Chapter 341

John had always been a fan of the game series. They weren't the best games ever made, but they were his escape. The world felt different when he was immersed in them. The developers had always promised that their universe would remain focused on a single story

They'd said it time and time again—no multiverse nonsense, no crossovers. It was supposed to be simple, pure. But that had all changed. They'd started talking about the multiverse. They'd started merging worlds, mixing everything together.

John hated it. He couldn't stand the thought of the game he'd come to know, the one he had lived in for hours on end, being ruined by this... this new reality.

The worst part? Everyone else seemed to be fine with it. They were talking about it online, in forums, on social media. They didn't care. They didn't see what was so wrong about it. They liked the idea. Some even praised the developers, calling it brilliant. But John... John couldn't get past it. They had promised, hadn't they? They had promised!

The noise in his head started again. It was soft at first, a murmur of thoughts mixing with the rage he couldn't ignore. They thought it was fine, they thought it was okay. But John knew better. They'd betrayed the original idea. The promise they had made. And everyone was so eager to go along with it. It made him sick.

He couldn't just let it go. Not this time.

John didn't know when the first kill happened. It had all been so quick, so... natural. He didn't even feel it at first. He was just so consumed by the rage, by the overwhelming need to do something—anything.

The man at the counter in the café had made some comment about how "cool" the new multiverse was. Something so innocent, something so minor, but in that moment, it was enough. John's hands had been shaking, but the knife felt good in his grip.

The man's eyes had widened, the confusion mixing with fear as John lunged at him. He had barely made a sound, his mouth open, eyes frozen wide as the blood pooled around him.

It wasn't until the body slumped to the floor, and John stared down at it, that he realized what he had done. The rage hadn't gone away. It had only deepened. That's when he understood that he could fix things. He could bring everything back to how it was supposed to be. It wasn't about the game anymore. It was about the world, and how it had changed. He was the only one who could stop it.

John set out, the city's lights blurring as he walked down the street. He didn't know who he was looking for, but he'd know when he found them. He would know the people who agreed with the developers. He'd make them see why it had to stop. They had to understand. And if they didn't, well... that was their problem.

A couple sat at the bar in a dive bar on the edge of town. They were laughing, clinking glasses. Talking about the new update. The expansion, the crossover. John could hear them, their voices just floating into his mind as he pushed open the door. The bell above the door clanged, startling a few people. His gaze locked on them. They hadn't even noticed him. Didn't see the madness creeping into his eyes.

"Man, it's so cool," the guy said, leaning back in his chair. "Like, the way they just mix all these characters together. I never thought we'd get a game like this."

John's heart pounded. His jaw clenched. He could feel his hands trembling. They were just sitting there, having their drinks, oblivious to how wrong they were. How wrong they were for being okay with this.

John didn't hesitate. He walked up, swift, smooth, the knife already in his hand. He drove it into the guy's side, deep, right through his ribs. The woman gasped, standing up, trying to scream. John grabbed her by the throat, squeezing until her eyes bulged. She clawed at his hand, but it didn't matter. She was weak, just like the others. They hadn't taken this seriously. None of them had.

When she went limp, John let her drop to the floor. He wiped the blood from his hand, glancing down at the mess he had made. His hands were shaking, but the adrenaline was rushing through him now. The world felt sharper. More real. Everything was clearer.

The bodies, the blood, the sound of it all—it was a symphony. It was the only thing that made sense anymore.

John moved quickly, methodically. He didn't care about the people who saw him, the ones who ran or screamed. It didn't matter. The whole world needed to understand. The multiverse needed to end. It had to stop, or he'd never be able to look at his games the same way again.

They had promised him something, and now they had broken it. John was fixing it, one person at a time.

Every time someone praised the update, every time someone acted like this was okay, John felt the pull. He couldn't stop it. He wouldn't stop it. He had to finish this. He would kill them all. Everyone who thought it was just a game. Everyone who couldn't see what had happened to it. He'd fix the world, piece by piece.

The streets were quiet now. The night was still, but John knew better than to think it was over. He could feel the eyes on him. The people who had heard about the chaos. They knew what he'd done. They knew what he was trying to do. They would stop him. They would fight him. But it didn't matter. He was right. He was the only one who understood.

John reached the old house on the corner. The house where the developers had started their empire. Where it had all begun. He stood in front of the door, the blade in his hand, trembling but steady. He knew what he had to do now. It was time for them to understand. Time for them to feel what he had felt all these years.

He pushed open the door.

Inside, the developers sat around a table, laughing. The same laughter that had filled his memories when he first played their games. It wasn't real anymore. None of it was.

"Hey," one of them said, looking up. "What's up, man?"

John's smile was cold. His grip on the knife tightened.

"I came to fix things."

The room fell silent. The developers exchanged looks, but it was too late. John lunged, the blade driving into one of their throats before they could even react. Panic spread, but John moved quickly, methodically. It was all so easy. It wasn't hard to kill them. Not anymore. They were the ones who had broken it all. They were the ones who had ruined everything.

One by one, they fell. The blood pooled on the floor, staining the tiles. John didn't stop. He didn't care about the screams, the desperate pleas. They were all part of the game now. They were all part of his story. And it wasn't over. Not until he made sure they all understood.

When it was done, John stood in the middle of the room. The bodies lay around him, lifeless. The blood was everywhere. And yet... there was nothing. There was no satisfaction. No relief. Just the quiet.

John's breathing was ragged. He looked down at the bodies. His hands were covered in blood, but it didn't matter. The anger was gone, but something worse remained. He felt empty. Hollow. The game had been ruined, and now... so had he.

A sound echoed from behind him.

"John..."

He turned slowly.

Standing in the doorway was his reflection. He was covered in blood, his eyes wide with horror.

The reflection didn't speak, but its gaze pierced through him, a question, a judgment. A reminder. John's heart stopped. He stumbled backward, his hands trembling. The reflection didn't move. It just stared at him, as if waiting for him to realize what he had done. What he had become.

In that moment, John understood. There was no way to fix this. There was no way to undo the damage. He had killed the world he loved, and now he was just another part of it. Another casualty of the very thing he had fought against. He had torn everything apart, and in the end, it had torn him apart too.

John collapsed to his knees, staring at the reflection. The silence was deafening. And for the first time, he wished he had never picked up the knife.