Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
When I woke the next morning, I was staring down the shaft of a crossbow, an arrow secured in, ready to be fired right through my head. The white fox must have left at some point in the night, seeing as there was no warmth near my now cold body
My breathes hitched as the man in front of me smiles. The smile is psychotic, nothing sane about it. Yellow stained teeth and black eyes. He looked down at me through the scope. He made a clicking noise with his mouth and placed his finger on the trigger. He says nothing, does nothing. He only smiles and holds his crossbow.
the only thoughts running through my mind were, this was it, this is when I give in, this is where I stop fighting. I thought it over, and realized there was nothing left for me. My home for ever since I could remember, was burned with everyone I knew in it, and I just ran. I ran from it all, this, this was my karma. I'd see his ass in hell. I look the man dead in the eyes, and slowly say six words, six words and seal my fate, for this life anyways. I'd come back and find this son of a bitch, and strangle the life from his eyes.
"Pull it, pull the fucking trigger."
The man looked at me, his smile faltering, and one spread across my face. I watched as his hand shook slightly, his finger twitching over the trigger. His face was overcome with an angry glare, one that could light me on fire. He pushed the tip of the arrow against my forehead, and I closed my eyes, the smile still set against my face. I probably looked like I'd lost my sanity in this moment, but I knew it'd be over soon.
Then, I feel a splatter of rain on my face, I flinch when it makes contact with my eyes, and I open them. I see the man, but when I look to where his head would be, it wasn't there. Instead, in its place, a sword. The bow clashes to the ground, as does the mans corpse, red blood pooling in the snow, melting it.
The blade that severed the Pillagers head was covered in red, it dripped down the tip and down to the incomplete flooring, falling onto the crisp, white snow.
I look to the sword, and follow the blade to a gloved hand, then to a face, but it wasn't a face. It was mask, with a neutral expression, looking at the body. The mask was colored white, the expression black, obviously painted over, because the lines weren't clean, like someone was shaking when they made it. I back up to the wall, feeling the wet snow drip into my dry clothing, I then realize, it wasn't rain that was on my face, it was blood. I look back to the person, looking over his features with slight fear.
The masked figure was obviously male, from the height to the built frame, and just from the way they stood. He wipes the bloodied sword on a small piece of cloth, it was already stained before he took it out.
"I'm not going to hurt you." He says in a deep, raspy voice, a slight shiver in his tone. Though understandable, he is only wearing a green hoodie and torn jeans, with small Armored plates covering one of his shoulder and one knee, and a pair of brown boots. I think he might have another layer, but I'm not sure.
"Who are you?" I whisper slightly, my voice sounding nothing like how it did before. Before, when I basically told the Pillager to kill me, my voice was intimidating, forceful. Now, it was like I was uncertain of my emotions, a hint of sadness and part fear, but mixed into one.
The masked figure crouches down to my level, putting his sword on a sheath on his back. His mask looked directly at my face, staring down into my eyes. He held out his gloved hand for a shake.
