Personality Oblivion Novels & Stories

I shot back. "Well it wasn't your place to her that. Wether I love her or not, it was up to me to tell her not you. Grow up a little." With that said he left. "Ugh, why do guys always go for the most plastic girls in school. Better question, why do I have to like someone so oblivious?" I let out a scream. "Bad day?" I turned to see dad. "You could say that. It sucks liking someone and they're too oblivious to know what's in front of them. I'm a delight." I huffed as dad chuckled.

Because deep inside I'm dying to be treated as human and hoping to be accepted. And I know, my only wish won't happen. I am unacceptable, ugly and I don't belong with anything... Now, my only wish for you my lord is to grant this wish of mine. Let me vanish. I want to leave this place that full of judgement without knowing who they're judging. I want to vanish...

MEL POV I don’t think I have slept so soundly before in my entire life. No nightmares. No headaches. Nothing at all. I could barely even remember what had happened yesterday. Well apart from the part where I found out my mother was abused in her loveless marriage and that I was the love child between her and a mafia lord. I couldn’t never forget that even if tried. “Halo.” Dante opens the room’s door and peeks his head in. “Decent enough in there?”

He knew what happened and which personality that occupied his consciousness, but sometime, he felt like the darkness suppressed him too hard, he couldn’t feel anything. He lost in time and when he regained his consciousness again, he lost half an hour of his time. That was right, Keagan timed it. He kept in check whenever he lost himself. But, everything happened rapidly. He switched his personality very often, which was something that had never happened before. Something was not right and he knew it. The line between each personalities blurred. It felt like his head had turned into a narrow room, and everyone inside was trying to get out. The feeling was overwhelming and Keagan couldn’t hol

He wasn't pulling back; he was closing the circuit. NO, the consciousness shrieked. It was the first time it had displayed anything approaching emotion. THIS IS SUICIDE. "This is an eviction," Anji retorted. He visualized his own identity—not as a genius, not as an architect, but as a person who just wanted to see a sky that wasn't coded by a boardroom of monsters. He threw his own cognitive, messy, trauma-ridden identity into the breach. He didn't just suppress the virus; he became a literal dead-end, a firewall of pure, stubborn misery that the Essence simply couldn't format into data.

the edges of the scar were blurring, fading to grey, it wasn't healing; it was being un-written. He stared at it, his face pale. "I... I can't remember how I got this," he whispered, his voice laced with a new kind of terror. "I know it was in a fight, but... the face of the one who gave it to me... it's gone." The Remnant turned his placid gaze upon Ashiel. "The Oblivion is not a localized phenomenon. While you focused all your power here, your own personal, unattended memories began to thin, it is the cost. To remember the world, you must sometimes forget yourself."

“You researchers are all freaks. What’s the point of studying this junk anyway? I thought it was supposed to be some earth-shattering weapon.” Marken’s voice drifted faintly from within, detached but steady. “It is a weapon. The world’s major powers can’t wage open war anymore—not with nuclear deterrence looming over them. So they play games like this. If they can awaken a secondary personality in someone, and mold that identity to fit their needs, they can turn that person into a puppet. A silent infiltration, without firing a single shot.” The alter ego scoffed, leaning back lazily against the lab’s cold steel table. “Pathetic.”

He slid into the booth across from me, eyes flicking over my face, then to the coffee cup. “That is not food,” he said. “It’s survival,” I answered, taking a sip. “How’d it go?” He paused, as if sampling his words. “There is a man,” he said slowly, “who will wake tomorrow with no memory of me, less blood in his veins… and a strangely powerful urge to break up with the woman who treats him like furniture.” I blinked. “…Did you just give him a personality reset while feeding?” “He was miserable,” he said simply. “I encouraged him to stop being.”

And he even calls her mad. Irina is not mad, she's only suffering from PTSD and it's all because of Zorya. She treated her so badly and never gave her that motherly love and attention that became traumatic for Irina as she soon fell into depression. She became quick to anger and withdrew herself from everyone. I was the only one she spoke to then, she did not talk to Olga and even our dad. And then, I just left her. “Fuck!” I curse, running my hands through my hair. I just came back from killing Evgeny and sending his body to his family. I'm seriously not in the mood for all of this, but at the same time, I need to speak to my sister.