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

With Friends Like These...

When I try to help Slenda up, she holds her hand against my chest. Then, with a pained growl, she hunches over. Only, her wounds don't close. Lazari comes running over, her grandparents lagging behind at a walk.

"(Y/N)!" she sobs, tackling me in a shivering embrace, "You wouldn't listen to us. I thought you were gone or something!"

"I'm not..." I say, not entirely convinced of my own word, "I'm here," I wrap my arms around her, "It's okay, b-but Slenda's—"

Her grandfather walks over to us, I look up at him, his eyes narrowed with an inquisitive posture, "If it hadn't been for Lazari, I was going to put you down," he huffs, glancing at Slenda as she stands with grandma's help, "Letting you go with a bloodlust like this and a weapon like that is too dangerous. I should kill you."

Slenda bristles despite her injuries, "You filthy little..."

He waves her off, "Perish the thought. Can you not heal yourself? You young demons are pitiful," he notices Lazari's distress and waves his hand at his wife, "Honey, would you, please?"

The demoness wordlessly pours her energy into Slenda, her wounds sealing and her bleeding now staunched. Eventually, she's as good as new, and she collapses to her knees in the ash as she pants, feeling her body before filling her lungs with a relieved breath. She shares a wordless glance of gratitude with Lazari's grandmother before her grandfather stands over me.

"You've broken my trust. Why should I let you keep that weapon when you could lose control and kill my daughter?"

I look down at my hand, "I shouldn't keep it," I admit, "but... that doesn't mean I'll use it like I did. I can't afford to," I gulp, "I know that."

He raises his ember-speckled eyebrows at me, and I add, "Just for Zalgo. I'll only use it for Zalgo," I let my hand drop to my side, "Just because it appears when I need it doesn't mean I have to use it, do I?"

"I would guess not," he grins lightly, "Fine. I'll know when you use it, anyway. That sword thrives on blood offerings, and it's bound to me. I'll feel you losing control, and if you do, I'll be right there to take my arm back after I've killed you."

After Slenda limps over to me, she wraps her arms around my shoulders and pulls me into her stomach as Lazari's grandmother sighs, "You're too harsh on the poor thing."

Grandpa laughs, "We wouldn't have had to give my arm to this circus monkey if we'd been harsh on Zal in the first place," he turns to us, frowning, "Still here? You have what you want. Go already."

He waves his only arm at us, the ash eating us up in a sudden vortex before fading away. We look around, finding ourselves back at the door that brought us here from the mansion. The building behind it is a charcoal mess, the stone doorframe the only thing standing in all the rubble.

Lazari kicks a pile of ash, "I wanted to say goodbye."

I'm too caught up in my own thoughts to think of formalities. Slenda leans against the doorframe, her shaking breath the only thing heard over the ghostly wind that rolls across the ashen piedmont. I brush the flaky ash off of my feathers, looking down at my hand again.

I shiver at the thought of nearly killing Slenda, imagining every Proxy back home collapsing dead in the mansion and Slenderman's Proxies left alone to contend with Zalga. My outburst almost cost us everything, but with this weapon, with Ichor, our future is secure.

Zalga's, however, will be bled dry.

* * *

The Proxies are gathered in the living room of the mansion, Slenda standing in front of the fireplace. The handful of Proxies who'd defected from Slenderman join us as well, standing in their own group behind the couch. Helen lays out a map of the forest on the coffee table.