in a thing called 'sleep', a thing that sounded almost wonderful in a way. With the outsider now still, it was easier to track them down, and before he knew it, he was there.

The building sheltering you, the outsider, was worn, old, letting in the harsh, snowy winds that never quite seemed to let up. You, the outsider, were curled into a frightened ball, riddled with goosebumps and the scent of terror. He wanted to reach out and pull you close, promise you that nothing would harm you so long as he was here. You were the upper power reborn, a God if he had ever sensed one. For the first time in his existence, he willingly set his great knife down, and felt the world around him grow lighter. The feeling of calm rooting itself into his bones was something he had never experienced before. He sunk to his knees, peace flowing through his veins, and for the first time ever he felt safe.

You startled at the sound of scraping metal. For a moment, your exhaustion held your eyes firmly closed, but then the shuffling continued and you felt the looming presence of something nearby. Your skin felt scorched, as if you were being watched, looked at, and your terror made your eyes split open wide. You had thought this place was terrifying enough, but now, blocking off your only escape route, was a tower of a creature with a head of iron. He- It was gargantuan, man-shaped in figure but too tall, too broad to be anything mortal. You want to scream, but, like a deer in headlights, you are frozen. It stares at you from hidden eyes, if the thing even has eyes, and you stare right back at it. A full 10 seconds passes of absolute stillness, absolute silence, and the thing is the first to move.

It outstretches a hand, slow, careful, as if coaxing to a wild animal when it is the wild animal. You flinch away, shrinking into yourself, a hand raising to clamp down over your mouth as tears fill your eyes, threatening to spill over. You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing for death or pain or anything negative. You hear shifting, light, slow, the beast coming closer- and then, fingertips, calloused with years of abuse and hard work and hunting brush your cheek. They're so gentle, so careful, wiping away the tear that had spilled and the shifting to rest on your face. The hand simply sits there, comforting, as if this beast is cherishing you for some reason. You force one eye open and your heart shudders, pain rippling through you with the strength of your fear. The beast is closer, that sheer, rusted metal moving closer still. Still gentle, the helmet bumps into your cheek as if it were a cat nuzzling you affectionately, or a lover pressing their forehead against yours. For the oddest, oddest reason it is almost comforting. Your terror begins to ease, as if influenced by the presence of this monster.

"I won't hurt you." You don't hear the words as much as you sense, them, ghosts of syllables in the back of your mind, faint but so clear all at once. Immediately, you know they belong to it, and they sound so normal, so human. "You're pure. You're innocent. I won't hurt you." The words sound tortured, telling silent tales of time slipping by like shards of glass, chipping away at it's, at his mind, his sanity for ages and ages long gone. A solemnity settles over your heart, a strange feeling to be experiencing when you have no idea where you are. This creature was once a man, you are certain of that all at once, and you feel the pity you always seem to feel for anything injured, no matter how frightening or evil it may seem. Your own hand lifts, gently resting on his own, and you let the tears flow freely.

For the strangest reason, you begin to feel okay, safer now, in this odd place laden with snow and beasts and distant screams. This man in front of you, this poor tortured soul, he had chosen you for a reason you weren't certain and he wasn't going to let you be harmed. The odd gentleness was uncharacteristic, and you knew that this hand on your face had taken lives but right now you were sure that he was going to protect yours. You needed to escape this place and you couldn't possibly do it alone. Maybe he would help you. Left with no other choice, you force your heart to slow, and allow a sense of security to wash over you in a soothing wave. You would be protected. You would be saved. 

(A/N): This one is shorter than usual, but I feel like it's so wholesome.