Ego Whump Stories (ongoing)

The Last Pen Stroke (The Host)

The Author was suddenly awoken by the feeling of something digging into his wrists, his eyes flying open as he gave a pitiful yelp.

Where was he?! What happened to his shed- the bodies- his books-? He couldn't have been caught. There would have been no way for anyone to know-!

He grunted lowly as he felt what he realized were harsh rope restraints tighten around him- his wrists, his neck, his stomach- his eyes squeezing back shut for a long moment as he tried to steel himself. He may not know what lead to him being here, or why he was being tied down to this damned chair, but he wasn't giving this bastard any sense of satisfaction by seeing him in pain. He was a proud man, even in the face of death.

A chuckle came from the dark figure in front of him, the lack of lights besides the lamp shining all too brightly in his eyes making it difficult to see just who it was. He didn't recognize the voice... who could have done this?

"Wh-What... the fuck am I doing here...?" he finally spoke up, his voice somewhat slurred.

He quickly deducted the other must have knocked him out at one point. The back of his head pounded and the wet feeling of blood soaked through his thick head of hair. But everything else remained a haze. His memory seemed almost... void. Cloudy.

"Ah... That is for me to know and you to find out, my darling little story teller..."

The Author mustered up a glare, narrowing his eyes at the unintelligible form in front of him. This bitch was probably just some crazy fan who got obsessed with the wrong writer. He could tear them to pieces if only he could get out of these stupid bonds-

"Hold on, not so fast~! I know about those abilities of yours, and I've made sure you're tied down just right. You need to write in order to influence the world around you, don't you? Which means in your current predicament you're all but powerless... So fight if you want, but this will be much easier if you cooperate," the voice purred, reaching out to cup his cheek.

The Author practically growled, jerking his head away. Though his violent movement caused a shift in the weight, making the chair fall back and slam against the ground, his head with it.

There was only a laugh above him as he tried to focus his vision again, frantic. He'd never been this scared before- How had he let this happen to himself?!

His captor cooed, tilting the light away to help him back up again and upright in his seat as he gently soothed the now agitated wound near the back of his neck, "See, my dear? As I said, it will only get worse the more you resist..."

He couldn't help himself. The Author had always been cocky. He thought far too highly of himself, he thought he would be able to get himself out of this no matter the stakes. He'd survived this long without being caught- What was different about this situation?

"Fuck. You." he spat, his chest heaving as he waited for some kind of response for what felt like minutes.

There was a considerable, almost physical change in the room, and the writer shivered as he felt the air almost grow colder.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

The Author tensed, waiting for some form of retaliation, but nothing occurred. There were just a series of footsteps instead, leaving the room and going down some hallway he couldn't see.

The Author didn't quite know what the fuck he meant by that warning, but he wasn't going to stick around to find out. He pulled at his restraints like a wild animal, gasping and practically screaming at how he remained completely bound. He had never felt this helpless before- he wasn't supposed to be helpless. He was all-powerful, for Christ's sake!

He swore under his breath at the sound of the crazed man returning, still struggling the best that he could.

It was no use. Whatever was about to happen, he couldn't prevent it. His powers had limits, and he had reached them.

He noticed the glinting of what looked like a scalpel in the dim light, and he took a deep, shaky breath as he finally gave in, his own hubris deflating as he felt something inside of him break. He knew he had never been the best person, but he didn't ever think the consequences of his actions would catch up to him.

He didn't know what else he could do.

"....Please..."

He felt absolutely sick at having to say it out loud, and he cringed at the sound of his own voice. Especially when it dawned on him that apologizing or begging had been in vain either way.

There was a tutting sound as the man approached, passing the light and casting a terrifying shadow over his shaking captive. He reached out and caressed his cheek again, yet this time clutched the side of his head a little too gently yet all too forcefully as he spoke, "It's too late for that, author... Though don't worry. This is just an experiment of sorts. Why don't we see if those eyes of yours are what gives you these powers. I mean, you can't write if you can't see, can you?"

Then he felt the blade slice into the corner of his eye socket.