I Killed The Main Characters

Amy Bluerose.

Just thinking about her name was enough to make my heart race, to fill my mind with a thousand fleeting memories of the character I had built from the ground up—perfection incarnate, forged with painstaking detail and absolute love.

Every flaw, every quality, every little quirk of hers was etched into my brain as if I had carved them there myself with a burning blade.

She was everything I wanted, everything I needed.

When I designed her, I knew she would be my favorite.

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Her strength, her independence, her unyielding determination were like no other.

A woman who, no matter what stood in her way, would break down those obstacles without a second thought.

A woman who carried herself with elegance but held the power of a storm beneath her composed demeanor.

She was a force to be reckoned with, and her power was... intoxicating.

Her imperfections made her real, too.

Amy could be harsh and judgmental, but that was what I loved about her—her sharp tongue was balanced by an unwavering loyalty to those she cared about, a loyalty that burned brighter than a thousand suns.

She wasn't flawless, but that's what made her even more perfect to me.

There were many who didn't understand her, who criticized her coldness and her stubborn pride.

They said she was unlikable, that her ruthlessness made her unsympathetic.

But I never faltered, not for a moment.

To me, those imperfections were just proof of how real she was, how alive she became in my mind.

I knew her better than they ever could.

Amy was the perfect partner.

She was the woman I would give anything for, the woman I would bow to without hesitation if she demanded it, the woman I would let step on me if it made her smile.

She was the tsundere who would slap me away one moment and cling to me the next, the yandere who would burn the world down if I ever left her.

I wanted her fury, her passion, her obsession—because I felt the same.

And I wanted her to want me with the same crazed intensity that I felt for her, to look at me like I was the only thing that mattered in the world.

When I first started writing this story, I didn't care about the characters, not really.

They were flat, lifeless—2-D in the most literal sense of the word.

They existed to fill a space, to play a role, to move the plot forward. But Amy was different.

She was vibrant, alive in a way that no other character had ever been for me.

She consumed my thoughts, my dreams.

I found myself wishing I was the main character in the story I had written, that I could stand beside her, that I could 'have' her.

And now... now she was right in front of me.

Amy, my perfect Amy, lay unconscious on the brown leather couch, her head tilted to the side, her blue hair flowing like a waterfall over the armrest, shimmering in the faint moonlight that filtered through the curtains.

She looked ethereal, almost otherworldly, her skin so pale it was nearly translucent, her lips soft and full, slightly parted.

Even now, in her unconscious state, she was the very definition of beauty.

Every curve of her body was a masterpiece—her slender neck, her soft, delicate collarbones, the way her blouse hugged her chest, the hint of lace peeking through.

I moved closer, barely breathing.

My fingers trembled as I reached out, brushing a strand of that glorious blue hair away from her face.

Her skin was warm under my touch, a reminder that she was real, here, alive.

My thumb grazed the faint mark on her neck, the symbol of the demonic cult that had claimed her—a mark I had put there myself.

"I'm sorry, my lovely Amy," I whispered, my voice breaking.

"I had to do it... to protect you, to make sure that bastard Noah got what he deserved."

Noah Ashbourne—that name left a sour taste in my mouth.

I regretted every moment I had wasted writing him as a character.

A stain on the narrative, a complication I had never anticipated until it was too late.

The game, when it had altered my work, had twisted everything, and Noah had become the antithesis of what I wanted for Amy.

His very existence tainted the purity of her story, corrupted it.

And now, as fate would have it, I was given a second chance to right those wrongs.

"I won't let him ruin you again," I murmured as I leaned closer, inhaling the soft, sweet scent of her perfume—something floral with a hint of vanilla that made my insides melt.

My fingers traced the curve of her jaw, her soft, plump lips.

God, how many nights had I spent imagining what they would feel like, what they would taste like?

I couldn't resist any longer.

My lips met hers, gentle at first, hesitant, but then hungrier as warmth spread through me.

She was warm and alive, and her breath, faint and even, mingled with mine.

It was everything I had imagined and more.

I felt her softness, her warmth, her very essence.

I deepened the kiss, feeling the need to consume her, to own her, to make her mine in every way.

My other hand slipped down, brushing the collar of her unbuttoned shirt, feeling the curve of her chest beneath.

She twitched beneath my touch, and my heart pounded wildly in my chest.

"My darling," I breathed, breaking the kiss, my forehead resting against hers.

"The embodiment of perfection, my perfection...."

I took a step back, tying my hair into a ponytail to keep it out of my face.

In this world, I wasn't the person I had been before.

I possessed Liliana Everheart, a minor extra from the original story, a character without a name or a purpose.

But that anonymity gave me power—power to be close to Amy, power to manipulate the narrative in ways I never could have before. And I had.

Amy's greatest weakness was her inferiority complex, the result of a lifetime of struggling to be perfect in a world that expected nothing less.

She was the daughter of a the prestigious house of Bluerose, a woman who had always been judged, criticized, picked apart for every small failure.

And the social circles she was so desperate to belong to... they had become the perfect tool for me.

Slowly, carefully, I had isolated her, feeding her doubts, whispering fears into her ear.

I had been her friend, her confidante, the only person she could truly trust, and I had twisted that trust until she relied on me entirely.

Until she 'needed' me.

I imbued her life force with demonic energy. Power she could never have on her own, power that made her feel strong, invincible, worthy.

And with that power, she became the perfect pawn in my game.

Noah had no idea what he was dealing with—he was just a problem, a parasite who clung to Amy's light, dragging her down into his twisted, pathetic world.

I had created him, and I had the power to erase him.

I would rewrite the story to give Amy the ending she deserved. I wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

In my old life, I was nothing but a failure.

A 33-year-old man-a nobody who spent his days as a shut-in, writing stories that no one cared about, living off instant ramen and stale coffee, glued to a screen while the world passed me by.

I was pathetic, lonely, unfulfilled.

I poured my soul into Amy, my muse, my goddess, but it was never enough.

And then, when the game company bought my work, they changed everything.

They turned my story from a romance fantasy to a catastrophic RPG game, warped my characters, and corrupted my vision.

But they had given me money, stability.

And for a while, I thought that was enough.

It wasn't. I knew, deep down, that I wasn't happy.

But in this world, I had a second chance to make things right, to keep the things I truly cared about.

And Amy... she was at the center of it all.

I moved back to the couch, staring down at her peaceful, sleeping form.

The sight of her stirred something inside me, something dark and unyielding.

My tongue darted out to wet my lips as I felt my body heating up, my blood thrumming in my veins.

I reached out and touched her lips once more, tracing them with my fingertips.

My other hand slid down my own body, feeling the curves that weren't mine, the unfamiliar softness of my new form.

I squeezed my breasts as I felt the warmth.

"I'll give you everything you want," I promised, my voice hushed and desperate.

"I'll make sure you get the world you deserve, a world where you can be free... where you can be happy."

I picked up the silver deagle from the table beside me, its weight heavy and cold in my hand.

The barrel gleamed in the moonlight, casting silvery reflections across the room.

I raised it to my lips, the cold metal sending a shiver down my spine as I ran my tongue along the smooth surface, tasting the tang of gunmetal.

"Anyone who stands in our way," I whispered, my eyes glowing faintly in the darkness, "will be removed.

I'll eradicate them, one by one, until there's nothing left but us."

Amy shifted in her sleep, and I smiled, lowering the gun and pressing it to my chest, feeling the cold seep into my skin.

"I'll make the world 'perfect'," I said, my gaze never leaving her face.

"For you, my beautiful, perfect Amy."