Don't ask me why, but I need to post this.
Blame Him.
Back all of 8 years ago, when I was 10, I served the Slender Man as a faithful slave. My eyesight was amazing; I was able to count the number of spots on a ladybug from a hundred feet away. It was this that caused him to recruit me.
Well, that and the fact that I was an outcast. A pariah.
Nevermind that, it isn't important now.
He used me as a sniper. Me, a 10-year-old kid, and He thought me a better sniper than an ex-Navy SEAL that he had in his grip. My hands were steady, my eyes were like a hawk's; my first three kills and He saw how good I was. It was all it took for him to promote me.
I became one of the Revenants, not by the definition that is currently being used. He let me use some of his power during my forth hit. It changed me more than I thought possible. My eyesight diminished to what it is now, my hands grew shaky, and I had a hard time getting enough oxygen into my blood stream.
It's not that I wasn't getting enough oxygen because of lung problems, however; on the contrary, my lungs are perfectly fine by normal standards. But I have... I don't know what to call it. Cuts and bruises heal faster, my bones are stronger, and I pack on compact muscle very easily. I'm no bodybuilder, but I'm tough. It makes running a bitch, though.
After this, I was out from His control. I remember panicking as I raised the scope to my eye during that last hit, having tried to use some of the Eldritch power that He'd put under my control.
I guess I should have known better than to use the power of the Eldritch.
I'd dropped the rifle. He was there, instantly by my side. I could feel his commands more than hear them, but I could also feel that I'd touched something wrong.
That the master I'd served was wrong.
He'd repressed my memories, but they came back recently. MarbleHornets had been too much of a reminder. I don't know what those poor bastards are going through now, but... I wish them luck.
When I saw the images, the stories, all of the blogs and vlogs out there, some primal part of me that hadn't forgotten what had been repressed started shouting at me.
"This is your enemy! Face him! Kill him before he kills you!"
Back then, I was feeble, meek, depressed. I indulged myself, thinking that everything was fiction and that there would be no harm by putting my own spin on things.
I was wrong.
By making this blog, I began to notice the discrepancies around me, all of the subtle hints and massively obvious statements. My memories came back because of the arrow that lodged itself in my stomach, and the hawk feathers that it was fletched with.
I'm stronger now. He has undone the harm His gift caused, without taking away the good. My eyes are back, my hands are steady. Breath comes easier, but the high oxygen levels have not gone done.
He stands over me now.
He wants to know.
What do I think of this master? This being that can never be known, defined, reasoned?
My entire life, I've devoted to learning. I never wanted to stop. Not after high school, not after college, not after a trade school, not even after I died.
Here is my answer, Pale King.
Go fuck yourself.
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