Author: Shadowed Crystal
Type: Fan Fiction
A holding of hands.
Yellow eyes in contact with a red blindfold, filled with relief and bittersweet happiness.
The two hug, their gray skin bloodied and splattered with many different colors, their messy black hair tangled and impossible to restore after a long journey.
Behind them, a short haired girl hugs another short-haired female with a long, sleek red skirt, her pale hands tightly grasped against the waist.
The female smiles gently at the girl, fangs overlapping her lips, and hugs back, her skin simmering with a white light. The girl buries her head in the vampire's shoulder, bursting into a painful sob.
Her mother has died.
A clown is sprawled across the black and white land, white makeup smeared across his face, a scar that overlaps his eyes, nose, and mouth clearly visible. In his grasp is a bottle filled with a strange substance as he continues to sleep peacefully. Dabbed at the corner of his lips is green slime.
A boy and a girl watches everyone else before glancing at each other. The girl giggles at the boy's smirk, his eyes invisible due to his oversized shades, and her large, circular glasses hang over the tip of her nose as she hides her buck teeth.
The boy trails his fingers through his blonde hair, and his smirk vanishes at the sight of his sister, who continues to sob in her girlfriend's shoulder. The girl with the glasses pats the boy's back, her expression now solemn. She, although he hides it, knows that he too, is saddened over his mother's death.
However, they all know that not everyone could make it.
Three kids are sobbing as they hug each other, desperate to find any traces of warmth. A blonde with anime-like glasses holds the body of a pretty girl in his hands, tears barely visible as he clenches his teeth. The girl's eyes are closed, her shirt red with blood.
Besides him, a boy with buck teeth and glasses drapes his shoulder over another girl with short hair, sniffling at the death of his friend.
The girl is crying the most, not daring to look at the body as she stares at her hands, pain-stricken at what she had done before the game had ended. The boy whispers in her ear, and the girl stops crying, smiling sadly at the boy. They know that they should be relieved, too, for it was all over.
In the afterlife, almost everyone has white eyes, signalling their acceptance of death and their remembering of their lives. Only one still has her pupils. A young blond human who is confused at what had happened before she died. She swindles a glass of champagne in her fingers, her eyebrows burrowed as she tries to remember her life and how she had died.
A gray skinned female with sharp fangs and long, bushy hair glances at her friend, a pigtailed girl with fuchsia lips.
The bushy haired girl is upset over her dancestor's choices, which eventually lead to the death of the human. Her dancestor dares not to look up at her younger, ashamed of what she had done. She remembers the Ring of Life and closes her eyes, letting out a soft sigh.
The pigtailed girl shoots an angry glance at her aqquaintace, the dancestor, but she softens, knowing that sooner or later, she would forgive her for what she has done.
The other ones who failed to survive the game stand behind the four, all snapped out of the hypnosis that the dancestor had put them in.
They are all happy that the worst was over, but they knew that there were the wounds of the aftermath that they had to tend to.
And people to punish.
The Condesce lies on the ground, finally defeated. Beyond her is the looming figure of a gray skinned monster, who is rapidly disappearing, pixel by pixel.
He has been defeated, and killed, by none other than the survivors of the game.
Two angels are engaged in a never ending battle, in a story that does not involve the plot that the survivors were in. They are both protective of a young girl with the long hair, the round glasses, and the silly, buck-toothed grin.
And above them all, a boy with a long, blue hood that trails behind him, floats in the air, smiling as he gazes at the sun through his rectangular glasses, his buck toothed overbite clearing showing through it all.
He traces an outline of a familiar house shaped logo, and closes his eyes, feeling himself relax for the first time in three years. The game was finally over.
And he thinks to himself,