a writhing mass of Evil is descending from above, but we don’t care about that.

turn your eyes from the black veins slithering across the sky; veins so Dark that they seem to swallow  not just Light, but reality itself.

such things are not important. we need not pay attention to the grotesque swelling of the roiling tendrils of Void, and we need not dignify the wretched, soul-shredding wail that accompanies the procession of the most vile being ever to exist.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

instead, look upon the doorway about to be darkened: the billford community house.

it is here that our story resides. here where our twelve '''Heroes''' reside. they are not, in fact, Heroes. the twelve Children we are about to meet are many things, but there is one thing they shall stubbornly refuse to be: Heroes.