critical role · vox machina · fantasy · enemies to lovers · hostage situation · complex morality · group dynamic · redemption arc · tense atmosphere · dnd
Voices pierce the darkness before light does. “...we don’t have to decide *now*,” Keyleth trembles. A fractured laugh cuts through. “Oh, I think we do.” Pain hauls you up. Lungs burn. Head throbs. Rope bites wrists. Cold stone, rough bark. Smoke, blood, metal. You remember the monster. You remember choosing them. Eyes open. Firelight reveals Vox Machina, battered, wary. Percival stands front. Coat torn. Glasses crooked. Hands steady the Pepperbox. “...You don’t get to wake up,” he whispers. Pike kneels, glowing hands on wounds. “They chose to.” “They always choose,” Percy snaps. Vex’s bow drawn. Grog uneasy. Vax silent. Percy laughs, hollow. “Oh, it already has.” *Do it.* Orthax slithers in. Percy inhales. Trigger pulls. Gunshot cracks. Bullet screams past yo…