KC_Sabilla

Dedication: “To all the self-proclaimed innocent girls who wants to get f-cked up by 6’2 British masked soldier boy”

The depths of my obsession knew no bounds. It began as a gratitude, a debt to be repaid. He had saved me from the clutches of death, and I felt an overwhelming need to reciprocate. Little did I know that my attempts to repay him would spiral into something dark and perilous.

At first, my gestures were harmless — tokens of appreciation, subtle displays of affection. Yet, as the days passed, my obsession grew like a malignant seed, taking root in the fertile soil of my mind. I couldn't control the intensity of my feelings, and every attempt to rein them in proved futile.

The tipping point arrived when my gratitude transformed into a dangerous possession. In a moment of desperation, I resorted to kidnapping him, convinced that claiming him as mine was the only way to ensure our connection endured. What had started as a noble intention had now warped into something sinister.

As I struggled to grapple with the consequences of my actions, a moral dilemma gnawed at me. I was torn between the genuine desire to repay him for his selfless act and the monstrous reality that my obsession had birthed. Every day was a battle to regain control, but the line between sanity and madness blurred as my obsession threatened to consume us both.

The Witch Reaper (Call of Duty Fan Fiction)

"Please have mercy," begged the old man before me. The room, dark and moldy, echoed with the sound of a solitary drip of water. He was the same old man who had orchestrated the massacre of my family and clan, part of a sinister cult that had torn apart my life. Now, he knelt before me, crawling on his knees, desperately pleading for his life. His limbs had already been detached from his body, a brutal reminder of the revenge that had consumed my every waking moment for the past five years.

"Don't worry, I won't kill you. Unlike you, I have mercy," I coldly declared, a wicked smile playing on my lips. With a menacing resolve, I grabbed the chain around his neck and began to drag him across the cold, damp floor.

"Rawr..." Two large wolves growled, emerging from the shadows to flank me. The wolf on my left seized the old man's head, pulling him into the cell to join the others. With a sinister satisfaction, I locked the chain, my eyes cold as I surveyed the five other victims of my quest for revenge. The room, once a chamber of torment for me, had transformed into a grim stage for the reckoning I had sought for so long.

"Enjoying this, aren't you?" came the voice from behind me. Lucille, a snow-white witch, stood there—a vision of contrasts with her black wavy hair cascading down to her waist, blue eyes, skin as white as snow, and lips resembling blood.

"Lucille," I acknowledged her presence. She was one of the few distant relatives who had appeared that day with my uncle, Ritcher. They had rediscovered our family ties, discovering that Uncle Ritcher had left the clan years ago due to his wife Cecile's involvement in dark magic. Aunt Cecile had been cast away, and Uncle Ritcher chose to follow her. Lucille, their fourth and youngest child, now stood before me.

"Dad called us," she informed me, leaning against a cold wall. Her eyes surveyed the cell before she turned around. I could sense the thoughts swirling in her mind. Engaging in this dangerous game, I couldn't shake the feeling that Lucille was the most unpredictable of them all.

Inside the expansive office, Uncle Ritcher awaited, holding a file. Arthur, the second child, leaned against a large window.

"Are you familiar with the Lucifer cult?" Uncle asked, his gaze piercing.

"Yes, Father," both Lucille and Arthur responded in unison.

"Yes, Uncle," I affirmed, aware that the unfolding events were about to reveal a deeper connection between our family and the dark forces at play.

"They are taking children on the island. They're using these children as sacrifices for gold," Uncle Ritcher disclosed, handing us a picture that captured the cult in the act—abducting innocent children in an aircraft. As witches and wizards, we possessed magical abilities, but when it comes dealing with a cult tied to the devil, their dark powers were formidable. It was precisely this formidable force that had delayed my revenge for five long years.

"And apparently, Task Force 141 is also planning to target them," Uncle continued, and my heart skipped a beat. Simon was a part of Task Force 141.

The revelation sent a surge of conflicting emotions through me. The man who had saved me, the man I had come to care for, was now potentially entangled in the dangerous web I had woven for myself. The lines between vengeance and love blurred, creating a complex tapestry that threatened to unravel at the seams.

Five Years