Mordacious

Author: ebonySCYTHE

Length: 1,389 words

Preface:

This is something that just came to me while in the middle of studying on campus. I think it was written in approximately a half an hour between classes and has since been cleaned up a bit. It’s about two character from a world/story my brother and I have together. It’s a really vague description of an important event between them.  Skip the next two indented paragraphs if you don’t want to hear me ramble about it.

The two characters involved are The Grisly Hatchet, Gyakutai and Shin’chiro. It’s from Gyakutai’s point of view, a character of mine I’m pretty fond of. He’s a High General leading Seishi’s army; Seishi is essentially Gyakutai’s god and opposes another god of their world, Zeigaikutsu. Shin’chiro used to lead Zeigaikutsu’s army against Seishi, but has since been withdrawn from battle as his guard instead. The two characters know each other from many previous and colossal battles, obviously. Both of them are fairly matched; though Gyakutai is much stronger, Shin’chiro is faster and a hell of a lot more agile. Most of their meetings used to just consist of a bloody-long battle, but things have changed with time as usual. Seishi’s army is close to “winning” a war (that has existed for hundreds of years) during this event and they wish to wipe out Zeigai’s lands to use it for their own purposes (as far as any normal character in the world is concerned at least). Gyakutai is a vicious killer and is known to be a major deciding factor in battle. If Shin’chiro is not present in battle with him, then Gyakutai’s side is sure to win. The man is willing to destroy his own kind in his blood-lust. So it makes sense that whenever Gyakutai is present in a battle, Shin’chiro is sure to be there as well. Or at least, he used to be before he was pulled to be a guard. I think this compromises as enough “history” for the story.

As far as character information goes, some knowledge may be added to smooth understanding of this vague, sonuvabitch story. First, of all the things that may be said, would be that Gyakutai experiences the future in visions or dreams, which only changes if he alters his own actions. This is another reason he is so dangerous. Gyakutai’s visions, for all intents and purposes, are more ‘knowledgeable’ than his god’s. This is a main focus in the story. Another thing to be said is that these two characters have some profound feelings towards each other, not necessarily love or hate, but connections that run deep. This event happens during a time when Shin’chiro is downright vulnerable; his god is about to be destroyed, with no path to reincarnation available any longer (or so he believes). Gyakutai has, in recent months, taken a new future by altering his future actions. He was previously experiencing a future in which he would no longer have Shin’chiro, a man who equaled him, gives him life and meaning and emotions. Since the change he has also become, in a sense, vulnerable because Gyakutai is now going to basically betray his god and provide a new avenue for Shin’chiro’s god to prosper. Holy fuck, that’s the basic gist of it and I’ve left out some things that will still make the writing confusing, but I feel they are meant to be unknown at this point of the story.

Okay, on to the writing.

—– First Kiss —–

I can only hope the man I come across is the one I am looking for. He is elusive; rarely does he show himself on such blood strewn grounds thanks to his watcher, but I get feelings. I know when he’s there. I just do. He will avoid me, however, and not because of my repulsive tongue or my particular habits, or even the unnecessary slaughter I presumably cause. No, it’s his very feelings! He knows I’m more than an enemy, more than a friend; a poison and a pleasure. Of course he wouldn’t put it quite that way, but it is there and I can’t be fooled because I’ve seen it.

Woe to the man who anguishes over his foul love, pity him and coddle him. Keep him from his mistakes and shield him from his battles until he becomes nothing of himself and everything you ever wanted. No. That is not me. I will draw him out and torture him, leave him wanting and pleading so when I next come he will beg to join me. I am no god, I am not merciful, I am dying and I will take him with me; I know that for a fact. I’ve seen it.

It’s him; he’s here. I’ve already found him though the sky is darkening. He looks dismayed to have come across me: his eyes are dull, the corners of his lips are downturned, and every step forward is slow, guarded. I perceive he’s pleased, though, that we are completely alone. No one will die, he knows. It’s just a game I like to play, he thinks. And he assumes when it’s all over we will go on our way, as things were, normal and in no conventional sense of the word. It won’t. Everything will change, I’ve seen it.

“Let’s lay a wager.” I hear my own sinister voice, I’m not thinking a word of it; it’s a replay of events to me, an echo, “No deadlock this time around. If you defeat me, kill me, be rid of me and it will be over.” I make note of every twitch his face makes and am pleasantly surprised by his subtle show of distaste. A pause, I hold out. Rich red eyes strain to remain fixated, falter. Uneasy to question, he foresees my statement. I let him think it through as his lids slide shut; it takes seconds, he cannot avoid the ending anyways, ‘And if you subdue me?’ We are both aware of my answer; I spare him the vulgarity. He’s always been good at reading others, even creatures like me. As for me, I’ve seen it.

I circle him like an accomplished predator, maroon eyes trained on him, steady, ready to flush my next bite. He stands firm, familiar with our dance, our ritual. Right hand idles on his scabbard. A finger draws along a section of its length. A nail taps a fancy bullion emblem testifying the highest rank of excellence in his lands. A simple tap; I’m distracted for a moment, savoring the sight of him, nothing short of perfectly fashioned for his duties, future. No warning; he swiftly lunges; the tip of his blade grazes skin. Muddy crimson fluids spring from the length of his blade. I’ve kept hold of my life by a hair’s width, but I have no fear. I’ll win, I know it. I’ve seen it.

In that second I’ve twisted, I’ve turned; I’ve moved to meet him head on, all at once. He’s just as quick, his blade flashes stark white in the corner of my eye as I prepare my strike and I know I have to meet it instead of him. A loud ringing in my ear tells me I’ve succeeded. My blade deflects his, returns and my hand strikes out at once. He must choose between death and life. I become euphoric. I know his decision; I’ve seen it.

He chooses life, despite the terrors that will transpire in only a few days time. My stretched fingers close around his neck as he swallows, he startles and I shove him backwards. He’s struggling with me now, but he sacrifices his only blade in the process, so I shed mine. Now it’s hands verses hands; constricting, scratching, beating. A tree catches us from falling. I’m grateful, he’s livid; he refuses to give up. I’ve got him pinned now; both his pale hands scrape against bark and I hear him vent his frustration with a subdued hiss. I don’t ask for him to cry out, scream, to admit defeat; he won’t. I’ve seen it; it’s in my dreams.

“I win.” My voice staggers as he struggles; it’s a statement of fact, he can’t escape from this point on and he is at my mercy. It sinks in, like molasses; slow to relinquish control, his body is cringing, slumping, sulking. I dwell closer, close in. He has stopped moving, fighting. I push again, for thrills. “I win.” He’s not immature; he remains still, malleable to whims, revenge, desires.

For this, I loosen my brutal grip and his hands fall free. Mine close in, rest on his listless thighs; they tense, stiffen, support him once again. My hands move up, slowly, creeping, pushing aside some silken cloth; I can feel his chest against mine; rise, fall, rise and fall, slowly gaining pace. His face doesn’t show it, but he’s nervous, assuming, questioning all at once. He doesn’t move though, not yet. I push; my thumb glides over a jutting hip bone, grazing, skimming. Still rigid, he moves but a trace; chin down, two-toned locks conceal my only physical portal to his thoughts. I breathe across his hair; sheer tips tickle, scratch, they irritate my neck. Tempting, so my hands move again; further along,

They cut between us.

If I had not seen it already, I would have been most surprised by the next event, but I have, so I wasn’t. A flurry of movement and my wrists burn, tingle, not in a bad way. No. Nails are embedded; he’s touched me. His mouth draws closer, eyes turn up. Aloof to most, they scream to me: a complex ‘no’; a simple ‘yes’. For once he truly looks insecure, hurt and torn. I know why, don’t care. He can’t make another move; I can. I will.

Warm. Tender. Dry.

I’ve never kissed someone before; neither has he. I’m awkward, feeling my way through it like a hungry beast and suddenly there’s not a hint of inhibition coming from him. Nails pierce deeper, scratch, crawl up my forearm and hot blood seeps from my wrists. It morphs into something intoxicating, electrifying, suffocating, as we snatch the air from each others lungs. My free hands snake back to his hips, pushing, kneading and he’s back against the bark. He’s hot like blue fire and it’s exhilarating to feel him in a way I’ve not felt him before. Sharp pain, pleasure, in my scalp, a weight around my neck and he’s anchored his body against mine, resisting my feverish domination. When I feel those fingers running, seizing my hair, the heat, I nearly buckle, and then I remember.

You go through this and it won’t happen again.

You’ll lose all of this, you know.

He’ll hate you; regret it,

by next time.

This or them?

Them.

I’ve stopped moving, so has he. A heavy weight drops in on my mind and now I’m slouching; my forehead’s in his warm, slick neck. His body is rigid, with thoughts of his own I’m sure, and his fingers curl loosely through the length of my hair before they slide free with the arm around my neck. I hear them fall to his sides; my lips move, noiseless, a deep breath. I pull up and my voice lands in his left ear, “We’ll be continuing this next time.”

I expected something: an attack, an answer, something; this moment has scarcely gone beyond my dreams and I’m like a child thirsting for the conclusion to a magnificent tale. However, like the genuine hero that he is, he surrenders nothing to me, betrays no emotions. A moment of pure, unadulterated silence falls between us; I feel the movement before I hear it. Stiff, insistent fingers brush my chest and push me aside.

With barely a breeze, soundless, thoughtless, he’s gone.

I miss him.