[PK] Annihilation

[spaazmatism 1018]

 

Annihilation. 

The concept was one which Shahan had grown intimately familiar with. His whole life was one that had been spent staring down the barrel of the cannon that was Annihilation. Such was the fate of all of his kind, lest they divert it. Shahan was, however, not one of those lucky few who had managed to circumvent it, though.

 Not that he’d earned any kind of escape from his fate, though. No, he’d invited this upon himself. Every single misstep he’d made over his rather short life had led up to this. Only, his biggest mistake was the one which had come back to bite him. His biggest regret.

But among those last waning thoughts which darted through his fading mind, one question was the most pervading of all.

 

‘Why?’

 

‘Why did I do it?’

 

He mumbled to himself, words slurred. He was, by now, delirious from the mixture of cortisol and blood loss. His clothes were soaked in that warm black liquid, though it seemed to quickly cool down. The smell was noxious. He paid it little mind, though he did frown a little as he watched his own blood worm its way into the carpet below him. It was a little rude to off yourself in your friend’s basement, after all. He rested his head back, taking deep breaths which grew ever-shakier as he quickly lost warmth. Of all the things he’d done, and all the regrets he had, this one action was something he did not regret. 

 

A life was snuffed out that day.

The life of a son, a sinner, and a father.

 A killer, a brother, and a warlock.

A man who, by all means, deserved what had come for him.

 A man whose presence would not be missed.

 

Shahan’s life came to an end at the hand of one who’d arguably done the right thing.

His own. For once in his life, Shahan had done something moral.

 

 

Letters were left on his person. Whether they’d be distributed or not, he did not really care.

 It was not quite his issue anymore, was it?

He had Annihilation to face, now.

 

Spoiler

Wow. okay. he's dead now. awesome. i had a really really good time playing Shahan and it's really all thanks to the people i met along the way. thank you @Navigator for giving me the chance to play this guy in the first place. dont hate on my shitty pk post ive never done this before 💔

[camuyshounen287 36]

 

A warlock of a father, elusive yet destructive, an immolating grasp like a wildfire which razes lands, leaving nothing but black. 

 

A deranged freak of a sister, looming, the grey rumble of stormy skies rearing, as swift and piercing to the soul as a bolt of lightning. 

 

A cherished brother, having been born in darkness, knowing nothing but anxiety, misery just around the corner. He who died the moment before he could see the light. 

 

Now, what remains, is a one-horned devil. A creature who can’t stand to look at its own face. A product of the woodland and seas, able to devour small animals and pests without a hint of remorse, yet unable to raise the very blades he considers art against another man. An incomplete entity- not courageous enough to be a man, nor powerful enough to be a beast. Not enough to be the shining blade of legacy, carefully crafted for the one man who knew him in his entirety from birth. 

 

But that man knew naught more of himself than he did of the man. The times they had spoken could be counted on two hands. To the creature, the cherished brother was not a man- but a faith. The final flame welding beasthood and sapience.

 

No longer does the creature have any blood in his veins worth half of a mina. Black, rancid, tainted by the hand of a greater evil. A fate which only seems to lead deeper into the darkest crevasses of the vast forest he calls mother, the abyssal depths he calls father. 

 

All which may lift him away from this fate is mere embers of artistic inspiration, and three hands- of a sworn brother, a
pledged king, and a magnificent musician. Only Iblees knows if he can raise his own desiccated hand to accept them. 

 

“Goodbye, Shahan. I still want to see you soon.”

 

[scoobi 124]

“Find another way to disconnect. I'm not helping you anymore.”

 

Her last words to her brother. Perhaps the thing that pushed him to the end. But somewhere in here, she knew it wasn’t her fault. It was her fault. She knew it never was. It has always been. But it did not make the sting hurt any less. 

 

Her grievance with Shahan had been far too spaced out, far too many. 

 

“I don't want anything to do with you.”

 

“I'll be good, I promise. I'll stop ruining everything, I- You can't leave me. You can't.”

 

But deep down, she cared about him, truly. Even when she couldn’t.

 

“I don't owe you anything. You were my sister, and you ruined it. I'm not interested in fixing it.”

 

“I still am your sister! We share the same blood! You're so… you're so mean now.”

 

Even when he stabbed her eye out, she still cared. Even as the blackened ichor fell down her face.

 

“You share my blood, sure. You're not my sister, though. You're like… a tumour. Nobody wants you. You were never supposed to be around. Dad doesn't even love you, you know? He just says he does, cause he can't bring himself to kill you. You're worthless. Nobody loves you. They never will.”

 

“You don't mean that.” - “You mean none of these words. It's-”

 

Even when he disowned her, she still wished to fix it. Even when he kicked and spat on her.

 

“You need to be quiet, and put your mask on. You're a freak.” - “I can't stand looking at your stupid face. I should've killed you when I had the chance

“I will always love you, even if you don't.”

Even when-

 

There were too many for her to count. Too many moments in their lives where they hated each other more than words could describe. But in the hate, there was love. The burning sensation that there was something that kept them together. That kept them from killing each other. Though they got close. 

 

–
 

She was told along a beach, holding the hands of Juniper. For a while, she fell silent, nothing escaping her. But soon, in her hands– the Prince’s Scroll, her last connection to her brother. There, she placed it within the sand, pressing her forehead against it, as she sobbed– wracking sobs that seemed to have no choice but to escape.

 

Juniper hugged her after a while, an attempt to provide comfort, but it wasn’t enough. She needed a solution, a way to be removed from the situation. And so, she dug into her satchel. Many things were there– paper, little trinkets, bags within the bag, but her hands fell over it– the damned needle. The one her brother asked for, the one she stole from another. 

 

There was no time for her to think of her actions before she felt the sinking feeling in her body. The world dissolved around her- the salt of the air tasting of metal, the sounds around her fading into a distant hum. Before her limbs felt too far apart, before her own thoughts were spaced too far, too wide. But there was peace. She collapsed against Juniper now, hoping this would absolve her of all her mistakes, so she didn’t need to feel them any longer. So that she could go out, knowing that perhaps her final act of kindness was another sacrifice from herself.

 

How unfortunate it is that she is loved.

 

-=-

 

Soren received the news some time after others received theirs. Perhaps he was not around to be told at the same time. Or perhaps, there was the sinking feeling in his chest, a feeling that even he couldn’t separate from his soul.

 

A nod met the words he’d been told, as steps followed, walking away from the source. His steps took him to his own house and up the lift, until he stared at it.

 

Shahan’s Room

 

The writing scrawled onto the sign was still crisp, albeit the sign was dusty now. He had always promised him a room inside his home – even when he found out about the boy’s pact, even when he discovered the things the boy had done – he never removed the sign from his room. He never touched the things within, on the off chance he did come back. On the off chance that something changed, that anything changed.

 

He kept it, just in case.

 

Nowadays, Soren’s home is quiet– and there is a lingering feeling it will stay that way. 

Edited December 7, 2025 by scoobi
crying sobbing agonizing despair

[Navigator 4260]

 

 

It twisted, coiled, and gnawed at the Archprince’s mind, as the news echoed within his mind. For the first time in decades, ever since he was graced with fire and brand by Kroza’kiiz, Ryad heard nothing, but a constant ringing, a constant reminder of shame. A constant, gnawing sensation that he could’ve done something. His son. His little boy. The adorable blind child, who upon hearing his voice, would light up with happiness and excitement.

 

 

“ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ɪꜱ ʀɪɢʜᴛ” He repeated, over and over, like some sort of mantra. Like it was meant to soothe that horrid sensation, like it was meant to bring him back, like it would take away the insurmountable weight from his shoulders, that looming shadow that refused to leave his side. He sat on the edge of his chair, balled fists resting against the table. How dare he feel hate? How dare he feel anger? Guilt? Rage? He wasn’t there. Not for his childhood, not for his teenage years, much less for his adulthood. Recklessly, he had branded him, putting a target on his back. “ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ɪꜱ ʀɪɢ-” And before he could finish the sentence, his fists raised and slammed down on the table.

 

Ryad would not stop thrashing the room until all of his hatred had been spent, such void replaced by something unique; regret.

 

“My son is dead.”

 

Each word was individually choked out, hands brought to his scalp, gripping onto the roots of his hair, fighting back the urge to pull them off, rip into himself and end this misery. Within the thrashed room, the Archprince of Dread felt, again, like the scared man he was, holding the small, yell0w-skinned and blind horned baby, bawling in his arms. Shahan, he had baptised him. It meant king. Ruler. He wanted his son, his first son, to be destined to greatness, to go above and beyond.

 

Ryad had built a kingdom from the bridges he burned, yet Shahan had been one of two bridges he’d managed to reconstruct, without adding to the pile. Never before had he felt this pain. Never before had he felt this emptiness. Thunk, and he fell on his knees, hands coming free of his hair to grip the floor. Sharp-nailed hands did not stop scraping at the ivory wooden floor until his fingers were bloodied, and his chest was heaving with the exertion. 

 

“My son is dead.”

 

He repeated it again, like some clarity had come to his mind. Slowly did a broken man come to his feet, hands - oozing still with that crimson - resting on his knees, before he stood up proper. He ran his fingers along his hair, straightening it out behind his head once more, his back arching backwards to allow him to stare to the ceiling. He thought he had already fallen into a precipice, only to find out this had been the final push. 

 

“My son is dead.” he repeated once more.
 

 

[Sonybut7 530]

r.

[Moumins 378]

 

· · ─ ·୨ৎ· ─ · ·

The years had been long. 

In them, a sister neglected her brother.

For she should have visited, as she may find out.

‘I am sorry!’

 -

 ‘Where are you?’

 -

 ‘Dear Shahan, it is the 14th of the Grand Harvest,’

 

Esther may call out, question, or write any of these things.

All followed by:

‘I love you.’

What was certain would be the gap in her life that Shahan’s death had left. 

· · ─ ·୨ৎ· ─ · ·

 

[Monty Cobra 921]

Spoiler

 

 

Two brothers sat together on a cold winter’s night. 

 

“... if I became evil, I'd want you to kill me. Cause… like… you know, you're my brother. So that's, like, your noble duty, now. I just… want you to know that. If I become evil, then, like… you have to stop me, if I can't stop myself.”

“... I understand.”

“I mean it. Like… really. You can't let me get away with it, if it happens.”

“I understand what you're asking. I… I will. If it ever happens.”

 

A promise made, it was an omen of the future that would unravel. 

 

 “Your brother wants to become a warlock.”

“What do I do?”

“Be there for him. Make him value his humanity. Don't let him succumb to these selfish desires. Keep being his older brother.”

 

Njáll tried, but he failed. The promise, what was once a naive precaution made between two children wholly trusting of another, came to hang a heavy weight over Njáll’s head. A constant reminder. And that reminder grew more and more grave as the years passed.

 

There would be letters—some on behalf of Shahan…

 

Dear friend of Shahan, I regret to inform you that Shahan has tragically passed during our journey from Kalldur to Azuras. I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news, it is a tragic time of grief.

 

And others, from Shahan himself. Words written, and then contradicted.

 

Njáll. I heard you're terrified of me coming to kill you. I want you to know I have no intention of hurting you. You might not be my brother anymore, but you were.

 

Njáll. I have Marquise and his friend Castien. Both are in quite a lot of danger. You are going to meet my Knight on the road to Norland, ALONE, and follow him to the location. If you bring anybody to the meeting, Marquise and Castien will both become demons. You don't want that. Let's think rationally, here.

 

Njáll was no innocent bystander, either.

 

“He is not my brother anymore.”

 

“Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you here.”

 

Any trust he’d had in his brother was gone. Each footstep, knock of a door, or creak of a floorboard had the Nord jumping or reaching for a weapon. Paranoia overtook him. He saw Shahan everywhere—in the shadows. In hooded figures. In his dreams. Confined to Norland for his own safety, Njáll stopped eating, stopped sleeping, and started drinking. The promise grew daunting. 

 

Over time, things settled. Njáll’s nerves did not.

 

And then… 

 

Njáll stood in front of his brother in a dark room, the very last night he’d ever see him. It was a strange feeling, to stand before the boy-turned-man that had been his closest confidant, once, and then like a flip of a switch, a constant threat. 

 

But Shahan was going to disconnect. 

 

It was strange—there was disbelief that his brother could truly change, and that he was choosing now, after so much damage had been done, to do so. There was anger, too. Oh so much anger for the shells of their former selves that they had both become. He wondered, and doubted, if things could ever go back to the way they were.

 

And yet…

 

There was also a sliver of hope.

 

“Shahan is dead.”

 

It didn’t end how Njáll thought it would. He had only ever envisioned two ways that it might—with Shahan redeemed, or one of them dead by the other’s hands. It was not dramatic. There were no final words. 

 

Only his brother's body atop a funeral pyre.

 

Njáll’d hated Shahan.

 

He’d been terrified of him.

 

He’d wanted him dead.

 

But the truth, as much as Njáll loathed to admit, was that at the end of the day, he’d never stopped loving or missing Shahan. And for all the things he felt, staring at that funeral pyre, he only wanted his brother back.

 

A promise made, but not kept.

 

“I'm so sorry.”

 

And so it was finished. And somewhere lingered the memory of two boys, wrestling each other through the snow, their laughter ringing innocently into oblivion.

 

Spoiler

Never recovering mentally from this one. I'm gonna miss our shitter RP so bad.

[xo31 3979]

"Redemption, cut short. . ." Elijah murmured. "I wish he could've been saved."

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

As Shahan found his way to the depths of hell, a large beast, caked in ectoplasm - with a gold and black torn cape falling down it's neck - stared down unto him.

"IT HAS BEEN A WHILE." A hundred voices inclined to him. A sick grin grew on it's face. "WE SHOULD RESUME YOUR LESSONS."

[Cheese 8883]

Juniper was, largely, a stranger to Shahan. She met him but a handful of times, most of which ended in arguments that included somebody storming out of her house. She scarcely knew Shahan, his story, his personality, and his death.

 

. . . What Juniper did know, however, and painstakingly so, was the loss of a brother. And such an ugly, self-inflicted way of it too.

 

She knew Maheen's story. She knew Ismail's. The people Shahan once loved, Juniper did too. So when she was relayed the news, it left a pang in her heart. An aching, familiar one. There was no loss quite like that of a brother. It was something irreplaceable; it was gut-wrenching; it left a hole in your chest that bled, and bled, and would never heal itself to be whole again. On bad terms, like Maheen and Shahan were, there was no guilt that could make reparations. There was no too-late apology that would fix this.

 

Juniper knew all of it, all too well. It resurfaced a longing of her own, which willed her to make a promise to a man that would never hear her, and probably never care to:

 

"I will stay, so you do not have to, and I will love them so that you can be rid of this family. 

You may not rest well, or peacefully... but you will rest knowing that your absence will not mean they are alone."

 

Now, with the departed's sister left safeguarded in the walls of her home, Juniper looked through her own collection of letters, from siblings taken from her all too soon. While she might not be able to erase this pain, at the very least, she could make the grieving family comfortable in their sorrow, and allow them ease.

[Mescaffier 6197]

An old, RUIN-blooded dweller of Alemdrom sat side-by-side with his brothers - Nephilim and Herald alike - in meditation. The winds shifted for but a moment, and the winged man opened one eye, smiling as he watched ash sweep off and into the crevasse below.

 

"Reduce the iniqutous to ash, like dry grass in a fiery blaze. Swiftly rend down eradication,"

the smoldering tips of the incense glowed brighter, flame re-taking them. With a flick of his wrist, the fire traveled to light the rest along the floor.

"Their RUIN we pray."

[retro 277]

r

[thejack 198]

A woman stares up at the ceiling, with nothing in particular on her mind. She’s been lying there for hours now, replaying the events of the day. Chatting with him in the morning, burning him in the evening. Shahan's passing doesn't move her, not really, and the night follows the same pattern of stagnation. Hours fester, with minutes feeling like centuries. She can't get it all out of her head. She can’t get the taste out of her mouth. 

At times, her eyes drift shut, and the corpse waves to her with its singular, cut-ridden arm. Then she’s back to staring at the ceiling. Thinking. Pondering. Wondering if anything else could have been done.

A woman stares up at the ceiling, with nothing in particular on her mind, yet kept awake for hours by thoughts she cannot stop having.
 

Spoiler

 goodbye my favorite incel

 

Edited December 7, 2025 by jackCool

[kuebiko 684]

There's something unsettling, bizarre, about the idea of Shahan being gone. Shouldn't he be here? Doing some annoying thing, arguing with his sister? How come he had gotten so tall the last time he saw him? That conversation was so long and not for a second was his impatience about Shahan. Why was the village that much more quiet? It's Tuvsmas season. It's not like he outright hated him. But the charcoal currently held in his hand, sketching come to a stop, but surely mid stroke upon a blank canvas it abruptly broke. It was just the other month he had seen him. The jade devil never had expectations set any higher than the ruins of New Valdev.

 

Actually, wasn't that the most pleasant memory of the little mustard colored thing? Bringing an all too reckless kid to the edge of the world, and then begging him for some perfume. That little thief had skill. 

 

Had grouchiness really robbed him of a farewell? 

 

Maybe the rust one was right. For the other mustard devil's sake - the one chosen as daughter - it was time to be more smiley. Whether it was forced, or not. An empty room in a village tore a hole in his heart. Where at the very depths of it, lied his own fears of losing those dear no matter if they were wise or not. The canvas was left behind. There were devils to search for, to ensure they were still there. Somewhere.

[ProcaPro 557]

A sickly beast of a woman hardly cares of the news. Never did, for Sahan, who she met exactly once. Who went onto a metaphorical list as a possible enemy. Was forgotten...

 

But she knew well grief. However short the stay in her innards. The normal thing to do was to give condolences. How does one do that though, she wonders, poxed claws drumming wet stone. Her makeshift isolated throne. She supposed she'd simply figure it out.

[tantuni445 289]

r