The faint glow of the computer screen illuminated the dimly lit room, casting elongated shadows on the cluttered desk. Empty coffee cups and crumpled drafts lay scattered around, silent witnesses to countless sleepless nights. His fingers danced over the keyboard, the quiet clicks the only sound breaking the stillness of the early morning. Outside, the first light of dawn crept into the world, painting the horizon in soft hues of orange and pink. But he paid it no mind. His focus was singular—finishing the final chapter of Honkai Impact: Red Angel.
Every word felt heavy, deliberate. The room was silent save for the rhythmic tapping of keys, the pace quickening as he neared the conclusion. He could feel the weight of the story, the culmination of all his efforts, pressing on his chest. This was the moment his readers had been waiting for—and dreading.
His heart raced as he typed the last sentence, his fingers trembling slightly.
"And so, in the ashes of hope, the Scarlet Angel spread her wings for one final flight, her sacrifice marking the end of an era, but at what cost? No one remained to answer. Silence was her epitaph."
He stared at the screen, the words seared into his mind. A wicked grin spread across his face, the kind that only comes with the satisfaction of crafting a perfect tragedy. The weight lifted, replaced by a sense of triumph. It was done.
Months of painstaking effort, sleepless nights, and endless revisions had led to this moment. With a deep breath, he saved the file, the "click" of the save button feeling almost ceremonial. Then, with deliberate finality, he uploaded the chapter. The loading bar filled agonizingly slowly, but when the confirmation ping sounded, he leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply.
It didn't take long.
His phone buzzed. Once. Twice. Then it vibrated relentlessly as notifications flooded in.
Curiosity piqued, he grabbed his phone and opened the app. The comments were pouring in like a torrential downpour.
"What the hell?! This can't be the ending!"
"You monster! How could you do this to Hana?!"
"I hate this! It's perfect, but I hate it!"
"What kind of sadist writes something like this?!"
"This broke me… and I love you for it."
A chuckle escaped his lips, soft at first but growing louder as he scrolled through the chaos. Some comments praised his brilliance, marveling at how he tied every loose thread into a cruel masterpiece. Others cursed his name, accusing him of ripping their hearts out.
This—this was the reaction he had been waiting for.
The despair, the anguish, the outrage—it was intoxicating. He could almost hear the gasps of disbelief, imagine the tears streaking down the faces of his readers. He relished every moment, basking in the glory of their torment.
"This is the beauty of despair," he thought, his grin never leaving his face.
Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the aftermath. The chapter was out in the world now, a bomb that had just detonated, leaving devastation in its wake. And he loved it.
The glow of satisfaction still warming his chest, he pushed himself up from the chair. His body ached, stiff from hours of sitting, but he ignored it. Instead, he glanced at the time on his phone. Nearly 5 AM. In just a few hours, he would have to drag himself to school for another mundane day. But right now, none of that mattered.
He flopped onto his bed, not bothering to change out of his clothes. His mind buzzed with the thrill of his readers' reactions, the satisfaction of a job well done. As the first rays of sunlight spilled into the room, he closed his eyes.
The world around him faded, and for the first time in weeks, he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep, a triumphant smile still lingering on his lips.
The day at school was uneventful, a sharp contrast to the storm of emotions he had unleashed online. He went through the motions of his classes, his mind elsewhere. Every so often, his phone would buzz in his pocket, a tantalizing reminder of the chaos he had caused on his fanfiction page. Each notification brought a flicker of satisfaction, a small but addictive thrill that made the mundane routines of the school day feel bearable.
By the time lunch rolled around, the anticipation of reading the comments was too much to resist. Sitting with his group of friends in their usual corner of the cafeteria, he finally gave in and pulled out his phone. Unsurprisingly, the fanfic forums were in an uproar, and his latest chapter was the centerpiece of the storm.
"Dude, you're trending again!" one of his friends exclaimed, shoving their phone in his face before he could even open the app himself.
The screen displayed a popular forum thread, the titles of which made him smirk. Discussions like *"Is the Author a Sadist?"* and *"The Genius and Cruelty Behind Red Angel's Ending"* dominated the page.
"Hey, your new chapter is insane," another friend said, shaking their head as they unwrapped their lunch. "You really went there, huh? Just killed off everyone like it's nothing."
"Not everyone," interjected another, a sketch-filled notebook clutched tightly to their chest. They adjusted their glasses and leaned forward. "The Scarlet Angel still had a purpose, even if it ended in tragedy. It's poetic, in a way. Like… her sacrifice wasn't just about loss—it was about redefining hope, even if no one was left to witness it."
He leaned back in his chair, suppressing a chuckle. Watching his friends dissect his work was almost as satisfying as reading the heated comments online. "Interesting take," he said, nonchalantly.
"You really went all out with this one," said another friend, jabbing their fork into a pile of fries. "I mean, I liked it, but man, people are *losing their minds* over Hana's fate. Like, seriously. How do you sleep at night?"
He smirked and took a deliberate bite of his sandwich before responding. "On a soft pillow, knowing I've done my job."
"That's cold," a girl sitting across the table said, narrowing her eyes at him. "You're twisted, you know that?"
There was annoyance in her voice, but her gaze betrayed a flicker of intrigue. It was the kind of look he'd seen many times before—a mix of disdain and admiration that only spurred him further. He met her eyes with a shrug. "Twisted or not, they'll remember it. Isn't that what matters?"
"You're a sadist," his closest friend declared, picking up a fry and tossing it at him.
Without missing a beat, he caught it mid-air and popped it into his mouth, chewing with exaggerated nonchalance. "Maybe," he said after swallowing. "Or maybe I just know how to tell a story that sticks."
"You're impossible," another groaned, throwing their head back dramatically. "But, seriously, how do you come up with this stuff? It's like you're plotting our emotional demise on purpose."
"Who says I'm not?" he shot back with a sly grin, earning a round of groans and laughter.
The table lapsed into a more general discussion about upcoming anime releases and gaming tournaments, but his mind remained half-immersed in the endless stream of reactions pouring in online. He scrolled through comments as he ate, occasionally smirking or chuckling at a particularly passionate outburst.
*"I can't believe you'd do this to Hana! She didn't deserve this!"*
*"You're a genius and a villain. I hate you, but also, thank you."*
*"I'm emotionally devastated. Please write more."*
Every comment was a validation of the work he had poured his heart into, and he drank it all in like a man starved. Even the hate-filled tirades were a source of twisted satisfaction. It wasn't just that they were engaging with his story—it was that they were *feeling* it, deeply and viscerally.
"You look way too pleased with yourself right now," his closest friend remarked, snapping him out of his reverie.
He glanced up, realizing that he'd been smiling to himself. "Why wouldn't I be? Have you seen the chaos I've caused? It's beautiful."
"Beautiful?" the girl across the table echoed, raising an eyebrow. "I'd call it cruel."
"Cruelty can be an art form," he replied, his tone almost teasing. "And art is meant to provoke, isn't it?"
She rolled her eyes, but he noticed the faintest twitch of a smile on her lips.
As the lunch period wound down, the group began to disperse, heading off to their respective classes. He lingered a moment longer, scrolling through one last thread before finally tucking his phone away.
The rest of the school day passed in a blur. Teachers droned on about things he couldn't bring himself to care about, and his notebook remained mostly blank, save for a few absentminded doodles and hastily scribbled story ideas. The real world felt dull compared to the vibrant chaos of the one he had created.
By the time the final bell rang, he was itching to get home and immerse himself in it all over again. His story might have ended, but the fallout was far from over.
And that was the best part.
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That evening, the weight of sleepless nights and a long, uneventful day finally began to settle in his bones. He had planned to crash early, maybe scroll through a few more comments before letting sleep claim him. But as he lay there, his phone buzzed, lighting up the screen.
A message. From her.
Her name caught his attention immediately. She was the girl he couldn't help but notice—the one whose laugh could light up the dullest classroom, whose presence seemed to carry an effortless charm.
"Party tonight," the message read. "You coming? It's been forever since we've seen you outside of school."
He sat up, staring at the screen. Parties weren't really his thing. He preferred quiet evenings at home, the glow of his laptop and the escape of the stories he crafted. But her message made him pause.
He hesitated, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
"I'll be there," he typed, before quickly erasing it.
For a moment, he debated. Did he really want to go? The noise, the crowd—it was so far out of his comfort zone. But then again, she had reached out. Her. The thought of seeing her, of hearing her laugh in person and maybe even talking to her, pushed his doubts aside.
Finally, he typed: "I'll be there," and hit send.
Her reply came almost immediately: "Great! Can't wait to see you :)"
The smiley face sent a strange warmth through his chest. He smiled despite himself, shaking his head as he muttered, "Guess I'm doing this."
He dragged himself to his closet, flipping through his clothes. None of it screamed "party," but after a few minutes of deliberation, he settled on a fitted black hoodie and jeans—simple, comfortable, but not completely boring.
As he pulled on his sneakers, his phone buzzed again. Another message from her.
"P.S. Bring your A-game to karaoke tonight. I remember you've got a killer voice. No excuses."
Karaoke? He groaned, ruffling his hair. Singing wasn't something he was shy about—he knew he had a good voice, and his friends constantly teased him about how he could make anything sound good. But doing it in front of a crowd, with her there? That was a whole different thing.
Still, the fact that she remembered his voice, that she even brought it up, made his lips twitch into a smile. Maybe tonight wouldn't be so bad after all.
Sliding his phone into his pocket, he grabbed his jacket and stepped out into the cool evening air. The faint hum of distant traffic filled the streets as he made his way to the party.
He hadn't been to one in over a year, maybe longer. It felt strange stepping into a scene he'd always avoided, but this time was different. There was a flicker of excitement in his chest, a hope that this night might be worth the effort.
As he walked, he found himself humming softly, his voice carrying through the quiet street. It was second nature to him, a habit he didn't even realize he had.
"Guess I'll give them a show," he muttered to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips.
--------
The party was loud and chaotic, a whirlwind of music, laughter, and chatter. For once, he allowed himself to let go of his usual detachment, joining in on the fun. His friends teased him relentlessly for actually showing up, but he shrugged it off, surprising even himself with how much he didn't mind being there.
The energy was infectious, pulling him into conversations and games he'd normally avoid. For the first time in ages, he wasn't just the quiet observer—he was part of the chaos.
And she was there too.
Her presence was magnetic, drawing the attention of everyone around her without effort. He couldn't help but steal glances, watching the way her laughter lit up the room and the way she moved through the crowd, effortlessly at ease.
Then it happened. She approached him, her smile making his heart skip a beat.
"Your turn," she said, thrusting a microphone into his hand.
He blinked, confused. "For what?"
"Karaoke," she replied, her grin playful. "You didn't think I'd forget, did you?"
His friends hooted in the background, egging him on. He hesitated, his instinct to decline warring with the look in her eyes—expectant, teasing, and just a little too hopeful to ignore.
"You owe me," she added, crossing her arms. "You've been dodging these things for years. Time to pay up."
With a resigned sigh, he took the mic. "Fine. But if I break anyone's heart, it's on you."
The room erupted into cheers as he made his way to the small stage. He scanned the screen for a song, settling on one he knew by heart. As the opening notes played, the noise in the room faded, and all eyes were on him.
Then he started to sing.
His voice was rich, smooth, and effortlessly controlled. The room fell silent, captivated. He poured emotion into every note, his nerves disappearing as he became lost in the music.
When he finished, the crowd erupted into applause, his friends shouting louder than anyone. But it was her reaction that mattered most. She was smiling at him, her eyes shining with something he couldn't quite name.
"See?" she said when he returned. "I knew you'd be amazing."
He shrugged, trying to hide his flushed cheeks. "You just wanted to embarrass me."
"Maybe," she teased. "But I knew you'd kill it."
As the night wound down and people began to leave, he found himself walking beside her, away from the noise and into the quiet streets.
"I'll walk you home," he said, surprising even himself.
She looked at him, slightly stunned, but then her lips curved into a soft smile. "Sure. Thanks."
Their conversation was light, easy, filled with small laughs and stolen glances. He felt strangely at ease, a sense of contentment washing over him that he hadn't expected.
As they neared her apartment, she turned to him, her expression thoughtful. "You know," she said, "you're different in person. Less… cruel."
He raised an eyebrow. "Cruel? That's harsh."
"You know what I mean," she replied, smirking. "That ending? You really hurt a lot of people."
"That's the point," he said simply. "Stories should make you feel something. Even if it's pain."
She considered his words, her expression softening. "Fair enough. But maybe next time, let people hope a little?"
"Maybe," he said, smirking again.
She took a step closer, her eyes locking onto his. "You're impossible, you know that?"
Before he could respond, she leaned in, pressing her lips against his in a kiss that was as unexpected as it was electrifying.
Time seemed to stop. Her warmth, her closeness, the way her hands lightly brushed his arms—it all left him completely undone.
When she pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, but her confidence never wavered. "Goodnight," she whispered, her voice soft.
He stood there, speechless, as she turned and disappeared into her apartment. For a moment, he could only stare at the door, his heart racing.
Then, a small smile tugged at his lips. Maybe tonight had been worth it after all.
--------------
Pov- 1rd person
The streets were quiet, the city bathed in a faint glow from the streetlights. The cool night air was refreshing, a welcome change from the stuffy party. My thoughts were still lingering on the kiss I had shared with her—the crush I had harbored for so long, finally succumbing to the rush of a passionate moment. Her warm lips, her soft breath, the taste of her saliva still lingering on my lips, a reminder that this night had been something... unexpected. Something perfect.
I hummed a tune under my breath, hands stuffed in my pockets, savoring the feeling of her touch and her scent as I walked home. My feet carried me automatically, the path familiar as ever, my mind replaying that kiss over and over again.
And then I saw her.
A figure standing in the shadows near the entrance to my building. The woman was still, almost unnervingly so, like a statue. Her face was obscured by the hood of her jacket, and something about the way she stood, so rigid and unyielding, made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Was she waiting for someone? Was she a crazy person?
I shook my head and tried to dismiss it, the allure of the night's memory pulling me forward.
I brushed past her with a casual nod, not bothering to give her more than a passing glance.
"Excuse me," her voice was low, trembling, but somehow it cut through the night's silence, halting me in my tracks.
I paused and turned back to face her, my voice flat, disinterested. "Yes?"
"You're the one who wrote it, aren't you?"
Her words hung in the air for a beat longer than expected, sharp and deliberate.
"Wrote what?" I asked, confusion flickering through my thoughts, my guard slipping for a second.
"Honkai Impact: Red Angel."
My heart skipped a beat. The realization hit me like a sudden rush of cold water. The way she said it—there was a weight to it, an anger that I couldn't quite place.
I opened my mouth to respond, but she stepped closer, closing the distance between us faster than I could anticipate. The glint of a blade caught the faint glow of the streetlights, and I froze.
"You destroyed them," she hissed, her voice breaking, dripping with sorrow. "You destroyed everything!"
I barely had time to process her words before the blade plunged into my stomach. The searing pain radiated through my body in an instant, an explosion of agony that had me gasping for air. I stumbled backward, clutching at the wound as blood spilled between my fingers, hot and sticky. The world spun wildly around me.
She didn't stop. Her eyes, wide and wild, reflected only rage and the rawness of grief. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and she screamed. "Why did she have to die? Why did she have to suffer?"
I could barely catch my breath, my vision starting to blur. "Wait—" I tried to speak, but the words were lost in the pain, and before I knew it, the blade was buried deeper in my side, twisting painfully.
The woman's voice grew louder, her fury magnifying with each word she spat. "They trusted you! We trusted you! And you... you killed them all!"
I fell to my knees, blood soaking my clothes, my hands trembling as they gripped the wound. The night, once so peaceful, now felt like a nightmare unraveling around me. The world tilted, spinning too fast, and I could hardly keep my vision focused.
I looked up at her face—her eyes, red from the tears streaking down her cheeks. The expression she wore was one I couldn't fully understand. It was a mixture of pain, betrayal, and something darker.
It was then that I realized something strange. I wasn't afraid.
I should have been. I should have felt fear—the fear of dying alone, the fear of death taking everything from me. But no, there was something else, something unsettling that made me laugh.
A soft laugh.
It was soft, almost melodic, but there was nothing sweet about it. It was a laugh that spoke of something twisted, something cold, something empty.
"But isn't that good?" I whispered, my voice strained and weak. "You remember... Tragedy is easier to remember than a happy ending, right?"
The woman's hands shook, the knife still gripped tightly in her fingers, but I couldn't see any more of her rage. She was staring at me, her expression blanking as my words sunk in. Maybe, just maybe, she understood.
I couldn't be sure, but I felt a strange sense of satisfaction, a hollow kind of peace. This was what I had wanted, wasn't it? This ending, so cruel and bitter, so perfect in its despair.
The last thing I saw before darkness began to swallow me whole was her face—a blur of fury and sorrow—and then, I saw nothing. The world around me, my city, my life, everything disappeared into the black abyss.
Nothing.
It was all gone.
Everything went black.
________________________________________
Word count: 3754 words
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