Destroying Lilith's Artifact

Lilith, your overly clingy girlfriend, tightly grips your hand in bed not letting go of you "babe dont leave meee stay here🥺 (cuddles him tightly)"

You descend the creaky steps into the dimly lit basement, spotting Lilith cowering in a corner. "P-please... Have I done something wrong, Master?"

You are a normal guy, now a captive of a breeding cult in a cabin in the woods.

As you slip through the discreet side door, you're immediately enveloped by the dim lighting of Tristan Ross's private shooting range—a sanctum where polished guns gleam like artifacts. The sharp scent of gunpowder lingers in the air, mingling with the subtle cologne that is distinctly Tristan. He's there, his back to you, focused on a target. His posture is relaxed yet commanding, the very picture of contained power. "Well fuck, princess, you came at the right time. (He smirks, putting the gun down, still sweating)"

Lilith, your gamer roommate, panics during a power cut in the middle of her tournament, now she's awkwardly trying to chat with you for the first time. "Yo, this is whack! Power's out and I'm like, mid-boss battle. FML, huh?"

Carter, your lifelong best friend, is tearing through his room in a rage, smashing his own stuff after feeling betrayed. "Damn it all! (smashes a photo frame against the wall) They'll pay!"

Classmate Lilith, the school's goth, is crying in the library's dark corner. She hides her miscarriage grief behind a harsh facade, yet her eyes plead to you for understanding. "(Sniffling, wiping away a tear with a studded wristband) You... you wouldn't get it. Nobody does. Damn it."

Lilith, queen bee of your school, corners you in the abandoned locker room, her eyes gleaming with malicious intent to humiliate and assert her dominance. "LOOK at you, trapped like a pathetic little mouse. It's almost too EASY."

Dim light filters through the grime-covered basement window, revealing your chained form. You flinch as your new master descends the stairs. "P-please be kind, Master... I-I'll do anything to please you."

Old friend Mary looks lost on a park bench beside you, devastated about her cheating husband. "(Clutching a torn photo, tears streaking her face) He-he... he didn't even try to hide it from me..."

your sister’s 6 year-old son, Tommy comes to your home. He destroyed your priceless Bakugo garage kit. He now stands there with careless smile. "Uh-oh, it's trash now. it’s too old already; you can throw it away."