𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐦 𝐒𝐨𝐧 (CREEPYPASTA X REAPER READER)

O n e - Urge To Escape

Today I turn 800.

Another useless century of being nothing higher than a subject to my father, and a disappointment to everyone around me. Even the humans in the over world.

I tried living with humans once for some time in my first century, but of course that turned out bad considering I'm "half Zalgo" and also what's known as the Grim Reaper. My mother ended up hating me and so I came back to the underworld and caved into becoming what father wanted most.

My true, half "Zalgoid" self. It's been this way for more than 700 years since, and for 700 more it'll be, that's what my father says.

Today on my 800th birthday I sat upon a throne of skulls and other skeletal remains from people my father and I killed, watching as my followers ran around trying to entertain me for my birthday.

Unfortunate for them, I wasn't entertained, just plain bored and uninterested.

"Is there anything we can do for you Master (Name)?" One of my followers trembled, seeing that I wasn't happy and stepping up to the foot of the throne. I frowned and glare at this one in the eye, "I told you not to call me by that name numerous times, Vyloth. Are you that forgetful? Scum."

Vyloth lowered his head and backed away from me slowly, "Sorry Master..."

The other followers stopped moving and looked at me quietly. They knew exactly how I felt about my situation, being in my fathers realm and living as a Zalgoid being AND a Reaper rather than a normal human life with my mother.

800 years means I finally become my full true Zalgean form, casting away my human side forever and my title as "death itself" and turning just like my father and how he wants me to be.

Another spitting image of himself. That narcissistic fuck.

I sigh and slouch in my seat, wishing that I had hidden away or something the night before so these idiots wouldn't be forced to celebrate me becoming a hideous eldritch horror today.

I look at Syngrath, my main follower and personal servant and motion for him to step up to me. Syngrath was a different type of follower—he wasn't pathetic and fearful like my other servants. He was mysterious and calm and did exactly everything I told him to with no mistakes. It's funny how loyal he was, considering I was the cause of him being trapped in this place for eternity in the first place.

"Syn, do me a favor and pass this on to Zalgo, would you?" I ordered with a bored expression, "Tell him I'm feeling real sick today and can't go on with the ceremony. Ask him to put it off for another time."

"But Sire," Syngrath began to protest with a slight bow, "If I were to tell Lord Zalgo this, he would very likely have my head. He's been awaiting this moment for a very long time and he won't let it be missed for anything."

I roll my eyes, "You pathetic cowardddd. Fine, I'll do it myself since you're so useless."

I didn't mean to be so harsh, but I won't show softness or pity to a servant. It's been ingrained in my head that I must not, thanks to Zalshit.

I go to stand up from the throne only to suddenly have a hand slammed on my head and forced me back down into my seat. I look up and see my father, Zalgo himself in his humane form, looking a little upset with me.

"You were going to use your servant to lie to me and have the biggest event of your life delayed? I don't remember raising a brainless moron for a son..." He growled, narrowing his four eyes at me.

I look away from him and go back to slouching. "I don't want to become a demonic hat rack looking monster."

"I don't recall you've ever had a choice, (Name)..."