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Inky fingerprints were left all across the protagonist’s body. The monster had left them alive, likely to come back later to attack their prey again.
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They sighed, but still managed to crack a morbid smile. Their tears drooped over the curves of their lips. “You never were good at empathizing.”
Their lover frowned. “I thought I was.” 
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“Angels. They’re rare these days, aren’t they?” The demon’s sharp nails raked across the angel’s wrist, their perfect skin. “I could auction you off to all those religious zealots.” 
“I trust that you wouldn’t,” the angel said, wide-eyed. They made no attempt to pull their wrist away from the demon’s grasp.
“Oh, that’s cute of you to say.” 
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The foreign ambassador seemed to beg for mercy in a language the assassin could not understand. 
That made killing them easier, despite the way they cried or fell to their knees or displayed all the human body language that indicated that they were fucking terrified. 
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"Do NOT open this closet!” The roommate who could see ghosts shouted. They pressed their back tightly against the door, as if something were banging against it, wanting it to be opened. 
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Friends. That’s what they had been.
That was quite evidently not the case now, with the protagonist just having just sustained a stab wound. 
“…We’ve got some catching up to do.”
Those were the last words they heard before they blacked out from shock. 
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Prompt #2067
“We’re not friends, and you fucking know it.”
The villain fought to keep the hurt off their face. “Very well. How would you prefer to describe our relationship?”
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The civilians had developed powers, and the city had turned expectedly, into chaos. 
Meanwhile, the villain and hero tentatively shook hands on a deal. They needed to work together to restore such an imbalance of powers. 
Pursing their lips, the hero said, “Hopefully we can deal with this quickly.” 
“Of course,” the villain lied; they had ulterior plans. 
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The detective grabbed the thief by the collar, just as they were about to take the last nail off the painting frame. 
“Going somewhere?”
The thief raised their hand, but the detective slammed it against the wall before the thief could do anything. The thief sighed. “Probably on a date with you, given how many goddamn times you’ve caught me and let me go with a warning.” 
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“Don’t try to be valiant.”
The sidekick swallowed, glancing at the weapon ghosting dangerously over their neck. Their body was stiff, and their legs felt so wobbly that they could collapse at any moment. 
“They don’t pay me enough to be,” they replied, their voice an octave higher than usual. 
#sr
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“You color graded my world into pastels.” Misery flooded through the hero’s voice, as they slumped against the wall, defeated. Their eyes were bloodshot, and had dark circles under them.
The villain approached them, whispering, “Not anymore. This isn’t a movie.”
Sharp pain shot through the hero’s heart. 
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“Are you sure about this?” The protagonist asked. 
“I’ve never been so sure of anything else in my life,” their lover, as of two hours ago, slurred out. 
They toasted to their fifth champagne of the night. 
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“Hex them,” the witch hissed, with no remorse. 
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The assassin stood in the light of the window, the sunset rays glinting off their blades. “I was contracted to hunt you down.” 
“Please don’t.” The target’s whole body shook, even while tied to the chair. Because the problem was, the target gave them a contract a month or so ago. 
The assassin scowled. They stepped towards the target, who cowered back. Then, whispering into the target’s ear, the assassin said, “If it makes you feel better, you won’t be dying. But you won’t be here anymore. You’ll be going where all my targets go.” 
“The person I contracted you to find...”
“Yes, they’re there.” 
“Oh God. Please don’t, please, I--”
“I’m sorry. I have to do my job.”
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Okay, how about a hired assassin who simply banishes their targets to a personal island of theirs using magic. Then some sort of twist happens where someone is targeted, but had given him a contract only a month prior.
queued!
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Under the guidance of the moon and the stars, the villain and the hero ran away, looking for another city to fight in. 
“We’ve destroyed enough of it,” the hero justified. 
The villain scoffed. “No, we just built up too much of a... reputation. Everyone thinks there’s sexual tension between us.” 
“But there isn’t.” But the hero was biting their lip.
“Of course not,” the villain replied. 
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“I said I wasn’t going to hurt you, didn’t I?” The mindthief said, watching the protagonist panic at the sight of blood running down their lover’s arm. “I’m not here for you. I’m here to take their sanity.” They pointed at the lover with their knife. 
“Please, don’t, they’re innocent,” the protagonist pleaded.
“Oh, no. They’re very, very far from that.” 
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