Scars: sacrifice

Micheal, a soul of tainted kindness, has grown tired of bullies and his neglectful parents. he heads to mount ebbot to end his life, planning to his corpse at the top of this monstrous mountain, but instead he finds a kingdom of desperate monsters...
What will he do?

he came hear to die,
they need souls,
Its a win-win situation,
or is there more to this then meets the ...
nah, probably not.

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1. Prolouge

Bold and italics is his voices using sarcasm

Bold is his voices

Italics implies something dark or sarcasm

SoMEtHinG lIKE thIs IS DiSTOrted (I don’t know if this one is going to be used in this chapter, probably not)

 

 

He let out a sigh as he slammed his locker shut, his short, black hair hanging over his face. His eyes had large, black bags under them with lack of sleep and were sunken, hollow and dull like a dead fish. His posture was slouched, his wrist decorated with red scars, stitching themselves over his pale white skin. His body covered in a white, long-sleeved tee, black pants and old, worn sneakers to hide the old reminders of his misery. He slung his black bag over his shoulder as he walked down the packed corridors, his head down and staring at the dark wood floor, trying to ignore the people jeering, sneering and teasing him. Trying to stop himself from crying.

Worthless

Stupid

Kill yourself

Nobody’s going to miss you

We’d all be better of with you dead

Cutter

You are so pathetic

Loser

Go hang yourself already

He wanted to leave. He hated this school, at least at home, he did not have to suffer as much. Just as he was about to exit, someone pushed him down to the floor. As he tried to get up, he felt a foot push down onto his spine, causing him to fall back down. He let out a gasp as air was forcefully pushed out of his lungs. He felt a hand grab his hair and the weight from his back removed. He was pulled up from the ground by his hair, his hands scratching and trying to get their hands away. They just laughed and let go, he fell to the floor and tried to get up. As he did, he felt their fist come in contact with his stomach, causing to clutch his abdomen and bend over while staggering backwards.

Weakling

Standing in front of him boy twice his size and basically made of muscle. They punched him again, this time in the chest, he staggered backwards, he was punched again, but in the face, his nose start to bleed. It leaked down from his nose, mixing with tears that were cascading down his face.

You are an idiot

Before they could any more damage to him, he grabbed his bag and ran, not looking back, sobbing as he did so. When he slowed to a stop, he looked to the distance. A large mountain stood there, casting a shadow across the town, its peaks glistened with snow, it stood proud and intimidating. Aside from its snow-capped peaks shining like diamonds, it was beautiful. The rest was lush and green, it was beautiful. Golden flowers covered its meadows, glistening like its precious metal counterpart. It was beautiful.

Unlike you

It was Mount Ebott, in all its glory. Said to be home to monsters who were sealed deep with in it, and anyone who set foot on there was said to be devoured by them in a vengeful rage. It was the perfect place to just disappear. He smiled at that though. He would go there tonight, there, he would do what must be done.

He let out a sigh, turned away and headed home, but only after drying his tears.

 

When he returned home, his patents completely ignored his presence, like usual. He went straight to the bathroom and peered into his reflection. He stared in to his deep purple eyes and felt disgusted. His face had dried blood and tears crusting on it, already bruising, his shirt stained red. He sighed again and pulled it off, reviling his bony chest with his ribs very, very visible. His hips, upper and lower arms covered in scars that criss-crossed over each, other some newer than others, and not all he inflicted upon himself. The skin surrounding them was inflamed, but he did not care, he stopped caring a long, long time ago. He washed his face and left that room. He walked into his own, the walls bare of any paint, the floors made of concrete. His bed sat in one corner, a dresser in another. He emptied out his bag, leaving just a notebook, pencil, eraser, watercolours and sharpener. He pulled out a black sweater, pulling it on and throwing on a navy hoody. He shoved food he had snuck from the kitchen in, spare clothes, an apron his sister had made him and a bottle of water.  From under a nook in his bed, he pulled out his pocket knife, its blade tinged crimson from all the times he had used it to… cut...

Heh, heh,

That’s right, freak

Your skin is your canvas

A knife is your pen

You draw with silver and it turns red

Magic

He pulled out one of his art books and started to draw something morbid, he liked to do that in his spare time.. It started of shaped like a tree. After a while, a figure could have been seen in the distances, its short, black hair covered its face with only its mouth and nose visible, with blood trickling down from its mouth as it hung from the tree by its neck, the figure’s clothes were simple black pants and a singlet. Its arms covered in still bleeding wounds, its clothing bloodied. It was suspended to the tree by a rope tied in a crudely done noose. Below the tree sat a field of golden flowers, wilting then slowly dying as they got closer to the tree. The figure was hanging over a river with a corpse facing belly down in it.The body was bloated and rotting. He then slit one of his wrists, and writing in his only blood, he scribed, it is too late for me, you let me drown. Don’t cry at my funeral, not that you would, but either way, I have been dead inside for a long time.

He tore out the page and slung his bag on his shoulder, as he left his room, he grabbed a rope from out of his wardrobe, already tied as a noose, and he left, pinning the picture to the fridge as he exited the house. He looked back one last time, and head to Mount Ebott.

 

Authors note:

Let me know if you find any mistakes, i will fix them.

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