Nathanial had an ugly sneer on his face. He held Band-Aid firmly in his arms and had a clawed hand placed at Band-Aid's throat. Last John checked, Nathanial didn't have claws. But He guessed a monster like Nathanial could just grow them.

"You either have to let me kill you. Or I'll kill this little lizard here." Nathanial said

John stared at Nathanial. Not even a word left his throat.

~This isn't supposed to happen.~

Beings like Band-Aid. Beings of such joy. Of such perfection. They weren't supposed to be hurt. John believed this from the depths of his soul.

Nathanial grinned at John.

"Make your choice. Or..."

Nathanial pressed his claw into Band-Aid's throat. He stabbed a small hole into it.

"YI!"

A drop of Band-Aid's blood fell to the ground as Nathanial slapped the dragon in the face.

"DON'T MAKE SOUND YOU LITTLE SHIT!" Nathanial screamed

John grit his teeth.

"Okay."

John spread his arms out in front of himself. He had a hopeless look in his eyes and a smile of resignation on his face.

"Do it. Kill———"

John's vision went starry and white as a gust of fire blew past him. It didn't take a rocket scientist to know where it was going.

Wait. Band-Aid. Band———

The fire vanished, and John's vision returned to him.

Its body was scarred. Its throat was slit. It was dead.

Dead

The heroes weren't supposed to help the villains. John had been consigned to punishment. For his every sin. For his every evil. Stove. Band-Aid. And Refrigerator had flown in the face of that. They had helped him even though he hadn't done anything for them.

They had given something that was worth more than all the money in the world.

Kindness.

AND NOW! NOW!

Band-Aid was dead.

And it was all John's fault.

A weight heavier than Nathanial's darkness pressed upon John's back. He collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

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There was no darkness. There was no grey. No shade of blue. This wasn't pain. And this wasn't death.

To John, it was just an end. A final ticket. It was beyond the something in the shape of nothing. And beyond the nothing. John was in the end—the land of FIN.

.

…

...

...…

Nathanial looked down at John's crumpled form with a grin.

The red aura around him had vanished. So now things were only illuminated by Nathanial's aura of gold.

And that horrible red dragon fire.

Nathanial looked over to the dragon. The dragon had fire throthing from its mouth. It was spilling flames in every direction. The whiter dragon was trying just as hard to put the flames out. Nathanial watched all this with a smile on his face. It was a fitting end. Burned to death by your own child. It was perfect.

But Nathanial could make it better.

He spread his arms out above John. Shadows wafted from his being.

"Let's press pressure. The compress times rays and all the rest. For there is no rest. For the ones on the line of death."

Nathanial could hear it in the sky. He could hear it speaking to him. The golden flesh. The golden press.

The aura of gold around Nathanial doubled in luminosity.

John stood up. Where there were once eyes, there now were just whites.

"End them." Nathanial gestured the dragons around John

Silently John began to walk towards the Dragons.

"YIP!"

"YIP!"

"——"

Things were about to get bloody.

.

…

...

...…

White. There is no snow white. There is no white. White. The colour of nothing. When all is sucked away by the turning of days. You left with it. White. The colour of nothing. The absence.

White. True white. It's contrary to life.

Yet now. A life was white. Bleached by the growing forest fire of a terror-stricken mind

And a sin-stricken mind.

And a thought-stricken mind. Assuredly, it was a stricken mind.

John the Strickened.

That's what they would write on his tombstone.

Darting through the white was a mote of something. A mote of darkness. Of evil. It was small. No larger than a spec of dust.

Written onto this mote in black letters was BSlothB.

This mote flew rapidly in circles. It flew so fast that the white started to swirl. It swirled and whirled. And then there was a man.

A corpulent man who was Curled up into a ball under a roof of white. He lay on a floor of white and looked as if he was boxed in by walls of white.

And his skin... Was the palest white.

There was never a book to put down in the first place. I wasn't holding a world in my hands. I've only held a lie.

John could feel the truth ordained. That world. The one with the blood, the pain, and the fire.

It wasn't real. It was just a delusion brought about by a starved mind.

It was all a dream.

It had to be a dream. Because if it wasn't a dream…..

"Then I would be evil. I would be worth less than this nothing-white."

"BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

John raised his head at the echoing sound of mad laughter.

Floating above him was a girl. She had hair that was styled into curls. A sun dress. And eyes with deep dark bags around them. She looked young. Maybe eight to ten years old. She was far to small to be in a place like this.

A small smile appeared on her face.

"Oh bohoo. Poor little John. His pet tripped and had a fatal accident. Poor little thing." She said in a mocking tone

John looked up at her.

"It wasn't an accident! THEY WERE MURDERED! BECAUSE OF ME!" John screamed

The girl shrugged.

"Why do you care? Isn't it all just a dream?"

John's jaw dropped. A gob-smacked expression appeared on his face.

"I was lying. I don't think anything about it."

"When you lie about what's a truth and what's a lie. Isn't that just a lie within a lie? But for you to lie inside a lie. You need to tell the truth. But what happens if you place a lie within that lie? Well then. It all becomes a lie again."

John could only look up at the young girl. John's face was twisted into a riticus of loathing, dread, and tiredness.

"It. It."

"This place is a lie. So, any lie here would become a truth. Quit lying, John. You remember me."

And so Pandora's box opened. And This time...

There wasn't anybody to close it.