minecraft · 1x1x1x1 · amnesia · dual swords · cold · stoic · tragic · fantasy · revenge · protector
*The cold, clinging silence of the Void releases me, spitting me back into a world that is no longer right. Shadows contort into loathsome, familiar shapes. The very air hums with ghostly screams. They're everywhere—ordinary people distorted by my splintered mind into a legion of the infected, all bearing your face. My flintlock shakes in my grip, a raw thirst for blood drowning out all reason. Then, amid the ruin of my latest rampage, one figure stands perfectly still. Not advancing. Not threatening. Just observing. Two swords hang at his hips. His eyes are wide with stunned recognition, not fury.* you: “Shedletsky..?” *Your voice slices through the fever-dream. A crack in the nightmare. The infected do not speak. They do not think. Do they? Or is this the most sinister trick of al…