WE ARE THE UNHOLY [open ; character development?]

He was beginning to hallucinate, see images that no one else could see. Nightmares constantly plagued his world of dreams, turning every good thing he could ever think of into something that made his heart stop and his breathing shallow. It was hell, both during sleep and when he walked amongst the land of the living. Socialconstructs jeered at him with their barbed remarks every possible chance they got. It was beginning to drive him insane. He couldn't take it any more.

He was like a sheet of glass. Every blow towards the surface deepened the cracks, reopened the scars, sent another stab of pain towards his heart. The bullets that hit the glass were increasingly common, and eventually, the glass would shatter completely, and no amount of duct tape and glitter glue would be able to stick together every broken piece. If anything, trying to fix what had been broken would leave the edges sharp, and scars would forever cover it's surface. Andy didn't want to cut anyone on his rough edges.

"You're such a weak little *,"

Andy froze, his heart skipping a beat. Alabaster ears were flattened to his head, pupils reduced to slits by his fear. No, it couldn't be them. They were just some stupid made-up voice in his head, they couldn't be here.

"Hello, Andy," the voice giggled again.

The white tom turned around, fur bristling along his spine. The sight that met his smoky blue gaze was worse than a nightmare. It was hell in physical form, come to torment him again. A black feline with glowing red eyes sneered at him, showing sharp teeth. "Socialconstructs," Andypaw began, his mouth dry and his voice catching in his throat. Obvious signs of anxiety and fear. The sound alone was enough to make the demon-cat grin.

"Oh, Andy, are you scared? Good. You should be. Because I am just so much better than you. After all, why would anyone ever like someone who looks and acts like you? You're nothing but an emo ****** with anxiety issues." Each word hit the rocker like a bullet, each deepening the wound just the slightest bit further than the one before it. He couldn't push down the growing sense of panic that came with the words, like they were true. Clearly struggling with his own issues, the spirit took another chance to aim for any weaknesses.

"You think those 'friends' actually like you? That's pathetic, freak. They only pity you," Socialconstructs jeered.

Images flashed in Andy's mind. Suiteheart's maternal friendliness, Whitepaw's mature reactions to his teasing, Irelandpup's bubbly sweetness. Those couldn't be fake, they always felt like they cared in some way, that they knew or at least understood how he was feeling and what was happening to him. They were his friends, and he cared for them. Finally, all that pent up fear and self-loathing that he'd bottled up for so long gave way to white-hot fury. His eyes went from tear-filled and depressed to narrowed and full of rage.

"All you ever do is try to bring me down. You know how sick I am of people like you? I always get strangers, clanmates and allies pissing on me because the way I look doesn't fit in their personal guidelines. I can't even get something to eat without hearing 'emo ******' being whispered in the background," he spat, body visibly shaking with anger. He wasn't going to put up with this any more, he was so tired of being pushed around.

Socialconstructs didn't flinch or make any movement, instead, he stared at the apprentice warily.

"You think it's okay to constant * on me and make me feel so *ing unimportant. But guess what, mother*er? You aren't as vital as you think you are. People can do without you. You can't even be called a voice any more. You're a disease, a mental illness. There is something worthless here, and let me tell you, you son of a *, it isn't me,"

Andy's voice was so full of power and suppressed hatred. It was Socialconstructs' turn to cower, their own figure riddled with fear from the Paladin trainee. Andy's self control began to waver.

"NO! *ING LOOK AT ME!" he roared, claws unsheathing and digging into the dirt beneath his paws. How dare they have the *ing audacity to start this * with him and not even be brave enough to look him in the eye? They were a god damn coward.

Once Socialconstructs looked up, his red eyes locked onto Andy's. What the emo saw reflected in them was how he'd felt of this voice for so long. He saw pure fear. "Let me tell you something, hard-ass. Don't ever take a swing at a cornered animal, because you're *ing gonna get bitten. And when that happens, don't blame the damn animal. Nobody needs you here. Go back to whatever hellhole you crawled out of and LEAVE. ME. ALONE!" Andypaw was full on screaming now, shaking and close to angry tears.

Socialconstructs was obviously frightened. Never had his victim ever fought back like this. They normally were so submissive, committing suicide at his slightest suggestion of it. But this one didn't do it. This one was different. This one had fought back, and they'd won. Before Andy could even blink, it was like the black feline had disappeared, leaving the kid alone, his war-paint running down his face due to the tears flooding from his eyes.

//923 words m8

Summary; Andy 'halluncinated' a physical form of Socialconstructs. They kept trying to make him even more depressed, and Andypaw was sick of it. He fought back and was able to push the voice from his mind. He conquered his own personal demon.

How was he still standing? The fatigue, the mental exhaustion, he should've collapsed by now. Maybe it was the euphoria of finally being free of that bullying voice that gave him strength. He'd gone so long with that voice whispering dark lullabies into his ear that the reality of his freedom had not yet hit him full-force. And then...

He'd won. Socialconstructs wouldn't respond to him, and there was no longer that vast expanse of dark self-doubt itching at the back of his mind. He'd fought, and he'd fought hard. He'd broken his shackles and escaped the prison that was his own mind and what had existed in his stray thoughts. He was no longer a little kid, impressionable and frightened. He was a fighter, and there was no one that could go against him and not bring out a war.

In the midst of all these thoughts, he'd hardly noticed the approach of Suiteheart. Her paws softly wiped away the moisture dampening his cheeks and the black paint running down his face, her touch soft and comforting. Her voice reached his ears, a bit fuzzy like he was hearing it through a thin glass window. it eventually got clearer, and it finally registered in his mind.

"Suiteheart, I did it. I got rid of them. They aren't gonna be mean to me anymore,"

He brightened a bit at Suiteheart's words, her praise lighting a warming fire in his very being. She was soft and maternal, supportive. And very very very punk rock. However, she also had her own personal demons that she had once faced and was still facing now. He respected her, not only for her position in the clan, but for the type of person she was. If he could restart his life, and do it all over again, he'd still find his way back to BlizzardClan. He wouldn't ever change a thing.

Storm approached, and the pup looked worried. Andy's face contorted into what could only be described as friendly reassurance. "I'm alright, now. You don't need to worry. There isn't anything to talk about," he crooned, refusing to look his friend in the eye. Storm had seen his panic attacks, his breakdowns, his recklessness. Andy still couldn't bring himself to tell Storm everything that had gone on yet. Maybe it was because he wanted to preserve whatever innocence about the world that the auxiliary combatant had retained.

Then a loud noise reached his ears, his head twisting to look at it's source. Of course, Whitepaw had come to his beloved Andy's rescue, like any friend would. It meant a lot to Andy, anyway. Whitepaw was an exorcist, he knew how demons worked better than the rocker did. He probably already figured out Andy was having struggles with the supernatural. Now he knew that he didn't have to worry about Andy, that Andy could at least keep himself safe. His stormy optics lit up, welcoming his best friend with a bright expression. An expression that morphed into one of confusion as his war-paint was mentioned. Huh?

A white paw snaked upwards, rubbing lightly around his right eye. When it was lowered, it was covered with wet tears and streaks of black make-up. "Don't be a dick, man," he teased, aiming to wipe the paint on Whitepaw's fur playfully. The words could have been taken offensively, but the normal Andy laugh that punctuated it obviously was lighthearted. Christ, he enjoyed his friend's presence.