Fight back.

No. Fuck this. Not now. Not ever. Never has opening a strange iridescent tome lead to anything good in life. You struggle with all your might, willing yourself to please for the love of anything holy, put the FUCKING BOOK DOWN. You strain and slam the book into the ground, you can feel the tension die out of the room. The whispers are disappointed. "Fuck me. Holy shit." you sputter and spit as you attempt to stand back up. Your limbs feel like straw, like something's gone and sucked your mojo. You need to get out of this Attic. Now.

You stand and for a gratifying moment, you convince yourself this is a dream. A cozy mess that you will wake up from. None of this is real. None of it is real. None of thi-

Purple tendrils spring forth from the tome, wrapping you in a tangled mess straight from your worst nightmares. They wrap and snake their way around your limbs, locking your movement with supernatural ****. You can feel the tendrils bleed into your body, the fuckin things are inside of you. "Oh come the fuck on!" at this point you've lost all hope of waking up. You writhe and scream, struggling with all your might.

Your mind races with a million different possibilities, things you can try and do to survive, to fight back, to win. You vomit as you feel the tendrils dig into your nervous system and control you from the inside out. "Your" hands reach towards the tome. The tension fills back into the air, something is paying attention to what is happening right now. For some reason you utter a prayer, it comes out as a ragged whisper, fraught with pain and suffering . "My Dominion is within the Divine, my Sanctuary, my spring in unholy times."

A chord snaps in your mind, a thrum of energy buzzing throughout your being. You can't feel your lips, your chest feels light, as if pure energy is spilling forth from the center of your being. A bright light begins to emanate from within you. Keep fighting back child. Keep fighting back. There is hope. There is light. Somewhere out there.

A wretched cry fills the confines of the dark attic. You begin sobbing as you place your hands on the tome. Bright light shines forth from your forehead, blazing like a star. The tendrils shirk back in terror, you wrench your hands from the book and throw yourself to the ground. "RISE." You land hard, but use the momentum to roll through to your hip and back to your feet. Bright light begins billowing from every nook and cranny of the attic. Illuminating everything in a soft dewy glow. You can feel something in the back of your mind urging you to act. There is no time. You attach yourself to that guidance, comforted by its presence. The tome is moving according to its own will now, the tendrils pushing off of the ground and centralizing the tome in the middle of the room. The tome sends waves and waves of dark energy at you. the pages flapping with wild motions. You duck and weave, shifting your weight and hopping off axis the wood paneling of the attic is torn part as the dark energy weaves its deadly arc. A sudden clearness comes over you.

Here in the eye of the storm, you are king, you are ruler. You feel like a wild animal, dodging on instinct, on the pure primal awareness that if you make one wrong choice, one faulty move, it's game over. "FIGHT" the words sound like a chorus of divine beings crying out in concert. A holy cacophony of symphonic sounds come crashing down, manifesting a weapon in your right hand.