Chaos 1 – The Winter that Burns. [8. Chaos Awakening]
On November 26, 2024 By Fang Dokja In Arc 8. Chaos Awakening
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
Trigger and Content Warnings
This story delves into dark and intense themes, including psychological manipulation, physical violence, and unsettling imagery. Readers should approach with caution, especially if they are sensitive to the following triggers:
1. Emotional and Psychological Manipulation: Characters face psychological torment, manipulation, and gaslighting. The story explores internal conflicts that may mirror themes of self-loathing or fractured identity.
2. Physical Violence and Threats: Scenes include choking, suffocation, and threats of harm, which are vividly described and may cause distress.
3. Unsettling Imagery: The narrative contains depictions of body horror, oppressive environments, and distorted realities that create a sense of dread and disorientation.
4. Themes of Powerlessness and Control: Characters experience profound helplessness, stripped of their usual strengths and autonomy, with intense power imbalances.
5. References to Emotional Trauma: The story references past events and conditions that suggest unresolved trauma, including isolation and cruelty.
6. Dark and Malevolent Tone: The overall atmosphere is heavy, with depictions of sadistic behavior and a pervasive sense of menace.
7. Graphic depictions of violence and death: The story includes vivid descriptions of a blood-soaked environment and references to mass destruction.
8. Themes of psychological manipulation: One character uses emotional and mental coercion to unsettle and dominate another, challenging their autonomy and identity.
9. Detailed imagery of suffocation and drowning: A character is submerged in liquid that invades their body and causes intense physical distress.
10. Allusions to existential dread and identity crisis: The narrative delves into the nature of self, guilt, and the fear of losing oneself to a darker persona.
11. Disturbing environmental details: Graphic settings, including mutilated bodies, decay, and violent landscapes, feature prominently.
12. Mature and dark themes: The story deals with moral corruption, manipulation, and power dynamics that challenge conventional ethics and self-restraint.
13. Abuse – Psychological manipulation, control, and coercion are prominent throughout the interactions between the characters, including elements of emotional and verbal abuse.
14. Self-Destruction – The protagonist faces intense inner conflict, including feelings of self-loathing and denial of their true nature.
15. Strong Language – The dialogue includes harsh language, including insults and derogatory terms.
These elements are integral to the story and its development but are handled with a deliberate intensity that might not be suitable for all readers.
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
Status: Draft #1
Last Edited: November 26, 2024
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
The silence in the void was suffocating, the kind that seeps into your skin, crawling through your veins and settling deep into your bones. Deon blinked once, twice, her usually cold and hollow demeanor faltering as her gaze darted around the vast expanse of blinding, sterile white.
It stretched endlessly in every direction, without walls, without edges. A space stripped of sound and substance. Her breathing hitched—sharp and shallow—as confusion twisted in her chest, a foreign emotion for someone like her.
“What… is this?” Her voice, when it finally came, sounded brittle, cracking against the oppressive silence.
She raised her trembling hands instinctively to examine herself, then froze.
No.
Her reflection stared back at her, superimposed in the gleaming void, as clear as the mirror she had avoided for years. Not her usual form, not the ugly, malnourished, snow-haired little monster everyone saw. This was… this was her.
The real her.
The black hair cascading like silk past her shoulders, the warm, almost black depths of her innocent eyes, the unnervingly soft glow of her clear, unblemished skin—features untouched by scars, dirt, or cruelty. She wasn’t the grotesque creature people recoiled from. She was beautiful. Small, thin, fragile-looking. A ten-year-old girl.
Her stomach clenched violently. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t supposed to be possible.
“Impossible…” she whispered, so faint she barely heard herself.
And then the clapping began.
The sound, sharp and deliberate, slashed through the air. It reverberated in the white void like thunder, mocking and slow, each clap deliberate.
Deon spun around.
Her sharp instincts scanned for the source—a predator tracking prey—but what she saw stopped her cold.
There stood a man—a figure carved straight from the nightmares of a world gone wrong.
Towering and monstrous, his muscular frame radiated menace, his spiky white hair streaked with black framing a face riddled with scars. A jagged line cut brutally across his right eye, another deep slash dragging diagonally across his left cheek. His mismatched eyes—one gleaming blood-red, the other steel-blue—glinted like sharpened blades.
His grin was feral, unnervingly wide, splitting his face with manic glee.
Everything about him screamed danger, from the torn apocalyptic garb stained with dark streaks to the golden earrings dangling like cruel trophies. Red and black flared in jagged patterns across his dystopian outfit, and his scars told stories of violence—stories of victories and victims.
The grin widened further. “Well, well, isn’t this a sight?” His voice was smooth, dripping with mockery, sharp enough to draw blood. “Little Fang.”
Deon stiffened, her blood running cold.
That name—
Her mask slipped back into place: cold, silent, emotionless. Her eyes narrowed as she studied him with clinical precision, cataloging every detail. She didn’t flinch, didn’t speak. She simply stared.
“Oh, don’t give me that look,” the man drawled, a laugh bubbling in his throat like it was ready to spill over. “Don’t tell me you don’t recognize me? No? Nothing? A pity.”
Deon said nothing, her silence like an iron wall.
And then, he threw his head back and laughed—loud, grating, unhinged. It was the sound of chaos given form.
Before the echoes even faded, he moved.
A blur.
One moment he was standing meters away, the next he was there, right there, his massive hand clamping around her throat with inhuman speed and precision.
Deon choked, her body seizing in shock. How? She was an assassin, trained to anticipate and react faster than anyone—faster than him. But her limbs refused to obey her; her skills, her abilities—they were gone.
“What’s the matter, Little Fang?” he asked mockingly, his grip tightening, iron fingers digging into her flesh. “Cat got your tongue? Or is it the whole ‘powerless’ thing?”
Her feet dangled uselessly above the ground.
Deon clawed at his arm, her nails biting into his skin, but he didn’t flinch. He simply smiled, his eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement.
“Oh, don’t waste your breath,” he whispered, leaning closer. “You won’t find the answers here. Not yet. You cheat, Little Fang. Always looking for shortcuts, for ways to run instead of fight. Not this time. No, this time, you’ll play my game.”
His grin stretched impossibly wide, and his mismatched eyes burned with twisted delight.
“This is my world. My rules.”
The white void around them shifted subtly, dark veins cracking through the sterile light like a virus, spreading and consuming. The brightness dimmed, replaced by flickers of shadow and shapes that writhed just out of focus.
“I’m Dokja,” he continued, as if introducing himself was an afterthought. “Fang Dokja. And you—you are nothing here. No skills, no weapons, no tricks.” His voice dropped, dangerously low. “Just. You.”
Deon glared at him, but the fear clawing at her chest betrayed her calm exterior.
His grip on her throat eased slightly, enough for her to gasp shallowly, and he leaned in close, his grin curling into a smirk.
“Let’s see how far that gets you, shall we?”
═════════════════
The void seemed to darken as Dokja’s manic laughter echoed endlessly, a sound too sharp and wild to be human. It sliced through the sterile silence like a serrated blade, making the air seem heavier, harder to breathe. Deon struggled, the weight of his grip pressing into her windpipe, her body screaming for oxygen. Her legs twitched weakly as her hands clawed at his wrist, nails scraping against the skin, but his hold was iron—unyielding, unrelenting.
Yet, despite her predicament, her gaze burned cold, like shards of glass. She didn’t flinch, didn’t plead, didn’t speak. Her silence was a fortress, her glare a dagger aimed at his relentless grin.
“Oh, Little Fang, that look,” Dokja purred, his tone a toxic mix of amusement and derision. “Always so serious. Always so cold. I love it. But you know,”—he squeezed her throat tighter, just enough to make her chest spasm involuntarily—“it’s not very becoming of a child, don’t you think? You really ought to smile more.”
Deon’s lips pressed into a thinner line, her glare somehow sharpening. She felt her heartbeat pound against his palm, her body trembling as it fought against its own betrayal. Her strength wasn’t returning. Her abilities weren’t there. The nothingness of this place swallowed everything she knew, leaving her raw and exposed.
“What is this space?” Her voice, ragged and faint, finally cut through the tension.
Dokja’s grin stretched impossibly wide. “This? Oh, this is home, Little Fang. Our home.”
His tone turned syrupy, like he was explaining something simple to a very dull child. “Honestly, I’m hurt you don’t recognize it. After all, you’ve lived here longer than you think—hidden away, scratching at the walls, pretending you’re so grown up, so mature.”
He chuckled, low and sinister. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’ll get to that.”
Deon’s glare didn’t waver, even as her lungs burned. Her body betrayed her again—a gasp forced its way past her lips, desperate for air.
“Aww,” Dokja cooed mockingly, his grin twisting further as he tilted his head to meet her gaze. His mismatched eyes gleamed like broken glass, hungry and wild. “Look at you. So stubborn, so fierce. That’s what I love about you, Little Fang. Always the little fighter. But tell me—”
His tone dropped, venom dripping from every word. “—how’s that working out for you now?”
Deon didn’t answer, her glare the only weapon she had left.
“That’s what I thought.” Dokja leaned in closer, the scent of metal and ash clinging to him. “You wouldn’t be here without me, you know. You should be grateful. I’ve kept your stupid, naïve little self alive all this time.”
The words twisted like barbed wire around her thoughts, jagged and cutting. Deon’s cold stare wavered for only a fraction of a second.
“Who… are you?” Her voice was low, hoarse from his grip but laced with ice.
Dokja grinned, the expression splitting his face with a manic, gleeful light. “Oh, come on. Don’t play dumb. I know you’re smarter than that. Or maybe you’ve just forgotten. That’s fine. I’ll remind you.”
He pulled her closer, their faces mere inches apart. His mismatched eyes bore into hers, his grin softening into something almost… disappointed.
“I’m you, Baby,” he whispered, his voice a grotesque mockery of tenderness.
Deon’s breath hitched—not from his grip this time, but from the icy wave that rolled over her. Her mind rebelled against the words.
“No,” she said, her voice flat and unshaken despite the burning in her lungs.
“Oh, you don’t believe me?” Dokja’s laughter spilled out again, wild and unhinged, each note twisting like a knife. “Of course you don’t. You’ve buried me so deep, after all. Locked me away in this cozy little cage. But you’re broken now, Little Fang. And broken things—”
He paused, tilting his head as if savoring the thought.
“—are so much easier to take over.”
Something cold and sharp sliced through Deon’s mind. Warning bells screamed, louder and louder, but her body refused to move. His words wrapped around her thoughts like chains, heavy and suffocating.
Her voice, barely above a whisper, was laced with steel. “What… are you?”
Dokja tilted his head, his grin stretching wide again, the light in his eyes turning feverish.
“Me? I’m your shadow, your monster under the bed. Your real self, the part of you you’ve always feared. I’m the voice that whispers when you’re too scared to speak. The knife in your hand when you’re too weak to fight. I’m the part of you that survives when everything else falls apart.”
His grip loosened suddenly, and she fell to the ground, coughing and gasping as she clutched at her neck.
“And now,” Dokja continued, standing over her like a predator savoring its prey, “I’m free.”
Deon glared up at him, her cold, calculating expression back in place despite the panic roiling in her chest. Free? Free from what?
He crouched down to her level, his grin softening into something almost… affectionate.
“Oh, don’t look so worried, Little Fang. We’re in this together.” He tapped her forehead lightly with a gloved finger. “After all, there’s only one of us.”
The void seemed to close in around them, the shadows twisting and writhing as if alive.
Dokja’s laughter rang out again, filling the endless expanse, as Deon’s mind raced with possibilities, each darker than the last.
═════════════════
The void was vast and crushing, swallowing sound and sense alike. Deon stood rigid, her thin frame a shadow against the blinding white expanse. Her breaths were shallow, measured, but the weight of Dokja’s presence pressed against her like a blade at her throat.
She glared at him, her expression frozen in cold disdain. No words passed her lips. She had nothing to say to this lunatic who insisted on spouting nonsensical claims.
He cooed at her like one might to a pet, his tone dripping with twisted affection. “Oh, Little Fang, don’t look at me like that. You’ll hurt my feelings.” His grin didn’t falter, if anything, it grew wider, his sharp teeth flashing like a predator’s.
Deon didn’t flinch. Her glare was unbroken, her lips pressed into a thin, unamused line. The man in front of her—this so-called Dokja—was insane. He had to be.
I’m you, he’d said. It was laughable.
There were far more logical explanations.
Possession. Maybe he was a parasite, some external force hijacking her body.
Cloning. It wasn’t impossible—someone could have made a twisted version of her, complete with a delusional god complex.
Psychological manipulation. Maybe this was all an elaborate illusion designed to break her will.
Hell, even a virus infecting her mind seemed more plausible than the absurdity of his claims.
Her silence only made his grin more feral. “Oh, I know that look,” he drawled, stepping closer. His mismatched eyes glinted, one blood-red, the other a cold steel-blue. “You’re trying to rationalize it, aren’t you? Scraping at the edges of logic to avoid the truth. Always the genius, always the skeptic. It’s adorable, really.”
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
He leaned in, his breath warm against her face. “But we both know the truth, don’t we, Little Fang? You’ve been running from it all your life.”
Deon’s glare didn’t waver. This guy’s got a screw loose, she thought, her fingers twitching at her sides. Crazy.
Dokja snapped his fingers, the sound sharp and commanding.
The void trembled, and with a flash of light, a platform materialized between them.
Deon’s gaze flicked to it, her body instinctively tensing. The platform was bizarre—floating panels glowing with an eerie light. A grid of buttons and symbols flickered to life, shifting erratically between red, blue, and blinding white.
At the center, words burned into her vision:
GOD’S PROTAGONIST SYSTEM
The panels glimmered with other words and icons—SAVE, LOAD, RESET, alongside countless other options that pulsed with a sinister glow.
Dokja clapped his hands together, mockingly cheerful. “Oh, Little Fang, do you remember this?” His voice was sing-song, his grin maddeningly wide.
Deon’s expression didn’t shift, but the faintest flicker of recognition sparked in her chest, a phantom sensation like déjà vu.
“No?” Dokja tilted his head, feigning disappointment. “Not even a flicker? Come on, you’ve seen this before. Felt this before. You’re just really good at pretending you haven’t.”
Her silence spurred him on, his mocking tone laced with sharp-edged glee. “Oh, I know what you’re thinking. You don’t remember, right? Because you’re so good at burying things, aren’t you? It’s what you’re best at. Stuff it all down, deep, deep, deep—until it’s like a corpse rotting in a forgotten grave.”
Deon’s glare hardened, but she said nothing.
“That’s why you don’t remember me, isn’t it?” Dokja’s voice dropped, softer now, almost tender. “Because you locked me away. Buried me so deep you forgot I was ever there. Ten years, Little Fang. Ten years I’ve been waiting for this.”
The flicker inside her grew stronger, a knot tightening in her chest.
Dokja stepped closer, the platform glowing brighter beneath his boots. He reached out, cupping her chin with unsettling gentleness, tilting her face up toward him. His touch burned like ice.
“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” he murmured, his grin softening into something more sinister. “So strong. So in control. But you’re not. You’ve never been. You’re deluded, Little Fang. You’ve forgotten so much about yourself.”
He tapped her forehead with a gloved finger, the action almost playful. “But I haven’t. I remember everything. Every moment, every choice, every little crack in that perfect little mask of yours. Because we’re one and the same.”
Deon yanked her chin free, her cold gaze sharp enough to cut steel. “I’m nothing like you,” she rasped, her voice finally breaking through the suffocating tension.
Dokja laughed, loud and unhinged. “Oh, I knew you’d say that! Of course you don’t believe me. Why would you? You’ve spent your whole life running from it. Running from me.”
He gestured grandly to the platform, its glowing buttons casting shadows across his scarred face. “But this—this is the proof. Our proof. You made it, Little Fang. You, with all your genius and potential. And then you abandoned it. Abandoned me.”
The platform flickered violently, its glow pulsing in rhythm with his words.
“It’s such a waste,” Dokja continued, his tone turning darker, sharper. “You could be so much more. So much stronger, so much greater. If only you’d stop holding yourself back. If only you’d stop caring about stupid, pointless things like ethics, or other people, or rules.”
He leaned in close again, his mismatched eyes burning. “Imagine it, Little Fang. A life without hesitation. Without remorse. Without limits. All you have to do is stop pretending you’re something you’re not.”
His words slithered into her mind, cold and poisonous.
Deon’s glare didn’t falter, but her chest tightened. Who is this man? What is he?
Dokja grinned, as if he could hear her thoughts. “Don’t worry, Little Fang. I’ll help you remember. One way or another.”
The platform’s glow intensified, the symbols warping and twisting as shadows bled into the void.
And then, with a snap of his fingers, the world tilted.
═════════════════
The air was ripped from Deon’s lungs as she fell, her body plunging into an endless abyss. The world above—the void of white—shrank until it was a pinprick, swallowed by infinite darkness. The wind howled around her, tearing at her hair and skin like icy claws, but she refused to scream. Even as a strangled gasp escaped her lips, her jaw locked, and silence followed.
She wasn’t afraid of the fall. She was afraid of what it meant.
Her mind raced, every ounce of her genius clawing for understanding. What kind of place is this?
It wasn’t just a void. It wasn’t just some warped dreamscape. It was malleable, bending and shifting at Dokja’s will. He held absolute power here, reshaping reality with a snap of his fingers. But that shouldn’t have been possible.
No one can do this to me, she thought, her expression cold even in freefall. No one can strip me of my autonomy. No one can nullify my skills, my weapons, my abilities.
Possibilities surged through her hyperactive mind:
* A hyper-advanced simulation. Perhaps her consciousness had been pulled into some incomprehensibly advanced system, overriding her physical body.
* Temporal stasis. Could this be a pocket of time itself, warped and stretched to the whims of a god-like entity?
* Mindscape manipulation. A direct attack on her psyche, bypassing reality altogether and rendering her powerless by turning her own mind against her.
* Dimensional isolation. Was this a prison beyond the fabric of her reality, cutting her off from everything she knew?
* He’s lying. It was possible he was fabricating it all, weaving illusions to make her believe she was powerless.
Theories built upon theories, but none explained the overwhelming truth: she couldn’t break free.
And then his voice—mocking, melodic, and dripping with venom—echoed through the abyss.
“Oh, Little Fang, don’t tell me you’re still thinking about it. You really can’t stop, can you? Always so logical, always so clever. But it won’t help you here. This is my domain. My world. And you—”
A pause, his voice lowering to a silky purr.
“—are mine.”
Deon’s glare was frozen on her face as if she could will herself to ignore him.
Dokja’s laugh rumbled like thunder, shaking the endless void. “Oh, you’re adorable when you’re stubborn. Let’s see if I can jog that rusty little memory of yours.”
A snap of his fingers, and the abyss shifted. Glowing screens surrounded her, flashing with unnatural light, their jagged edges cutting through the darkness. Words and numbers scrolled across the displays, shifting and warping as she fell.
One screen stopped, the words searing into her mind:
Fang Yang Tojo
Her brow furrowed. The name was foreign to her, alien.
Dokja’s voice chimed in, saccharine and teasing. “Ah, doesn’t ring a bell, does it? That’s because you’re so good at forgetting things, Little Fang. But don’t worry—I’ll help you remember.”
The screen flickered again, revealing crude stats in glaring, blood-red text:
LV: 1
HP: 1
MP: 1
SP: 1
EXP: 1
Dokja clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Look at this. Pathetic.”
He materialized beside her, effortlessly keeping pace with her endless fall. His mismatched eyes gleamed with amusement, his grin splitting his scarred face.
“This is it? This is you? Oh, Little Fang, you’re embarrassing yourself. Methuselah Assassin, child of the greatest family in existence, and this is what you have to show for it?” He threw his head back, laughing maniacally.
Deon’s jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Dokja cooed, leaning closer. His presence was suffocating, his grin maddeningly wide. “I’m just being honest. Someone has to be, don’t you think? You’ve been lying to yourself for so long, locking yourself in this little cage of morals and self-restraint. It’s disgusting, really.”
Deon’s silence was a blade, sharp and deliberate.
Dokja sighed dramatically, his tone dripping with faux sympathy. “You could be so much more, Little Fang. So much better. All this power, all this potential, and you’re wasting it. Holding yourself back because—what? Ethics? Relationships? Some pathetic little sense of control?”
He waved his hand, and the screens multiplied, each one showing a different scene: corpses piled high, worlds crumbling into ash, rivers of blood carving paths through charred earth.
“This could be you,” he murmured, his voice low and almost tender. “Unstoppable. Untouchable. Free.”
Deon’s glare burned with icy defiance, but her heart pounded against her ribs.
“You think you’re strong now,” Dokja continued, his voice taking on a razor-sharp edge. “But you’re weak. You’re afraid. Afraid to let go. Afraid to embrace who you really are. But don’t worry, Little Fang.”
He leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “I’ll fix that.”
The screens shattered, shards of light scattering into the abyss.
“This isn’t a game anymore,” Dokja said, his grin returning as he loomed above her. “It’s evolution. Self-improvement. And whether you like it or not, I’m going to make you better.”
The void rippled, the air around her thickening like molasses.
“Don’t fight it, Little Fang,” Dokja purred. “You’ll thank me when it’s over.”
And with another snap of his fingers, the darkness consumed her.
═════════════════
Deon plunged into the liquid with a soundless scream, the murky red engulfing her entirely. It wasn’t water—too thick, too warm. It clung to her skin like molten tar, sticky and suffocating, seeping into every pore and forcing its way into her lungs. She should have been able to resist, should have had the strength to break free. But her limbs felt weighted, useless. Her chest burned as she struggled to breathe, her mind racing in frantic rebellion.
This isn’t real. It can’t be real.
But the pain was all too tangible. The coppery tang of blood filled her mouth and nostrils, choking her. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. The endless red dragged her deeper, the liquid pressing against her from all sides like a living thing.
Then, something gripped her wrist.
A hand, cold and unyielding, yanked her upwards with impossible strength. Deon broke the surface with a violent gasp, coughing and retching as blood spilled from her mouth and nose in thick streams. She blinked through the crimson haze, her vision clearing just enough to see him—Dokja.
“Oh, Little Fang,” he sighed, his tone both mocking and tender. He crouched before her, his scarred face twisted into a crooked grin. “Look at you. Drowning in a mess of your own making. Isn’t it pathetic?”
His gloved hand cupped her face, deceptively gentle. His thumb brushed away a streak of blood on her cheek, leaving a smudge behind like an artist carelessly wiping paint.
“You should be thanking me,” he cooed. “Pulling you out like this. Always cleaning up after you, always keeping you afloat. You’d be lost without me.”
Deon’s eyes narrowed into an icy glare, her breaths ragged but silent. She didn’t dignify him with a response, not with words, not with movement.
Dokja’s grin widened, his mismatched eyes gleaming. “Still playing the mute card, huh? You’re adorable when you try to pretend you’re above it all. But let’s be honest, Little Fang. You need me.”
His hand shot to her jaw, fingers digging into her skin with a vice-like grip. He tilted her head sharply, forcing her gaze forward.
“Take a look,” he said, his tone low and venomous. “This is the world you built. The one you tried so hard to bury.”
Deon’s breath hitched as her surroundings came into full view. They stood atop the crimson sea, which shimmered and undulated like liquid glass. But it wasn’t an ocean. It was a graveyard.
The surface was littered with bodies. Piles of corpses—human, animal, and monstrous—stretched as far as the eye could see. Flesh hung in tatters, bones jutted out at grotesque angles, and the stench of decay was overwhelming. The air was thick with the coppery scent of blood and the acrid tang of rot.
Ragged, spiked trees jutted out of the crimson waves like jagged bones, their bark a sickly white that gleamed in the dim light. Blackened rocks rose in irregular formations, sharp as knives, casting warped shadows across the carnage.
Deon stared, unblinking. The sight should have ripped her apart. Her chest should have been tight with anguish, her mind spinning into the familiar spiral of despair that always followed death. She should have felt the crushing weight of it all.
But she didn’t.
She felt… calm.
The realization was almost more unsettling than the scene itself. There was no panic, no grief, no nausea. Only an eerie, alien sense of peace.
Dokja chuckled darkly, his grip on her jaw tightening. “Strange, isn’t it? Feeling so serene amidst all this death?”
Deon didn’t respond, but her glare sharpened.
“It’s because of me,” he continued, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “I’m the reason you’re not breaking down right now. I’m keeping you grounded, Little Fang. You don’t remember any of this—the killing, the blood, the despair. But I do.”
His grin stretched wider, almost feral. “Because I’m the one who did it. I’m the one who tore this world apart. And you? You locked me away, buried me like a rotting corpse in the back of your mind.”
Deon’s lips tightened, her expression unchanging, but her thoughts churned.
Dokja leaned closer, his mismatched eyes boring into hers. “I know what you’re thinking. ‘There must be another explanation. This psycho isn’t me. This isn’t real.’ But deep down, you feel it, don’t you? That little flicker of recognition. That faint, nagging doubt.”
Her silence was a dagger, sharp and deliberate.
Dokja sighed dramatically, releasing her jaw and stepping back. “Ah, you’re so stubborn. But that’s why I love you, Little Fang. You make it so much fun to break you.”
He gestured grandly to the blood-soaked graveyard. “This is the truth you refuse to face. This is what you are. And I’m here to help you remember.”
Deon’s gaze flickered to the carnage, her cold expression unwavering. There was logic in his words, a twisted rationale that gnawed at the edges of her skepticism. But logic wasn’t enough.
“I don’t believe you,” she finally said, her voice low and even.
Dokja laughed, the sound echoing through the abyss. “Oh, you will, Little Fang. You will.”
And with a snap of his fingers, the sea of blood began to churn.
═════════════════
The crimson sea began to dissolve, not with the gradual melt of ice in spring, but with the sudden fragility of frost cracking beneath an iron heel. Blood evaporated into the frigid air, leaving behind a biting chill that crept into Deon’s skin, clawing at her bones. The air tasted of iron and frostbite, sharp and cutting.
Before her, the frozen wasteland stretched into infinity, blanketed in snow so white it seemed to glow under a silver sky. Ice formations jutted from the ground like shattered glass, and a brutal wind howled across the expanse. To anyone else, it would be desolation. A tundra devoid of warmth or life. But to Deon, it was painfully familiar.
This was home.
Dokja’s laugh broke the silence, soft and amused. “Do you see, Little Fang? This is what we’ve always been. This frozen hell, this winter that never ends—it’s ours. You feel it, don’t you? The comfort, the familiarity. The truth.”
She didn’t respond, her gaze cold and unwavering as she surveyed the frozen landscape. The jagged edges of ice and the howling wind mirrored the turmoil in her chest, though she didn’t let it show.
The castle rose before them, carved from ice and black stone. Its spires reached skyward like claws, frost creeping along the edges of its gates and windows. It was grand and unwelcoming, a fortress of isolation.
Dokja’s arm snaked around her shoulders, pulling her close, his gloved hand splaying across her chest where her heart beat—slow and steady, but uncertain.
“This is where we belong,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear despite the frigid air. “Our castle, our sanctuary. No one to judge us. No one to control us. Just us.”
His voice softened, taking on a mockingly tender tone. “You’re always so busy pretending, Little Fang. Pretending to be strong for others. Pretending to care. Pretending to be better than them.” He chuckled, low and dark. “But here? Here, you don’t have to pretend. You can be what you are. What we are.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but her silence didn’t deter him.
“You know what I mean,” he said, cupping her face and tilting it so their eyes met. His grin was warm yet predatory, his mismatched gaze piercing. “That hunger. That drive to conquer. To rule. To take what’s yours and never let go. It’s there, buried under all your stupid rules and self-imposed chains. I see it, Little Fang. You can’t hide it from me.”
His hand dropped to her chest, pressing down just enough to make her flinch. “It’s right here. That ugly little kernel of ambition you’re so ashamed of. Why hide it? Why fight it? You want power. Freedom. Control. It’s what you were made for.”
Deon’s glare didn’t waver, but the tightness in her jaw betrayed her unease.
Dokja’s grin widened. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m not condemning you. I’m celebrating you. Do you know how beautiful it is? That fire inside you? That drive to have it all?”
His voice dipped, both comforting and mocking. “Why fight it? Why hold yourself back? Who gives a fuck about their judgment? No one cared about you. No one except me. I’m the only one who’s been here. I’m the only one who is you.”
She didn’t respond, her silence deliberate and sharp as a blade.
“It’s not bad to want things, Little Fang,” he said, his tone softening into something almost fatherly. “It’s not bad to be selfish. To be greedy. To want more and more. Power, money, influence—it’s all yours if you just stop pretending and take it.”
He leaned closer, his grip tightening possessively. “I can help you. I can show you how. You don’t have to do this alone. You’ve never been alone. I’ve always been here, waiting.”
Deon finally spoke, her voice low and icy. “I don’t need you.”
The words were sharp, cutting through the air like shards of broken glass.
Dokja didn’t flinch. Instead, he laughed—a deep, rumbling sound that echoed across the frozen wasteland.
“Oh, Little Fang,” he said, shaking his head. “You don’t need me? Then why are you so afraid? Why do my words make your heart race?”
His grin turned feral, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “You can deny me all you want. But you can’t deny yourself. And that’s exactly what I am. You, stripped of all your lies and pretenses.”
Deon didn’t respond, her gaze fixed ahead, refusing to meet his. But the flicker of doubt in her eyes didn’t escape him.
“You’ll see,” he whispered, his voice a promise and a threat. “You’ll see.”
═════════════════
The air crackled between them, the cold biting harder as Deon shoved Dokja away. Her hands trembled from the exertion, from the raw violation of his touch. He stumbled back but didn’t fight it, his body yielding like silk. Yet his laughter erupted—a chilling, manic sound that echoed in the endless frost.
His grin widened, teeth sharp and gleaming like a predator’s, as he righted himself with infuriating ease. “Aw, Little Fang, don’t be shy. I thought we were getting along so well.”
“Who are you?” Deon’s voice was sharp, cutting through the icy air like a blade. Her gaze was steady and cold, though her pulse betrayed her, thrumming in her chest like a war drum. “What are you?”
Dokja tilted his head, mockery shining in his eyes. Then, in a voice dripping with saccharine condescension, he said it again: “I’m you, Baby.”
Deon’s face didn’t shift, her expression as cold and unyielding as the ice beneath their feet. “Enough,” she hissed, her body moving on instinct. She lunged at him with no weapons, no abilities, just the raw intent to tear him apart.
Her fist connected with his chest, but it was like striking a mountain. Dokja didn’t flinch; his body remained unmoving, solid as steel. Before she could recoil, his hand snapped forward, gripping her wrist in a vice-like hold.
“Really?” he drawled, his tone dripping with amusement. “That’s cute, Little Fang. Really. But…” He yanked her closer with little effort, her knees buckling from the force. “You’re nothing in this state. And even at full power? You’d still be nothing to me.”
Deon’s breath caught. He wasn’t lying. She could feel it in the way his strength radiated, the sheer immensity of his being. Her mind raced, calculating and recalculating, but the results were always the same. He was strong—too strong.
Dokja’s free hand cupped her chin, his grip almost tender as he tilted her face up toward his. “Don’t look so surprised,” he whispered, his voice honeyed but laced with something jagged. “You know I’m stronger than you. Smarter, too. After all, I’m the original. You’re just…” He trailed off, his smile twisting into something venomous. “…a shadow. A pathetic little echo.”
Deon’s eyes narrowed, her muscles coiling for another strike, but Dokja laughed, low and guttural. “Oh, come on, Little Fang. Why are you so mad? Don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out yet.”
“Figured what out?” she spat, the frost of her breath mingling with the icy air.
He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “You’re me. Fang Dokja. That’s your name. Not this ‘Deon Fonias’ bullshit you’ve been playing at. You’re me, baby. Always have been, always will be.”
Her blood ran colder than the wind whipping around them. “You’re insane,” she said, wrenching her arm free and stepping back.
“Am I?” he said, laughing again. The sound was shrill and wild, like glass shattering in an empty room. “Because I remember everything, Little Fang. I remember you. I remember who we are. And you? You don’t remember shit. You’re playing house, pretending to be someone else, someone good. It’s fucking pathetic.”
He took a step forward, and she instinctively stepped back. The ground beneath her felt less stable, the ice cracking faintly with each movement.
“You’re delusional,” she hissed, her voice low and dangerous.
“Delusional?” His grin widened, his mismatched eyes gleaming. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re the delusional one. You’ve been lying to yourself for so long, you actually started believing it. Do you really think you’re Deon Fonias? That this…” He gestured vaguely to the air around them, dismissive and cruel. “…is who you are?”
Her jaw tightened, her silence defiant.
He closed the distance between them in an instant, his hand gripping her chin once more, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I know what you are, Little Fang. I know what you want. You’re not some saint. You’re not some savior. You’re me. And you’re fucking terrified of admitting it.”
She glared at him, her teeth clenched. “I am not you.”
“Oh, but you are,” he said, his tone softening into something almost affectionate. “You just don’t remember. You’ve buried me so deep, locked me away like some dirty little secret. But I’ve always been here, waiting for you to wake up. And now?” He leaned in, his breath warm against her skin. “Now, it’s time for your Awakening.”
The word sent a shiver down her spine, though she refused to show it. “Awakening?”
He smiled, sharp and predatory. “Yes. Awakening. Becoming what you were always meant to be. The real you. Not this pale imitation you’ve been playing at.”
Her voice was colder than the wind. “You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” he asked, his grin never faltering. “Because deep down, you know I’m right. You feel it, don’t you? That itch in your mind, that gnawing sense that something’s missing. That’s me, Little Fang. That’s us. And you’re going to remember, whether you like it or not.”
She didn’t respond, her silence like a blade between them. But his laughter, dark and knowing, filled the void.
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
Notice Regarding Full Content on Royal Road
Due to Royal Road's content policies, some chapters of God's Protagonist are not available in full on this platform. However, links to the full chapters are provided at the end of each chapter for readers who wish to continue on the official website. Please heed the detailed warnings provided for each chapter before proceeding.
The official website also hosts the complete story, free from platform restrictions.
Link to Full Chapter: Chaos 1 – The Winter that Burns. [8. Chaos Awakening]
Official Website: God’s Protagonist by Fang Dokja
Thank you for understanding, and happy reading! 🌌
═════════════════