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elikajinnie · 1 month ago

Note

not necessarily a request but i think a dbd killer jungwon would be soooo fun to read omfg. especially since you write horror so well and your other jw fic was PHENOMENAL

just wanted to leave my little brainworm here 🙈🙈

P: Dead By Daylight Killer!Jungwon X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Obsession, Psychological Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Violence, Dark Themes, Mental Torture, Slight Mind Break, Blood, Mentioned Cult Activites, Humiliation, Bondage (Chains)

Synopsis: A new killer, a new map, and terrifying new powers. When you first learned the Entity had unleashed another killer, you were annoyed. But as you face him now, those feelings shift. His control.. his ability to manipulate your every move… it’s worse than you could have imagined.

a/n: Well originally the dbd series was only for the hyungline.. but anon.. you did this.. i love dbd, even more with Springtrap (OG fnaf fan.)

now playing: in the dark of the night (jonathan young)

Time was irrelevant in the Entity’s realm. From the moment you are captured, you could forget asking what time it was. There was no rhythm to the days, no routine, no sense of passing hours. "Good night" and "Good morning" had become meaningless. Darkness was constant here, shadows stretching, pressing in from every corner. The sun? Gone. Warmth? Never existed in this place. Only a numbing, all-encompassing cold that seeped into your bones.

There was nothing to do but wait, trapped in this perpetual limbo until you were inevitably called in. And when you were, it was always the same. Pain. Panic. The ever-present fear of what came next. It was a cycle—endlessly repeating. The only constant was the hum of the generators. Only one thought ever echoed in your mind: Where’s the next one?

It was a race for survival. One that you had grown accustomed to, even if you hated every second of it. You'd learned to adapt—staying low, staying quiet, and always moving with purpose. Always searching for the next generator, the next chance to escape. When you were called in for a match, you didn’t expect anything different. Another trap. Another game. Another nightmare.

So when you were called in for a match, you weren’t surprised to find yourself in a dark room, the familiar heaviness of the air wrapping around you like a suffocating blanket. You instinctively started moving, but as you took in your surroundings, something felt... off.

This wasn’t a map you recognized.

You pressed your back to the wall, narrowing your eyes, and began to cautiously explore. The layout was foreign, with jagged architecture that seemed almost ceremonial. The walls weren’t just cracked or broken like the usual maps, they were covered in strange, arcane symbols that seemed to pulse in the low light. Each step you took only deepened the unsettling feeling in your chest. This place wasn’t just unfamiliar; it felt wrong.

A chill ran down your spine, and the implications hit you like a cold slap. A new map.

A new map meant a new killer, and right now, that was the last thing you needed. The Entity had dragged you back into its twisted game, and you knew the rules: survival, at any cost. But with a fresh killer on the loose, you could already feel your grip on sanity slipping.

It didn’t take long for you to figure out the setup for the map, it was an old military fortress, abandoned and decaying, with walls that seemed to whisper the memories of battles long forgotten. The architecture was a grim reminder of something that had been built for control. It was a cold, imposing structure, with crumbling stone and rusted metal fixtures that still managed to hold a terrifying, menacing presence.

There was no light, not even the faintest glow. Not inside the fortress, not out in the sprawling dark forest that surrounded it. You couldn’t see a single star in the sky. Only the moon, hanging high above in a deep, unsettling red hue. It bathed everything in a faint but eerie tint, as if the very land was soaked in blood. The forest itself felt like an extension of the fortress—claustrophobic, suffocating, and full of hidden threats, where every tree and shadow could be hiding something that was waiting for the right moment to strike.

And you had the feeling of a million eyes watching you, eyes that you couldn’t see, but could feel burrowing into your skin. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, and you paused mid-step, breath hitching. Then you heard it.

Giggling.

Faint at first, like wind through leaves. But it grew louder—layered, distorted, like a chorus of laughter echoing from every direction at once. High-pitched and wrong. Mocking. It wasn’t just one person. It was like a crowd—a million voices laughing, whispering, enjoying something you weren’t a part of. Something you were the center of.

Your fingers curled into fists. No one was around, not visibly, but the laughter remained, somewhere just beneath the surface of the world around you. It didn’t stop. It was like the map itself was alive—like something about this killer didn’t just stalk you… it played with you.

You forced yourself to move, to breathe again. And as you crept through the shadows, you finally spotted others—Meg, Jill, and Nancy huddled near a generator about twenty yards away. Relief tugged at your chest, but it was fleeting. Something wasn’t right.

They all looked… off.

Nancy was crouched off to the side, healing herself with trembling hands, her movements clumsy and disoriented, like she was struggling to focus. Blood stained her jeans and hands, and her face was pale.

Jill and Meg were at the gen, but even from this distance, you could see the way their heads occasionally snapped to the side, as if reacting to a sound that wasn’t there. Their hands moved across the generator with mechanical repetition, but their expressions were empty—hollow, like the act of fixing it was just muscle memory now.

You decided to walk up to them, the tension in your chest tightening with every step you took. As you approached, their heads turned toward you, and for a brief moment, the hollow expressions on their faces softened. There was something almost relieved in their eyes as they noticed you.

Meg’s mouth opened slightly, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, her eyes darted between you, Nancy, and the surrounding forest, her hands still mechanically twisting the generator. Jill, on the other hand, met your gaze with a shaky exhale, her face pale as she wiped her forehead, as though the pressure was finally beginning to crack her composure. And Nancy, already nursing her own wounds, managed a small nod when you approached, but it was clear she was struggling to stay alert.

You moved toward Nancy, offering to help with the healing. Your hands worked quickly, but you couldn’t ignore the strange, nagging feeling creeping at the back of your mind, the shadows in the corners, the whispers on the wind, the eyes you couldn't see. The world around you felt too still. Too controlled.

Once you were done, you asked quietly, “What happened to you guys? What did you see?”

The moment the question left your lips, they all seemed to speak at once. Their voices were low, barely above a whisper, as if sharing the details of their encounter with the killer might somehow make it worse.

“I… I don’t know exactly,” Meg began, her voice shaky, as she glanced nervously over her shoulder. “He—he has these… shadow figures. Little humanoid things. They’re not real, but they feel real. They just appear out of nowhere.” She swallowed hard. “It was like he was controlling them.”

Jill interrupted her with a sharp intake of breath. “He doesn’t just control them. He controls everything.” Her voice trembled. “I—I swear, it felt like he was in my head, messing with my mind. Everything around me went black for a second, and I couldn’t move. It was like I wasn’t even in control of my own body.”

Nancy added quietly, her eyes darting around nervously. “He made me feel... trapped, like i couldn’t breathe.” She paused, wincing as she adjusted her bandages.

The three of them fell silent for a moment, exchanging uneasy glances as if the memories were fresh and raw. The weight of their words hung in the air, leaving you with the oppressive feeling that the killer wasn’t just a physical threat, but a mental one, too. His power wasn’t just about stalking or hurting; it was about breaking you down from the inside out. Control.

A mental killer wasn’t something common in the Entity’s realm. Most of the killers you’d encountered were brutal, physical creatures, ruthless in their pursuit, they were straightforward in their violence. You could fight against them, try to outrun them. But this? The idea that this killer could break you down mentally, control your every thought, every move, was enough to make your stomach churn.

You were barely able to process that thought when suddenly, the giggling—the maddening, distorted sound—grew louder. The laughter bounced off the walls of the fortress, seeping into your ears and clawing at your mind.

Before you could even react, the shadows around you shifted, and in the blink of an eye, three humanoid figures emerged from the darkness. Their forms were barely solid, shifting and flickering like smoke or mist.

The moment they appeared, the cackling began rising, high-pitched and mocking, like the laughter of a thousand twisted souls trapped inside these shadowy figures. They didn’t have faces—just hollow, shifting silhouettes, but you could feel the malice radiating off of them. It was as if they were laughing at you, at your fear, feeding off it.

Panic surged through you like a tidal wave. Without thinking, your body reacted. You spun on your heel, heart hammering in your chest, and before you knew it, you were running.

Behind you, you could hear the others scattering, all of them running in different directions, driven by instinct, their own terror feeding off the sinister presence of the shadowy figures. The giggles seemed to follow, echoing off the map as if they were everywhere at once.

You had to keep moving. You had to survive. The shadowy figures hadn’t followed you. No, they were flying off, following the others as if they were being drawn to their fear, choosing their prey with a twisted, malevolent intent.

For a fleeting moment, you wanted to stop, to look back, but the sudden pressure in your chest made it impossible. Something was wrong. Your heartbeat picked up, pounding in your ears, as if trying to warn you.

You forced yourself to turn forward again, desperate to put distance between yourself and the shadows, but that’s when it happened.

A sharp pain ripped through your side, sudden and brutal, as if something had slashed across your skin with precision. You screamed in pain, the noise ripped from your throat as your body staggered forward, caught off guard.

The blood dripped from the wound, staining your clothes, and your legs faltered as you tried to stay on your feet. But before you could fully comprehend what had just happened, you lifted your head—and there he was.

The killer.

He stood there, an imposing figure cloaked in darkness. His black, high-collared coat clung to his body, sleek and dark, moving almost unnaturally as if it were alive, responding to his every movement. The fabric shifted, undulating with an almost hypnotic rhythm, as if it were part of him, an extension of his being. Chains twisted and coiled around his form like a prisoner to his own power.

His hands were covered in long, sharp gloves, the fingertips tapering to sharp points. He gripped a long sword, its blade unnervingly smooth, and its surface etched with ancient, cryptic symbols that seemed to shift when you looked at them too long.

He was dressed in all black—from head to toe. Even his face was obscured by the shadows cast by the high collar of his coat, leaving only the glow of his eyes to pierce through the darkness. His expression was stoic, and emotionless. The very air around him seemed to tremble, like the world was bending to his will. There was no warmth, no humanity in him. Just cold, unrelenting control.

He took a slow step toward you, his eyes never leaving yours. The sound of his footsteps was barely audible, but each one sent a shiver through your spine, vibrating the ground beneath you.

You couldn’t move. Your heart hammered painfully in your chest, your legs barely holding you upright. Every instinct screamed at you to run, to fight, to do something but there was something in his gaze that made you feel like you were already caught, trapped in his web without even realizing it.

His eyes—dark, almost hypnotic seemed to be studying you. Assessing. The chains around him moved slightly, like they were waiting for his command, and you could almost feel the power radiating off of him.

Before you could react, he moved. Slowly, deliberately. His long, gloved hand reached out, his fingers curling around the hilt of his sword. With one smooth motion, he placed the cold, sharp edge under your chin, lifting it slightly, forcing your head to tilt upward so that your eyes met his. The pressure was light, but the sharpness of the blade made your skin prickle.

His eyes never left yours. They were intense, almost too intense, like they were piercing into your very soul, reading every hidden fear, every thought.

“Adorable.”

The single word hung in the air, and you didn’t know whether to be insulted or terrified. His voice was low and almost affectionate, as if he were speaking to something fragile, something delicate.

“You know, I can already see it. How sweet you'd look… under my control. Docile. Obedient.” He tilted his head, a faint smile curling at the edge of his lips. “It’s almost too easy to imagine you like that… so perfectly pliant, so ready to fall in line.”

Your heart skipped, the combination of fear and confusion making your mind race. Was he toying with you? Or was he serious? The way he spoke was both enticing and terrifying, like he was trying to lure you into something dark, something twisted, something you didn’t want to admit you were even considering.

The sword remained under your chin, the pressure just enough to remind you of how easily he could push you past the point of no return. But still, you couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak. There was something about the way he looked at you—so assured, so in control that made you feel like you were drowning, like the world around you was fading away, leaving only him.

“Imagine it,” he whispered. “You, belonging to me. No fear. No pain. Just... you and me. All under my command.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your pulse quicken. Was he asking you to surrender? Was he waiting for you to break? But you couldn’t. You couldn’t even fathom the idea of giving in, of becoming another pawn in his twisted game. You could only shake your head, your breath shaky, a barely audible sound escaping your lips. “No…” you whispered, but the word felt weak, like a futile protest against something far too overwhelming.

It was the only thing you could manage in that moment, shaking your head in disbelie. But the look in his eyes… that cold, unreadable gaze that pierced through you, it hardened.

And then, that smile—the one that had previously seemed almost teasing faded into something darker, something sharper. "What? You deny me?"

His words stung, more than they should have. They echoed in your mind, pulling at something deep inside of you. The anger in his voice wasn’t just the kind you felt when you were challenged, it was disappointment, like you had failed to meet some expectation he had for you.

He stepped closer, leaning in just enough that you could feel the heat of his presence, could smell the faint scent of something dark on him. His lips almost brushed against your ear as he spoke again, his tone colder now, laced with menace.

"You think you can defy me?" he whispered. "You think you have any control in this game? In this world?"

A chill ran through you, but you stood your ground, even if only on the outside. Deep down, though, you were terrified. Terrified of what he could do. Terrified of what he was. You swallowed, trying to summon some semblance of defiance, of strength. But your voice came out in a whisper, shaky and uncertain. “I won’t... give in... to you.”

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze never leaving yours. The air between you felt thick with tension, with a simmering, unspoken promise of what could come next. Then, he let out a low, almost amused chuckle, the sound deep and unsettling. "Such a brave little thing," he murmured, his voice almost affectionate. "But you’ll come to understand soon enough… everyone submits eventually."

You barely had a moment to process his words before the blade sliced through the air again, and before you could even brace yourself, the sword slashed across your side, cutting deep. The pain was instantaneous, blinding. You screamed, the cry of anguish tearing from your throat as you staggered, your body giving way beneath the weight of the injury.

Your legs failed you, and you crumpled to the ground, breath coming in ragged gasps. The world spun, and your vision blurred with tears from the searing pain. You could feel the blood dripping steadily from your wound, pooling beneath you.

But just as you started to crawl away, a shadowed hand shot out from the air, wrapping around your waist like iron. A sudden yank and you were hoisted up off the ground, your body flailing helplessly in the air. You didn’t even have the strength to fight back, cause before you knew it, you were tossed over his shoulder like a ragdoll. The movement was swift, effortless, and you were too dazed to do anything but feel the world tilt as you dangled helplessly in his grasp.

You could hear his footsteps as they echoed through the desolate, shadow-filled landscape. He moved with purpose, a slow and calculated pace, his eyes scanning the surroundings as though choosing the perfect hook.

When he found one, he didn’t hesitate. With a cold precision, the rusty hook was driven into your shoulder. The pain was instantaneous, a searing, bone-deep agony that made you scream, the sound echoing through the silent night, raw and desperate.

The world spun as you hung there, your body suspended from the hook by sheer force, your blood dripping slowly down your side, staining the ground beneath you.

And as you hung there, helpless and exposed, you watched him turn away. He didn’t look back, not even once. He dragged the sword behind him with a casual ease, the blade scraping the ground lightly, making a dull, metallic sound that sent a chill down your spine. It was like Pyramid Head's relentless, methodical walk as he dragged his own axe through the dirt.

You hung there for what felt like an eternity, the pain in your shoulder intensifying with every passing second. The Entity’s claws slowly began to emerge from the sky around the hook, creeping up from like nightmarish tendrils, their sharp, jagged tips glistening with a hunger that sent a cold shiver through you. They were coming closer, inching toward you, ready to finish the job and drag you into the void.

But it wasn’t just the pain or the claws that drove you to the edge. It was the voices. The giggling. The laughter that echoed from the shadows like a haunting symphony. It was everywhere, all around you, like the world itself had become a twisted echo chamber, filled with distorted sounds of joy and mockery. It was as if the very air itself was alive, alive with voices that jeered at you, taunted you, fed off your fear.

You could usually hang on a hook for a long time, enduring the pain, the waiting. It was a part of the game, a part of the cycle. But this?The laughter, the maddening giggles, the whispers that fluttered in and out of your consciousness, made your mind feel like it was slowly cracking apart. The voices didn’t just sound like they were taunting you—they were delighting in your suffering, savoring each moment, each second of your agony.

The giggles grew louder, more intense, like they were crawling beneath your skin, worming their way into your mind, threatening to break you from the inside out. You could feel your thoughts slipping away, as if the laughter was trying to take over, drowning out your ability to think clearly. Was this it? Was this what it felt like to lose yourself?

The urge to scream again rose in your chest, but you didn’t. You couldn’t. Your voice felt useless, lost in the chaos. Instead, the only thing you could do was hang there, helpless, and wish for it to shut up—the voices, the giggling, the madness that was crawling through your brain.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

You clenched your fists, trying to hold onto your sanity, your control, anything that could keep you grounded. But every breath, every heartbeat, seemed to only make the sound grow louder, more intrusive, until you wanted to tear at your hair, rip your skin, anything to make the noise stop.

But all you could do was hang there, waiting for the inevitable.

Finally, after what felt like ages, just as you were starting to lose all hope, you felt a sudden shift. The pain in your shoulder became less sharp, almost bearable, and a figure appeared out of the darkness.

It was another survivor, limping, clearly injured—blood staining their clothes, face pale from exhaustion. They reached you quickly, their movements frantic but efficient. Without a word, they unhooked you, their hands trembling as they carefully lowered you down. You almost collapsed in their arms, your legs buckling beneath you, but they caught you before you could fall completely.

"You need to move," they whispered urgently, barely able to keep themselves steady. The moment they freed you, they were already backing away, looking over their shoulder. They didn’t even hesitate, they just turned and ran, leaving you there, breathless and confused.

As they disappeared into the shadows, you were left wobbly, weak, and disoriented. You could still hear the distant sounds of the killer's footsteps somewhere in the distance, but the laughter had subsided for the moment. The Entity's claws had retreated back into the sky, as though they were biding their time. You were no longer tethered to the hook, but your body still felt broken.

You forced yourself to move, stumbling through the darkness, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps, and your vision swam with the pain, but you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t allow yourself to collapse just yet. The only thought in your mind was finding a safe place, somewhere to heal.

You eventually found a small corner of the map, tucked away between crumbling walls and thick trees, barely visible through the shadows. There was no sign of the killer. No sign of the minions. You collapsed against the rough stone of a building, your body trembling as you began to fumble through your supplies, trying to bandage the wound and stop the bleeding.

Just as you finished bandaging your shoulder, breathing heavily in the dim light of your makeshift refuge, the sound of maddening laughter hit you again. You stiffened, your heart skipping a beat as the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end.

You turned quickly, your breath catching in your throat.

And there it was. A shadowy figure—a dark, twisted shape lurking beside you, its form flickering in and out like it didn’t quite belong in this world. Its giggle was sharp, distorted, and it echoed in the hollow space between you and the walls, making your chest tighten with dread. You froze, staring at it in horror, unable to move.

Before you could react, it made a sudden shrill noise—louder than before, like nails scraping against glass and with no warning, it leapt onto your back. The weight of it felt like being struck by a wave of darkness, its form clinging to you like it had no intention of letting go.

The tendrils, dark and writhing shot out from its body, wrapping around your wrists, pulling them painfully against your back, pinning you in place. The creature was fast, too fast for you to think, and now it was like you were bound by invisible strings. Every movement you made was sluggish, like your body didn’t want to obey.

You tried to scream, but the creature’s presence choked the air around you, leaving you gasping for breath. It giggled again, right next to your ear, the sound grating against your nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

“Good… good… so obedient,” it hummed, its voice low and mocking, and the words wrapped around your brain like venom. "So good, so very good..."

You couldn’t make it stop. The more it spoke, the more insane the words made you feel. It was as if the very sound of its voice was slowly eroding your thoughts, making it hard to think, hard to focus.

You tried to run. Tried to push forward, to escape. But your legs wouldn’t move as they should. It was as if the very presence of the creature was dragging you down, forcing you to walk slower, each step heavier than the last. You weren’t running—you were walking, like the creature was controlling your movements, slowing you down.

“Good girl...” it whispered again, too close, making you shudder. “Stay... We’ll play forever…”

You couldn’t handle it. The overwhelming sensation of being controlled, the constant taunting laughter, the words that seemed to worm their way into your mind and stir up every fear you’d ever had. It was driving you to the edge, to the brink of madness.

But still, you fought. You fought with everything you had left. Even as the world around you seemed to distort and fade, even as your body grew heavier, you tried. You tried not to give in. But the more you resisted, the more the shadow clung to you, the more its presence slowed you, its voice growing louder in your ear.

"Good... girl..."

You stumbled through the map, your steps growing heavier with every passing second, each step like wading through thick mud. The giggling was incessant, worming its way into your ears, until the sound became more insistent than your own thoughts.

You tried to focus, tried to push back against the pull of the shadows, but your mind felt as though it were unravelling. Your thoughts started to become fuzzy, like a broken radio signal, distorted and impossible to follow. You couldn’t think straight, couldn’t make sense of what was real and what was just part of the madness that the creature had wrapped around you.

Your vision started to blur, colors smearing together like paint on a canvas that was too wet. The world wavered in front of you, twisting and distorting, and each step felt like you were sinking further into a sea of confusion. The edges of your reality seemed to fray, and for a brief moment, you couldn’t even remember what you were supposed to be doing.

The laughter never stopped, only growing louder, until it felt like it was inside your skull, echoing from every corner of your mind.

And then, suddenly, the fog lifted, and you blinked—blinking hard to clear the haze from your vision.

When your blurry vision finally focused, you found yourself standing in front of the killer.

He was there, standing as still and imposing as ever. His gaze was locked on you, and for a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. The control in his eyes was suffocating.

You didn’t know how you had gotten here. You didn’t even remember moving. But somehow, the shadow—the minion—had led you here. To him. And now, as you stood before him, unable to move, unable to think clearly, you knew the inevitable was about to happen.

The laughter in your ear faded, replaced by an eerie silence as the shadowy minion began to unravel itself from you, its tendrils loosening their grip on your wrists with a sickening wet hiss. You stumbled forward slightly, knees buckling, but didn’t fall. You could only watch as the creature slithered down your back before it moved to the killer’s side.

Then, without a word or command, the minion melted into him—its form seamlessly merging with his body, as though it had always been a part of him. Shadows coiled around him like armor, wrapping tighter as the last flicker of the creature disappeared within him.

The killer then took a single, measured step forward.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Your body obeyed his presence now, like a marionette waiting for its strings to be pulled.

He tilted his head, just slightly, his glowing eyes locked onto you with quiet amusement. And then he spoke, his voice low and smooth, yet cutting straight to the bone.

"The last survivor... at my feet. Like you should be."

The words hit you like a blow. There was no rage in his voice. No wild aggression. Only cold certainty. As if this outcome had always been written—you, here, broken and alone, with no one left to save you.

He leaned down slowly, giving you no room to flinch or retreat. His gloved hand reached out, and his fingers curled beneath your chin.

His grip was firm but not cruel. Possessive.

He tilted your head upward until your eyes were locked with his again, and everything else—your pain, the fog in your mind, the noise fell into silence. He studied you like you were something to own, something he’d hunted for and finally cornered.

His voice dropped to a whisper, brushing just over your skin. “Such a fighter,” he murmured, thumb grazing your jaw. “But even the strongest… kneel eventually.”

Without saying anything else, he stood up again and slid his sword in front of him, the blade gleaming with an almost unnatural light. The symbols carved into it began to shift, moving across the metal like they were alive.

The moment the symbols started shifting, shadowy figures began to unfurl from the killer’s body. They moved like smoke, winding and curling around him. They slithered through the air toward you, their giggles growing louder, more shrill, like a chorus of twisted voices, each one mocking you.

You tried to back away, to get away from them, but your legs wouldn’t respond. They were everywhere—surrounding you, closing you in. You shouted, desperate to push them back, to make them stop, but they didn’t listen. They just giggled more, their laugh echoing through your mind like a sick, rhythmic chant.

Some of them swatted at you with their shadowy limbs, their touch cold and mocking. Each swipe left you feeling more helpless.

"You're not strong enough," one whispered, its voice dripping with venom.

"Just give in..." another giggled.

The words were cruel, harsh, degrading. They spoke of your weakness, your failure, and it made your chest tighten with frustration and despair. You could barely breathe beneath the weight of it, the laughter, the mocking voices, the shadows that consumed everything.

And then, you felt the chains.

At first, they were slithering just outside your periphery, but before you could react, they moved quickly, wrapping themselves around your wrists. They were cold, tight, and they burned as they slithered up your arms, pulling you off the ground. Your body dangled in the air, weightless, but utterly trapped. The killer’s chains, now bound to you, pulled you higher, lifting you as if you were nothing more than a puppet in his grasp.

You looked down at him, your heart hammering in your chest, but his eyes were focused on you with that same cold, calculating gaze. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his sword.

Without warning, he sliced through the air.

The pain was unbearable.

It was a clean strike, swift and precise, but the force of it seemed to tear through your very soul. You screamed, but it was drowned out by the sound of your heartbeat rushing in your ears. Every part of you felt shattered, and you didn’t even know if you could still breathe.

And then, just as everything around you turned black, you felt the pull of the Entity’s grip once more, dragging you into unconsciousness.

When you woke up, your body was sore, aching from head to toe. The world around you was familiar, yet wrong. The scent of firewood and damp earth reached your nose before your eyes opened, and the steady crackling of the nearby campfire filled your ears.

You blinked, disoriented, as your vision slowly cleared. You were lying on the ground, just outside the survivor's camp, surrounded by familiar faces all sitting nearby, talking softly to each other.

You tried to sit up, but the ache in your body stopped you. It was as though you’d just woken from a nightmare or perhaps it had all been one.

But now, you were back here.

Back in the camp.

Like always.

After that night, you were called into two more matches. Neither of them involved the new killer. Neither of them involved that suffocating presence, that overwhelming control. But it didn't matter. Every time you returned to the camp, the memory of what had happened still clung to you, like a dark cloud hanging over your every step.

But it wasn’t just you. Other survivors had faced him, the new killer, and each time they came back, they were different. Broken, in a way. You could see it in their eyes—the vacant, haunted look that spoke volumes without a single word. They would return to the camp, their bodies battered, their minds frayed. They would fall silent, almost like the echo of the killer still lived within them, dragging them down into the depths of his control.

You’d watch as they stumbled back, each one looking less whole than before. They didn’t talk about it at first. They couldn’t, it seemed.

Eventually, when they would speak, it was always fragmented. Unclear. The words didn’t fit together like they used to. They’d speak about their match, but their minds were somewhere else.

Their sanity seemed to slip with each encounter, like pieces of them were lost in the game. It wasn’t just the physical toll of facing a killer. It was the mental and emotional cost. You could see how every time they faced him, they came back with less to give. Less of themselves to share, to offer. It was like facing him was leaving scars deeper than any cut or wound could.

You told yourself you were fine. That the first encounter hadn’t gotten to you the way it had the others. But deep down, you knew that wasn’t true. The memories of everything about him lingered like a toxin in your bloodstream.

So when the familiar pull of the Entity tugged at your core again, dragging you into another match, you expected nothing. Just another trial. Another run. Another chance to survive.

But when you opened your eyes… You were staring at the dark fortress.

That damned fortress. Its jagged stone walls and blood-tinted shadows loomed above you like the mouth of some massive beast, hungry and waiting. Your hands clenched into fists. You could only grit your teeth, the familiar sting of frustration prickling your eyes.

Really?

You tried to think positive. Maybe it’s just his map, you told yourself. The Entity had done that before—used a killer’s realm for another’s trial. Maybe this was someone else. You had to believe that. Maybe it was the Huntress, or the Trickster, or anyone else who didn’t drag your thoughts into madness with a single glance.

Please, let it be someone else.

But then you heard it.

The laughter.

That sick, echoing giggle, bouncing off every wall, carried by the wind, crawling beneath your skin. One voice at first… then two… then a dozen. It built in layers, high-pitched and overlapping, like a chorus of corrupted children whispering secrets they were never meant to know.

Your heart sank. Your spirit plummeted.

It wasn’t just his map. He was here.

Somewhere in the shadows of that fortress, sword in hand, chains dragging silently behind him like whispers of promises unkept. And the minions… they were already awake.

You pressed your back against the nearest wall, trying to steady your breathing, trying to fight the creeping sense of hopelessness threatening to swallow you whole.

You weren’t ready for this. No one ever was.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to move. One step at a time. You couldn't afford to freeze in place, no matter how tightly the fear gripped your chest. You had to find one generator, just one, and maybe, you'd have a chance to survive this.

The laughter echoed around you, still distant. It seemed to follow you, seeping through the walls like a taunt. You clenched your fists tighter, pushing forward despite the dread clawing at your insides. There was no time to waste. The longer you lingered in the open, the more vulnerable you became.

But as you moved through the fortress, each turn felt more disorienting than the last. The corridors twisted in strange directions, every door you passed seemed to mock you, every hallway a dead end.

Then, you turned another corner.

And there it was.

A throne room.

It loomed in front of you, massive, and strangely pristine, given the state of the rest of the fortress. The walls were lined with ornate stone columns, and in the center of the room stood a throne, tall and imposing, carved from obsidian. The seat seemed almost to beckon you, as if daring you to approach.

You glanced around, a sense of unease crawling up your spine. It felt like you were being watched, like the very air in the room had shifted, making your skin prickle with a foreboding presence.

You turned to look behind you, your breath catching in your throat as the faintest laughter reached your ears. The sound was so quiet at first, like a low whisper on the wind, but it grew louder, until it became unmistakable.

The laugh was right behind you.

You spun around, heart pounding in your chest. The throne. The seat that had seemed empty just moments ago was now occupied.

There, sitting in the obsidian chair, sat the killer. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, as if he were sitting comfortably in his domain. And perched on his shoulder, like a twisted, grotesque pet, was one of his minions. Its dark and shadowy form flickered like smoke, its sharp teeth snapping at the air in your direction. It giggled, the sound high-pitched and unsettling, as if it took delight in the fear it was causing. The sound seemed to echo around the room, magnified, as if the walls themselves were laughing along.

Your heart thudded in your chest, the sight of him sitting so calmly in that throne sending a chill through your bones. You were frozen, caught between wanting to run and being unable to look away. Every inch of you screamed to get out but your body wouldn’t listen.

His eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. There was no anger in his gaze, no wild fury, just an unsettling amusement. He didn’t say anything, but his lips curled into that eerie, cold smile again, and his eyes seemed to say everything. You were his now.

And the giggling… it didn’t stop. The minion on his shoulder let out another shrill laugh, and you could hear the rustling sound of more shadows moving around you, just beyond your sight, closing in, like a thousand eyes were watching your every move.

Suddenly, he tilted his head slightly, as though something had caught his interest. It was subtle, but there was an unmistakable shift in the atmosphere. The minion on his shoulder paused, and without warning, it detached itself from him, leaping from his shoulder and flying straight toward you.

You screamed, the sound loud and desperate, as the creature lunged at you. Its body seemed to dissolve into a dark mist before it reformed, clinging to you like a twisted parasite. The minion’s cold, clawed hands wrapped around your shoulders and chest, pulling you closer, its sharp teeth snapping in your ear as its giggles echoed in your skull. It smelled like cold stone and death, its touch icy, seeping into your skin.

You thrashed, trying to break free, but it was impossible. Its form was slippery, elusive—like it was one with the darkness, and no matter how hard you struggled, it held you tighter. You couldn’t breathe as it laughed—mocking you, taunting you.

The killer's voice cut through the madness.

“Be quiet.”

The word was spoken softly, but the weight of it was like a command, and in that moment, everything went still.

The minion on your chest froze, its body shuddering with the sound of its laughs dying in its throat. You couldn’t understand it at first, but then you realized something—it was shutting up. You didn’t even know why, but the giggling stopped, the pressure around you releasing just enough for you to suck in a trembling breath.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to shout, to demand that this nightmare end. But you couldn’t.

His words had an unnatural weight to them, and somehow, in the deep recesses of your mind, you understood—you had to obey. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Your voice had been silenced, as if by some unseen force, the very command in his tone forcing you to submit.

Your heart pounded in your chest, but your mind felt like it was fogging over. The minion was still on you, but it seemed almost dormant now, no longer laughing, just clinging to you in silence.

You could feel its unsettling presence as it nuzzled against you, the chill sinking deeper into your skin. The laughter had stopped, but its taunting silence filled the void left behind. It felt like your very thoughts were being muffled by its touch.

The killer moved then. Slowly he stood and approached you, his footsteps quiet. He didn’t look angry, or even bothered. Instead, he seemed almost… contemplative, like he was thinking, carefully choosing his words.

When he reached you, he tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as if studying you closely. The silence stretched, and for a moment, you were certain he was trying to figure something out—something about you.

Then, he leaned forward, his gaze never leaving yours. His voice broke the quiet, low and smooth, but somehow, it carried a weight that made you want to shrink away.

“You know,” he began, his tone almost casual, “you remind me of someone.”

You didn’t know how to respond, couldn’t even form the words. You could only stare at him, your mind racing as your chest tightened with uncertainty.

He paused, still looking at you with that unblinking, unsettling gaze. Then, with a sudden snap of his fingers, a small smirk curled at the corner of his lips as if he’d figured something out.

“Yes...” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “You remind me of one of my past followers. My most devoted one, in fact.”

Your stomach turned at his words, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. You wanted to scream, to demand answers, but you couldn’t. You were frozen in place by the weight of his gaze, unable to speak, unable to do anything but listen as he continued.

“The one who died for me.” His voice softened, but the words hit you like a punch to the gut. His eyes glinted with something darker, something satisfied. “She was so loyal… so ready to give up everything for me. But in the end…” He paused, tilting his head again as if savoring the thought. “She gave up her life for me.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The mention of a past follower, someone who had been so loyal, so devoted, yet had met their end in his service made your skin crawl. Was he speaking of her with a sense of affection? You couldn’t really tell.

He straightened up, his face still unreadable, and for a moment, he just stood there, gazing at you. The minion on your shoulder shifted slightly, as though it too was listening, waiting for something more.

“And now,” he murmured, voice barely audible but chilling nonetheless, “I see the same potential in you.” His eyes darkened, the intensity rising, and you felt an overwhelming surge of fear. “You could be the same... so willing, so ready to give everything for me.”

Fear surged in your chest, thick and suffocating, but there was nothing you could do. No way to run. No voice to scream. Only the echo of his words wrapping around your thoughts, sinking their claws in.

Suddenly, with terrifying ease, the killer stepped forward and lifted your limp body off the ground.

You gasped, more from the shock than the effort but your limbs refused to fight him. Your legs dangled, your wrists still tangled in those invisible chains of command. He held you with little effort, one arm beneath your knees, the other supporting your back as if you were something fragile, something precious.

His hand moved slowly, and you felt the chill of his gloved fingers as they gently brushed your hair back from your face. The motion was almost… tender.

His expression shifted as he looked down at you. For a brief moment, he almost looked soft, like he was admiring a painting or some priceless relic he’d spent ages hunting. Then his lips curled into a smile—not warm, not kind.

It started at the corners of his mouth and spread unnaturally across his face, twisting it into something manic, something unhinged. His eyes gleamed with a hunger that sent a fresh wave of terror pulsing through you.

“I just have to charm you enough...” he whispered, his words soft, almost soothing, but his eyes told a different story—dark, hungry, and filled with crazed intent. “And then you’ll be mine. Completely. Beautifully.”

His face, now a warped blend of fascination and madness, hovered inches from yours. The warmth of his breath contrasted with the cold emptiness he radiated. You could see it in his eyes—he wasn’t asking. He wasn’t hoping.

He was promising.

The last thing you saw before your vision blurred again was his crazed smile, framed by the writhing shadows around him, as if the darkness itself had chosen to serve his obsession. And deep down, you felt it:

He wouldn’t stop until you were his.

a/n: For those who might be confused, Jungwon’s power revolves around control and domination. He has the ability to summon up to three minions at a time, which roam the map in search of survivors. Any survivors who come too close to Jungwon or his minions may be temporarily swayed into becoming loyal followers under his influence, forcing them to obey his will for a short period. Think of his power like the villain in Shazam.

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littleclownopinions · 2 years ago

Text

Why Henry's Completion Ending monologue still gives me chills

CONTENT WARNING: Mentions of child murder and suicide

Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria Simulator released in December 2017 and was packed full of lore. From Candy Cadet's stories, to the Scooper blueprints, to the Fruity Maze minigame and even to the still unsolved Midnight Motorist gameplay, there was a lot to discover and unpack. However, today I don't feel like doing any lore solving or theorising, instead I'd like to simply explain why I love Henry's Completion Ending Speech. I will be directly quoting the important points, but if you need a refresher you can find the whole thing here. One last thing before I begin, I think it's important to remember that when listening to the speech for the first time, players weren't certain on who was speaking. Although Henry was an established character in the books and we were aware of William having a business partner, Henry's name in the games wasn't proven until PJ Heywood, the VA for Michael and William Afton, confirmed it to be Henry on Dawko's The FNAF Show. For talking sake, I want to approach and evaluate the speech from the angle of listening to it for the first time without the foresight or context we now have.

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"Connection terminated. I'm sorry to interrupt you, Elizabeth, if you still even remember that name.."

Henry's opening line is Incredibly effective for two main reasons:

Firstly, this was a pretty important name reveal. Although we already knew that William Afton's daughter had been killed by Circus Baby, and was therefore the spirit possessing her, we did not know her name. Considering the character's lore importance, her name being revealed was a big moment for fans.

Secondly, although we didn't know who exactly was talking, calling out Elizabeth's name made it clear that this was someone important. Someone with connections to the Afton Family.

So, with a single line of dialogue there are two major pieces of information being conveyed to the player. That's what I think makes this such a strong opening.

"I'm afraid you've been misinformed. You are not here to receive a gift, nor have you been called here by the individual you assume. Although you have indeed been called. You have all been called here into a labyrinth of sounds and smells, misdirection and misfortune. A labyrinth with no exit, a maze with no prize."

Moving on, Henry begins explaining that the restaurant is really a maze and the map that we've been staring at throughout the office gameplay suddenly appears, except I think this time it seems a lot more... ominous. The thing is, FNAF6 is a pretty overwhelming game. There's so much constantly happening in each gameplay section that there's a pretty limited amount of brainpower one can put into analysing the layout too much. It's only at this moment that players have the opportunity to really weigh up the implications. I think this was done really well. This moment allows for the paranoia to peak as the reality sets in: there's no escape. We still don't know who is talking and therefore have no idea the motivations behind his plan. It's a scary realisation and just fills this moment with so much dread and anxiety.

"I am remaining as well. I am nearby. This place will not be remembered, and the memory of everything that started this can finally begin to fade away, as the agony of every tragedy should."

Now, this is where the speech begins to shift in tone. As the listener, your nerves begin to subside as you realise that, although you still don't know this character, you start to realise their intentions.

The last line here has always stuck with me for how beautifully written it is. I think it goes a long way to show exactly how Henry feels about everything that has happened over the years. He's fed up and wants to bring an end to this sad and tragic story.

"And to you monsters trapped in the corridors, be still and give up your spirits. They don't belong to you. For most of you, I believe there is peace and perhaps more, waiting for you after the smoke clears."

Hearing Henry refer to the animatronics as "monsters" is really intriguing to me because it means that, although he views them as alive, there is a separation between them and the child souls that inhabit them. It's sad, in my opinion, because I can only image that there was a time where he was proud of the animatronics. A lot of them were his own creations and they brought joy to a lot of children out there, but ultimately they had become unrecognisable to him. He veiws them as evil. Extensions of his ex-business partner and his wrongdoings. Ultimately, though, I think it's sweet to know that he imagines the children's spirits being able to move onto something better.

"Although, for one of you, the darkest pit of Hell has opened to swallow you whole, so don't keep the Devil waiting, old friend."

Honestly, I'm not sure this line needs much explaining. I think I'd be hard-pressed to find a single FNAF fan that didn't have goosebumps hearing it for the first time. There's something so chilling listening to Henry refer to William Afton as "old friend" while we watch his rotten corpse and soul burn in the fire that Henry has started. This is also where we begin to learn who is speaking to us.

"My daughter, if you can hear me… I'm sorry on that day, the day you were shut out and left to die, no one was there to lift you up into their arms the way you lifted others into yours… I couldn't save you then, so let me save you now. It's time to rest; for you, and for those you have carried in your arms."

These lines say a lot about who Henry was and again highlight his intentions. While I love hearing him speak directly to Charlie, I think the way he also mentions the other children says a lot more about his character. Yes, he's doing this for himself and Charlie, but he's also doing this for them. He isn't selfish or self-serving. While he may not have known the other children, he still takes the time to mention that this is as much for them as it is for himself and his daughter.

"This ends for all of us. End communication."

These last two lines may be simple, but I personally think they're perfect. Henry is attempting to end everything. His own guilt, William's evil, the suffering of all the children. All of these objectives are of equal importance, for the sake of everybody and everything, it all must stop. And who knows, Maybe in Henry's final moments he was still and quiet, reflecting on it all. Maybe he was given one last chance to speak with his daughter Charlie and tell her he loved her one final time. I think it's up to you to decided what your own headcannon is. Regardless, Henry's last lines prove that he was a good and honest man. He cared about it all, not just the parts that affected him or his life. He was doing what he thought had to be done to bring this story to a close once and for all. His monologue is, in my opinion, some of the best content across the entirety of FNAF. The writing is phenomenal and the performance given by Dave Steele is incredible. It's simply something I'll never forget.

#essay writing #media analysis #five nights at freddys #fnaf #henry emily #fnaf 6 #fnaf pizzeria simulator

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