Kiss of Fate

Submission

Grian's POV:

A month. A whole month of unrelenting torture. It felt like I'd been trapped in this nightmare forever, and I knew deep down that I was fading, losing myself with each passing day. The pain had become a constant companion, and the exhaustion weighed so heavily on me that I couldn't find the strength to fight anymore. After about a week, I stopped resisting. What was the point? There was no one coming for me. No one even knew where I was. And if they did, they sure as hell weren't doing anything about it.

I thought about everything that had been taken from me-the freedom, the hope, the small comforts I used to have-and none of it mattered now. It felt pointless, like I was just going through the motions of survival. Each day was just an extension of the last, a blur of pain and darkness. Even my mind felt like it was starting to unravel. I couldn't tell where the pain ended and my memories began anymore. I wasn't sure what was real, what was fake. Everything had started to feel hollow.

But then, one night, something changed.

The room... it started heating up. It was sudden, overwhelming, like the air itself was being sucked out. My heart pounded in my chest as the temperature rose, sweat beading on my brow. For a brief, fleeting moment, I thought this was it. I thought that this was finally the end. That maybe the heat would burn me away to nothing and it would all be over.

But then I looked up, and what I saw completely shattered the last of my broken reality.

The door... the metal of it was melting. It was melting in front of my eyes. At first, I didn't even believe it. I couldn't. I had seen so much madness over the past month, I had no idea what was real anymore.

And then, through the molten doorway, someone ran in. A figure, dressed in red. The heat from the door felt like nothing compared to the burning confusion in my chest. My vision was swimming, my body aching and weak, and for a moment, I almost didn't believe my eyes.

Mumbo. But... not Mumbo.

He was wearing something completely different, a red superhero outfit. No. That couldn't be right. I had heard him say it a hundred times: he would never wear something like that. It wasn't him. This wasn't him. It couldn't be.

I was too weak to even try to make sense of it. I barely had the strength to keep my eyes open as he approached me. My arms, still chained to the wall, felt like they were being torn from my body as he freed me, but I didn't move. I didn't even try. I just slumped, my body finally collapsing to the cold, unforgiving floor. I didn't care.

I couldn't move.

I didn't know what was going on anymore, and I didn't care. I was too tired to care. My body hurt too much to feel anything other than that deep, aching emptiness. Even the relief of the chains coming off didn't feel like much of a victory. I was so far gone. So far beyond the point of saving myself that it didn't matter if someone finally showed up.

I couldn't fight anymore. I didn't even know if I wanted to.

And then, as I lay there, barely conscious, the voices in my head started whispering again, reminding me of everything I'd lost, everything I'd been through. They didn't stop. They never stopped.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to fight. But I couldn't. I was nothing but a broken, empty shell, and no matter how many times I tried to tell myself otherwise, I knew deep down that the end had already come for me.

And that, in the end, was the most hopeless feeling of all.

Mumbo moved quickly, scooping me up bridal style before I could even protest, and I didn't resist. What was the point? I wasn't even sure I had the strength to resist, let alone the will. Every part of me was numb, broken, my body heavy with exhaustion. The weight of the world was crushing me down, and I couldn't find the will to even push back. There was no fight left in me.