Markiplier Ego Stories

Ch 3.1

He doesn't know how he got here. He'd just been going down the hallway in Ego Inc.- how did he end up in a strange parallel universe to the place he lived?

Your turn, a voice said to him, one that he knew too well.

"B-but... The Author is dead," the Host said, and at once the voice responded.

Not here I'm not. I'll always live on inside you.

"The Host-"

It's me who's making the story, not you, the Author responded. And you'll do as I say.

A pang of fear shot through the Host as the part of his own mind driven to the brink of insanity began telling his story.

The Host knew nothing about where he was, for he could not See.

Instantly, the Host's ability to sense his surroundings dissipated, and on instinct he began to try and narrate what was around him. He'd never been truly blind like this.

He started to panic and narrate, but something else was blocking his abilities. He reached out to the wall to try and guide him.

Fruitlessly, the Host tried to ask why the Author was doing this, but he could say it and it wouldn't truly be asked unless he left the third person. His hand did reach out to touch the wall of its own accord.

The surface felt cool underneath his fingertips. Slowly he walked on until he felt an edge poking out of the wall.

It was definitely there. Host reached up to find the plaque that all Egos had by their doors- and, thankfully, the Braille underneath it that told him whose room it was.

Knowing that the good doctor inside was sleeping, the Host moved on from the room.

"No, no!" The Host cried, daring to not speak in third person. It stung at his eyes and produced a wave of blood.

The Host lowered his hand and kept going.

Blood ran from his face into his sleeves, where it dripped from his hands.

With nothing to guide him and nothing to get himself out of this situation, the Host-

"Host?"

Fuck.

"Is that you?"

Darkiplier loomed before the Host, His figure dark and threatening. Host couldn't pinpoint the exact location of Him, but he felt His aura.

"Host, what are you saying?"

"T-the Host..." Host began weakly, then fell to his knees, crying out.

"Are you trying to narrate? Host?"

Actually, that's a good idea. The Author paused for a moment. Host assumed he was rewriting the story.

"The Host- The Host politely requests D-"

The Host SHUTS UP and suddenly finds himself unable to speak, for the Author speaks for him now.

Host's mouth flapped like a lopsided bird, but no sounds came out. Dark knelt beside his profusely bleeding friend and held him up by the shoulders.

"Host?"

Words suddenly tumbled from him.

"The Host's body finally rejoices at having its true owner back," Host suddenly said, a malicious tone to his voice. Dark reeled back, unsure of what this meant.