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Written by: “Irene Naridza”
IA Pic Made By CHAT-GPT: https://chatgpt.com/
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Link to Caption en Deviant Art: https://www.deviantart.com/nair-tg-stories/art/CyberTroll-TG-STORY-1007264414
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----- Cyber Troll -----
-- Written by “Irene Naridza”
Franco was another young man in his twenties with nothing
better to do than to harass content creators at random using one of his fake
DeviantArt accounts. He really enjoyed leaving offensive comments on every
deviation he came across. Most of the time, he got no response. Other times,
his comments were deleted, or the account owner would argue with him. Those
were his favorite moments. It felt incredibly entertaining to him, even though
for everyone else it was just annoying.
One day, he found a page that posted TG caption stories; an
image accompanied by text where a protagonist ends up dressing as or
transforming into the opposite sex. Unfamiliar with this kind of content, he
found it completely stupid.
“what a ridiculous piece of shit” he mocked in one of the
captions. When he got no response, he just went on with his day.
A week later, he was having a bad day. From the moment he
woke up, he felt sick. It was like having the flu, but without the annoying
nasal or throat symptoms. That didn’t stop him from trolling online. Still, it
didn’t last long. The feverish chills worsened, so he decided to go to sleep,
hoping he’d feel better when he woke up.
When he recovered his senses, something felt wrong. He tried
to move to get comfortable, but his muscles wouldn’t respond. He opened his
eyes and didn’t recognize where he was. He couldn’t move his head, but that
ceiling definitely wasn’t his. It was made of black cement instead of wood. He
glanced around; a faint white light was coming from somewhere.
“(But… what?)” he tried to say, but he no longer had vocal
cords. Panic took over. Unable to move, unable to make a sound, trapped inside
what was now his own body like a cell. Then, he heard a whisper from somewhere.
He tried to move his eyes to find the source, but they no longer obeyed him.
Suddenly, he felt drops of water falling onto his face. A
quick glance revealed they were coming from the ceiling. He was about to look
away when he noticed lumps slowly forming. One, then another, each bigger than
the last. Even in the dim light, he could make out something resembling a
twisted smile.
His heart raced as the lumps came alive, and a larva-like
creature began to descend. Despite his pounding heartbeat, the creature’s
cracking sounds pierced his ears like needles. It settled right in front of his
eyes, and he saw it clearly: several human skulls protruded through its grayish
skin, tearing through dried muscle.
Its jaws opened, releasing a nauseating stench. A row of
crooked teeth gleamed faintly, bits of rotting flesh from previous victims
stuck between them. Inside, Franco screamed in terror. No one, not even
himself, could hear it.
The creature didn’t attack. It backed away at the sound of a
voice calling it. “Hey, I’ll be the one deciding his fate. When I’m done, you
can devour the leftovers.” A thin woman approached without touching the ground.
When Franco saw her, he felt like his heart would burst out of his chest. She
had gray hair, sunken cheeks, and dry warts, yet her face and figure still held
a strange kind of beauty. She looked him up and down without a word.
With a quick motion, she plunged her long, slender fingers
into his chest. The air left his lungs. Without much effort, she reached
deeper, then just as quickly pulled her hand out, holding Franco’s still-beating
heart. The veins and valves were still attached, stretched thin, on the verge
of snapping.
Smiling, she brought it to her mouth and took a bite. Blood
ran down her lips, which she licked clean. “Hmm… you’re different.” she said,
surprised. She placed the organ back inside him. “Sister, step back. You’ll
have to wait a bit longer.” she ordered the creature, which seemed annoyed. “…you’ll
get his leftovers. Let me work.”
With another gesture, the surface Franco was lying on tilted
upward. Without looking directly at him, she grabbed his jaw and forced it
open. Her sharp nails pinched his tongue, and Franco could only whimper as she
began pulling hard. A tearing sound followed his mouth filled with blood as his
entire tongue was ripped out.
He twisted, trying to spit the blood choking him and soaking
his chin, but he barely felt it through the overwhelming pain that reduced him
to animal-like noises.
The woman smiled as she examined the tongue. While it was
still dripping blood, she ate it. Then she spoke, Franco recognized the voice.
It was his own. She began repeating phrases and insults, meaningless and cruel.
He couldn’t understand why, until one line struck him: “What a ridiculous piece
of shit.” It took him a moment. Then he understood. His eyes betrayed his
realization.
The woman touched her throat and spoke again, now with her
own voice. “You know, I’m older than anything you’ve ever seen, except the
Earth.” She sounded irritated. “Yet even as an adult, I don’t tolerate hateful
comments.” She leaned closer. “Especially from pathetic men.” Her expression
twisted with disgust.
“I could’ve let one of my sisters tear you apart, dissect
you, or devour you… but I changed my mind after tasting your heart.” She
pointed to his chest, still split open, bone visible, his heart beating inside.
“You’re different… your soul is peculiar. I want it for myself. It’ll be
another one of my trophies.” A sick frenzy gleamed in her eyes. “But first… I
have to fix you.”
Franco wanted to rip off his ears, gouge out his eyes,
anything to escape. The pain and fear had already shattered his sanity, far
beyond what any human could endure. Death wasn’t coming for him. Now he waited
in terror for what she would do next. She began chanting. The words sounded
like nonsense, scrambled sounds.
Then Franco felt his body changing. Bones and muscles
shifted. He felt himself shrinking. Parts of his skin peeled away, replaced
instantly by new flesh. Burning strands of hair fell across his face, scorching
his eyes. If he had a voice, he would’ve begged for death. The smell of burnt
flesh gave way to the unmistakable stench of melted plastic. His clothes began
to fuse and reshape over his body.
The woman waited a few minutes before making another
gesture. Franco regained control, he opened his mouth to scream, but only a
muffled sound came out. He collapsed, clutching himself, his fingers pressing
painfully into his new skin.
After what felt like hours, he knelt and adjusted his hair;
now brown, with small curls. He examined himself. His body was now female,
shorter and slimmer. His clothes were tight: a small shirt and short denim
shorts clinging to his hips. He had new sexual traits, but that didn’t matter.
He just wanted to escape.
Then she chanted again. A white light flooded everything. He closed his eyes for a long time, he only opened them slowly when he noticed that the brightness behind his eyelids had diminished. He was in an abandoned building which belonged to a former corporation that went bankrupt and lost everything. Ahead, among the trees, the woman watched him with glowing red eyes.
He felt something on his wrist. A violet stained leather
bracelet. “Angelin.” The name was written in red. Suddenly, memories surfaced.
The TG captions he had mocked. The girls… all of them had that same name
somewhere. It was as if somebody had labeled their toys.
He looked up. The woman moved her hand and his body obeyed
against his will. “... damn… witch…” he said his final word before losing his
remaining wild. She laughed, baring her fangs. “Dear, I see you’ve discovered
my gift.”
She chanted once more. Light. Franco couldn’t blink. He could feel his body, but couldn’t move it. White. Seconds became minutes. Minutes became hours. Hours became days. Pain. Burning eyes. Then whispers grew louder until they became screams.
Filthy language filled his ears. Then silence. Franco wished
for death again, but it didn’t matter. He belonged to the witch. Only she could
free him, but she wouldn’t.
More whispers came—many voices, like someone reading aloud.
It was a story about him or rather… her. It was an embarrassing situation.
The witch had trapped him inside one of her captions. He was
her trophy. Franco felt shame before the screams returned, tearing through his
ears. The story repeated endlessly. Interrupted only by every vulgar comment he
had ever written.
He never lost consciousness. He couldn’t do anything. An
endless cycle of pain, shame, and despair.
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If you find any misspellings or a dead link, please let me know ------------
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Link to Story in Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/326262612-cyber-troll-creepypasta-tg
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Link
to English Story in Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/410033005-cybertroll-creepypasta-tg-story
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Link to English Story in Blogger: https://irenenaridzastorycaptions.blogspot.com/2024/01/cybertroll-tg-story.html
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Link
to Spanish Story in Blogger: https://irenenaridzastorycaptions.blogspot.com/2024/01/ciber-trolls-historia-tg.html
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Writer’s Opinion ---------------
·
Once
a hater began to insult in the comments. I don't know if it affected me much,
but it did leave me very angry. Not only that, it also left me creative, as
much as to create this story.
·
I'll
try to turn a deaf ear to the next muspo who comes to bother. But I'm not going
to erase it, let everyone know about his attitude.
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THANK YOU SO MUCH for WATCHING ------------------------------
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