End of the World Influencer [PT 6]: A Dark Fantasy Series
Adam & Alex find return to earth. A deadly fight leads to shocking loss, cruel betrayal, and the terrifying awakening of a slumbering god.
The world ended quietly.
No explosions. No warnings. Just a low hum, a flicker of power, and then—silence.
In Part One, the global grid collapsed.
In Part Two, strange messages slipped through Adams live-stream, and he started to question what was real—and what was watching him inside the closet.
In Part Three, trust fractured further when Adam met Thalia—a cosmic being space witch with her own agenda.
In Part Four, the trip through the Void brought soul-devouring horrors, a glimpse of Adam's true power, and an encounter with the enigmatic Elliot.
In Part Five, cornered by cosmic forces known to humans as Sins, Adam's power flared again, leading to the stunning reveal: Adam is ‘Pride.’
Love, Loss, and Other Lies from the Gods: Your Scheduled Part 6 Playlist
TONIGHT, THERE IS AN ADDED BONUS!
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Where we left off last time
“You inspire allegiance. Worship. Ego. People fall in line without realizing it—because when you believe something, the world bends to meet it.”
A pause.
“Or it did. Until Envy.”
Narrator's Note: The nature of these archives remains obscure. However, a recovered recording sheds some light... see the latest Character Lost & Found for Elliot's rather unique explanation.
‘Average Adam’
Pride. Me. The God of fucking Pride. Cursed to be... average?
Average? That’s a curse?
I don’t know why, but I’m pissed anyway.
If I thought my brain was full before, this just blew the circuits. Feels like it’s buffering, stuck trying to mesh a million lifetimes of shitty coffee mugs into a a cheap IKEA cabinet.
It’s all about to come crashing down, I can feel it.
My face must be doing something stupid (it usually is) because, just for a second, I see it again in Elliot’s eyes—fear. Like, actual fear.
Flickering, gone before you could really grab it, but it was there.
Why would Mr. Creepy-Calm-and-Probably-Ancient be scared of... well, me? He clamps down on it, jaw tight.
"Selene and Victor—human names. Envy and Greed," he says, doing this tiny, barely-there nod towards wherever they poofed off to. "Their motives aren’t exactly subtle."
His hands twitch down by his sides, like he’s fighting the urge to wave them around. "They knew they couldn’t dethrone Pride," he pauses, just for a blink, "unless they got their hands on a certain book."
Okay, now there’s a mystery book that sounds absolutely fucking horrifying.
Narrator’s Noter: Find ✍🏻 The ✍🏻 Book ✍🏻
My mouth opens to ask, but just then, Thalia steps back into the... whatever this place is... Alex right behind her.
Alex looks like hammered shit, like she just went ten rounds with a black hole and maybe got a draw, but her eyes snap right to mine and my knees almost give out right there.
My expression just... melts. Everything else—apocalypse, space witches, Elliot’s cologne—just fades into background noise. Alex is okay.
“You look like shit,” she groans, voice barely there.
I don’t answer, not out loud. Just yank her into my arms without thinking, hold her tight.
She just collapses against me—but don’t let the scene fool you. My arms lock around her like I’m scared she’ll dissolve or something, like this is the last second I get to just breathe her in.
I bury my face in her hair, pressing my lips to the top of her head. Gotta know she’s still here, still solid after whatever messed-up side-show Thalia showed her.
“I know,” I mumble, voice low, trying for teasing, trying to cover the shake I feel starting. “Shocked you even came back to me. Sexy space witches and all.”
I let my eyes close, just breathing her in—cranberry mint shampoo mixed with that weird, faint metallic tang of the Void. Somehow, it works for her.
And just like that, Thalia steps in.
“Cute.” Like the worst wingman in the known galaxy. “Now, if we’re done LARPing your sci-fi romance fantasy, we have a huge problem.”
My eyes blink open. The strange, shifting architecture of Elliot's... wherever we were... is gone. We’re standing on cracked pavement. We’re back home. Kind of.
The city—what’s left of it—is fucked. Just jagged, broken shit against this sick-looking greenish sky. Buildings are half-collapsed, busted open, empty windows staring out like dead eyes reflecting the weird light. Twisted metal and busted glass everywhere, choking the streets.
It's dead quiet, except for this creepy groaning sound from buildings that sound like they're about to fall over, and... this faint scuttling noise. Like something nasty is moving around just where you can't see it.
It’s like Earth and the Void had a baby, and it is furious with it’s existence.
Alex’s hand tightens in mine, her eyes already scanning, calculating, but there’s nowhere to run. The city isn’t just ‘gone’. It’s desecrated.
“You know what’s funny?” Alex says, her eyes narrowed at the devastation, that familiar fire returning despite her exhaustion. “I thought this was gonna be the part where everything turns into rainbows and butterflies.”
I manage a weak chuckle. “You were still holding out hope?”
“We must not have stopped them in time,” Thalia says, her voice grim. “The time distortion between here and the Void… Days, maybe weeks passed here in the hours we spent away.” She gestures vaguely.
“Great,” I sigh. “Fantastic homecoming.”
Elliot steps forward, his golden eyes sweeping the desolation, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths – regret? Annoyance? “And it seems we aren’t alone, either.”
Narrator’s Note: Check out my entry on Void demons. I worked really hard, and ruined many perfectly good (mostly) tea bags for this.
He barely gets the words out before the ruined cityscape answers. Shadows detach themselves from deeper darkness in shattered doorways and collapsed underpasses.
Figures coalesce from dust and debris—vaguely humanoid but all shifting, oily darkness, jagged edges, and claws that scratch on broken concrete.
A low, multi-toned hissing fills the air, scraping directly against my nerves.
“Void demons,” Thalia murmurs, her voice suddenly quieter, tighter than I’d ever heard.
She's worried? That's not good.
“Adam, look out!” Thalia shouts again, louder this time, raising a hand like she's about to do some seriously badass space-witch stuff.
But no.
Elliot actually takes a half-step back, eyes wide.
“ARE YOU SO SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!” The air cracks around me—an invisible shield, pure pressure, slamming outwards maybe two feet.
It throws the first demons back, dissolves against their unnatural forms, but vanishes instantly. I gasp, lungs burning, but it bought us maybe half a second.
I can’t quite pin it, but something in me says these ass holes are holding back—if they’re trying to activate some super secret, super ancient button that’ll get my powers to work, I can promise it’s not working.
My entire focus slams onto Alex. Who, despite being the only person here without a dark and ancient past, looks calm and in control. Eyes still searching the rubble as if any single person could have survived this.
God, she’s hot.
Narrator’s Note: One thing I struggle most with is combat scenes and physical conflict. I decided to work that muscle this time! How? Simple answer: Challenge subscribers to hand to hand combat, record the encounter, practice narrating it out loud. If you like the scene, let me know! If not, consider volunteering your friends for the next combat session.
“Space spiders, void demons, space witches… I’m starting to think deep space is just Hell with better marketing,” I grit out, yanking Alex back behind me—with one arm, mind you. Your boy's kinda jacked—as the first few shadow-things lunge like broken puppets.
“Focus, Adam!” Elliot yells, sounding annoyingly distant even though he's right there.
“Focus?! That’s all you have?!” My internal monologue screeches.
‘fOcUs, aDaM.’
This motherfucker is backseat gaming the literal apocalypse.
Men. Pft.
Just as I'm trying to mentally wrestle with whatever bullshit witch-y 'focus' even means, one of the larger demons slips past Elliot’s flashy-but-ineffective light show and lunges straight at Thalia. She's mid-gesture, looking momentarily vulnerable—yet I still can’t shake the feeling she’s playing me—
Shit! No time to think. Instinct takes over. Can't let her— My hand shoots out towards her, a desperate surge of pure fucking will pouring out of me, demanding something happen.
Thalia’s eyes meet mine across the chaos. Her own hand gestures sharply, almost invisibly quick, adding a flicker of real heat to my effort that vaporizes the demon instantly. Just like that. Okay, so she can actually do stuff when she wants to. Useful.
Then she shouts, her voice cutting through the lingering hiss, resonating with sharp command: “Wake. Up!”
All the pressure—the fight, their uselessness, her command—feels physical. It builds in my chest, tightens, until something snaps.
Easy for you to say, Space Bitch! I don’t know how! I scream it back in my head…
But maybe some of it leaks out. “If your shit’s so together, you stop them!”
Spoiler alert: their shit isn't together, is it? They're fumbling. That fear I saw in Elliot's eyes...
“For the love of God,” I snarl, maybe louder this time, “Stop. Pretending. To be useful!”
Gritting my teeth, eyes locked on the oncoming wave of jagged shadows, I throw my hands out, palms forward. I push—not with muscle, but with every ounce of will, tapping into that terrifying, nascent sense of command.
The pavement buckles. Chunks of asphalt shred upwards with a tortured groan, slamming into the closest demons with brutal force.
Another group swerves, hissing, and I twist, shoving out a hand again. A shockwave of pure I-miss-when-it-used-to-be-illegal-for-people-to-be-within-6-feet-of-me energy rips outwards, sending shadow-things tumbling back like bowling pins made of oil and whatever biological weapon is in the bottom of a spit-cup.
It slows them, disrupts them, but more keep coming.
My vision starts to swim, dark spots blooming at the edges. Breathing feels like sucking down concrete dust. This power, whatever the hell it is, doesn't flow; it rips its way out, scraping me raw from the inside.
I stumble back, gasping, managing one more shield. My knees buckle. The power sputters—a dying lightbulb in a hurricane. I have nothing left. I can barely stand.
One more demon, bigger, darker, ignores Elliot's fancy light show and Thalia’s now deliberately slow follow-up attack. It lunges, zeroing in on me in my weakened state, straight for my exposed side.
My legs feel like lead. There’s no moving them, not even if I wanted to. But I’m gassed.
I’m cooked, dude.
“ADAM!”
Alex lunges past me. My brain lags—Where did she even get another—?
The blade flashes silver against the gloom, driving deep into a swirling vortex of shadow near the creature's center mass.
There’s a sickening squelch as steel meets… unholy void-stuff. The demon convulses violently, claws flailing, then implodes.
Which was frankly sick as hell.
I collapse to my knees, chest heaving, sweat blinding me. Alex stands over the dissipating remains, panting hard, her knife gripped tight, dripping with thick, black ick. Her knuckles are bone white.
Looking around, the other void demons are just... gone. Melted back into the ruins like they were never there.
Recalled? Defeated?
Doesn't matter right now. One crisis averted, probably just in time for the next one.
Thalia and Elliot approach, their carefully crafted masks of concern clicking firmly into place. "Impressive, Adam," Elliot murmurs, his golden eyes sharp with calculation despite the compliment. "You're stronger than you know."
Thalia nods curtly, her expression unreadable, though her gaze flickers towards Alex and the knife she's hastily wiping clean. "But reckless. You nearly depleted yourself."
Narrator’s Note: Let me know what you thought, or tag someone you’d like to volunteer for the next round of combat!
As if on cue, new figures begin to coalesce from the haze and ruin. Solid. Arrogant.
Selene moves first. Glides, really—untouched, immaculate amidst the wreckage, as if the destruction itself wouldn't dare. A slow, predatory smile curls at her lips as her eyes land on Elliot, then flick dismissively towards me and Alex.
Victor materializes beside her, taut with barely restrained fury, his eyes locking onto me like a blade pressed against my throat.
Selene’s voice slithers through the tension, smooth as velvet over shattered glass. “Well, Elliot. Done playing with your pets?” She stops just short of invading his space, exuding an aura of absolute ownership.
Her gaze sweeps the wreckage, then lingers on us—assessing, calculating. “We assumed you’d be here eventually. Cleaning up your messes seems to be our forte, as of late. Your... appetites... have put everyone at risk. Again.”
Victor lets out a short, ugly laugh, grating like shifting rock. “And your grand plan is clearly working wonders.” His attention snaps back to Elliot and Thalia. “Pride, here, looks half-dead. Weak. Pride, still clinging pathetically to this mortal baggage.” His hand waves carelessly toward Alex, dismissing her existence.
Pride. The word sinks in like hooks, dragging up everything Elliot said.
The curse.
The mediocrity.
The punishment.
Human baggage.
Each piece of my own lore branding itself onto my exhausted brain. Every single thing that I have learned about myself in the past…however long has been against my will.
Something hums low in my bones, a deep vibration like the air before an earthquake. My fists clench at my sides, knuckles white under the grime.
“Don’t you fucking dare—” my voice comes out quiet—dangerously quiet. The kind of quiet that precedes total annihilation. I instinctively try to pull Alex behind me again, a futile protective gesture.
Selene’s smile widens, predatory and amused. “Oh?” A perfectly arched brow lifts. “Has Pride finally found his growl again?” She tilts her head, mock-thoughtful. “What now, amateur godling? Going to give one of your famous, forgotten speeches? Try to command the rubble? Save your precious, broken Earth?”
“This world is mine too,” Alex cuts in, voice ringing with startling strength despite her exhaustion. She steps firmly beside me, refusing to be shielded. “And just because I’m human doesn’t mean I don’t get a say in its destruction! Damn, for beings who’ve supposedly seen millennia, you’d think basic concepts like consent and not being cosmic assholes would’ve sunk in by now—"
Victor’s eyes flash with incandescent rage. It’s not just her words; it’s her defiance, her sheer humanity challenging him. “Quiet! You understand nothing of this world you dare to—".
Narrator's Note: Did things go differently just now? If you're playing the EotWI Interactive Pilot, your choices might lead to an alternate outcome at this junction.
He cuts his villain speech short, his words stopping abruptly.
In that infinitesimal pause, as the world seems to hold its breath, I feel it.
A cold, razor-thin spike of power—different from Victor’s rage, different from Elliot’s smooth manipulation—lancing through the air.
Almost invisible. Silent.
Directed with chilling precision from Thalia towards Alex’s exposed back.
Her eyes go wide, locking with mine as she turns in sudden, horrific understanding before the light drains from them. She crumples like a marionette whose strings were cut.
That single moment hits like a physical blow and in that same instant, reality warps. Time seems to stretch, to slow down to agonizing frames just for me.
I see it clearly—the faint, rapidly fading signature of that killing energy, a cold, wrathful resonance, tracing directly back to Thalia’s now slowly lowering hand.
No wound visible on Alex. No weapon. Just… cessation. Engineered.
I don’t think. I drop to my knees beside her instantly, pulling her limp form into my arms, holding her desperately, as if my grip alone can tether her here.
She coughs weakly, a trickle of blood escaping her lips. She still tries for that defiant smirk. “You’re just… jealous…” Her voice is a thread, barely audible. “I get… a free ticket out… of the end of the world…”
I can't laugh. I can't breathe.
Silence. Utter, complete silence, save for the blood pounding in my ears and the unbearable weight of her stillness in my arms. And the world—the wreckage, the grief, the betrayal, the incandescent, world-breaking rage—collapses inward, narrowing to a single, infinitely dense point: Thalia.
Through the blur that obscures my vision, my gaze finds her. She stands there, composed now, her hand fully lowered. But I saw. I know. She did this.
The thought isn't just a thought; it's a key twisting in a lock rusted shut across forgotten millennia. Not clear memories, just... fragments, sharp and cold:
Voices, laced with envy, with calculation: “He is much too powerful…” "His certainty defines too much..." "Unbalance him. Diminish him." And Thalia's voice, colder than the Void, utterly convincing: "A lesson is required. Containment. He must be... humbled."
A flash: Thalia watching me and Alex, sometime before, her gaze assessing, possessive. Elliot's voice, smooth as poisoned silk, practically purring beside her: "A catalyst, dear Wrath. Sometimes one must burn the field to enrich the soil..."
The fragments slam into place.
They saw Alex as a tool.
A tool designed to break me.
The curse was personal. Orchestrated by her.
This apocalypse was her plan, with Elliot gleefully fanning the flames.
Alex... Alex was just collateral damage.
The frantic, tearing grief doesn't lessen, but it crystallizes. Freezes into something infinitely dense, diamond-sharp, ancient, and cold. The chaotic noise inside my head—the panic, the confusion, the frantic echo of Adam Harper—goes utterly silent.
Replaced by a vast, still ocean of singularly focused rage.
My gaze locks onto Thalia, clear now, utterly piercing. Seeing her stripped bare: not a guide, not merely a murderer, but the architect of millennia of stolen existence, the architect of this agony. The ultimate, unforgivable betrayal.
“She was holding you back.” Thalia’s voice slices through the charged silence, steady—too steady. Coldly pragmatic. But her eyes—just for a fraction of a second as they meet mine—flicker. Not regret. Not doubt. Pure, undisguised irritation. She knows I'm remembering.
“Do you still not understand?” She swallows, forcing the composure back, though her voice is a fraction tighter. “Humans, their worlds… attachments… they are anchors, Adam. Meaningless distractions. They only possess the value we assign. Your bond with this one…" Her gaze flicks towards Alex's body with distaste. "...it was the only thing you’ve ever put above yourself. Above me.”
She takes a slow breath, visibly centering herself into that picture of calm certainty. “Now that she’s gone, we,” Thalia gestures towards Elliot, Selene, Victor, as if presenting a united, desirable front that means less than nothing to me now, “now the Concord can heal.”
Narrator’s Note: I was initially going to include the transition from Adam to Pride in Part 6 but it is just too good. You’ll need adequate prep time (and probably more snacks). But if you’re ready to continue now…
What did you feel in Alex’s final, devastating moment? What kind of twisted 'healing' does Thalia truly envision? And what will Adam's reaction be in Part 7?
pst, because I am an awesome narrator, you won’t even have to wait. Part 7 is here.
The floor is open. Share your reactions, your darkest theories, your predictions for the fallout in the comments below.
Prepare yourselves. There is a reason that Pride comes before the fall.
Until the next story,
—Your Narrator 🌙🖤
I love this adventure type reading. The link to another page was unexpected, I guess it was just a (continue) redirect but awesome. Also, I died.
Wow; poor Adam. And what is he remembering? Are we getting a flashback??
I told you I’d be leaving antsy comments! lol